A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

Look inside
hide not in fairy tales
the universe is protons and neutrons
there is no one God in the sky
seeking divinity, with boiled blood
fantasies and fables become undone
humans are a speck of dust
whatever illusions create your exotic desires
whatever
the creator will not look at your garden
he will see into your heart
that black holes do indeed
exist

I know what you think
my mind is keeping me up
but itʻs you.
The moon doesnʻt care,
the wind wouldnʻt dare
itʻs about how itʻs us two.
You know the way I trust
and I want only us
but I can feel myself tug at
my mind.
Because when I think about you,
and feel like a fool
You come out of nowhere and shine.

In this world
Not everything is as it seems
People wear mask
They look so real
Just to hide themselves
Colours are bright
They grab all attention
Just to hide depression
And noises are loud
They rise so much
Just to drown out inner demons screaming

The laughs,
The cries.
The secrets,
The lies.
The little fights,
The drunken nights,
A friend is all you need.

How can emptiness be so heavy?