there wasn’t a significant point in time when everything turned wrong
I hadn’t woken up one day realizing that I was cursed
like in a dream when you realize you aren’t awake
and none of this is real
but the feeling began somewhere
I remember times when I felt home, never lonely
since then there has been a gradual crushing silence
a sharp knife cutting deeper and deeper
with the weight of years of self hate
and the months I had sat upright in bed
as dust settled on my skin
like opening the door of an attic
for the first time
after forgetting it even existed
I knew I was already dead.
someone told me: make your life worth writing about
I thought of all the things I could say
I thought of choking on them or swallowing them whole
all the words and their combinations that could describe this era
I have not learned yet
of all the chapter books I created in my head
mine is a story the world will never finish reading
because it is dull and melancholy
like the way every day feels the same
all of the personal narratives and essays I had written in school were a lie
I won’t write about the future
I loathe the present
whispers of the past made me numb
although I don’t hate previous versions of myself
I see them all individually
as ordinary people I once was
they could be anyone.
I look into my mirror
I liked it better with cracks and scratches
because then I could see my genuine reflection
nothing I tell myself is honest, I hide behind my own deception
the daggers of delusion inches from my veins
ready to slice me in two
there is no such thing as an alter ego
as much as my mind tries to convince me
that I’m not alone
that there are other personas living inside me
and you only get to see one.

sleepless midnight
crisp evening air
turquoise darkness
figures, waiting
painted the dawn
swirling blue
dreams, pooling
caramel lullaby
vacant home
no longer alone

you are the burning house
that I want to live in

there's a rhythm behind
these sunken eyes
thundering  storms without a voice

where red ribbons are tied
nooses swing from the sky
gasps are lost in the dead of white noise

notice cracks in your skull
thoughts are foggy and dull
clouds will echo a slumbering plea

and until you've woken up
with your mouth sewn shut
you won't know what it's like to be me

my brother, my home
we were born from the same sunken star
a pair of old weary souls

still far apart, falling apart
I miss your nearness to me
but we are a bit closer among the universe

if you ever feel like
your world is uninhabitable
you can join mine

because I cannot remember if you're
a dream or a memory
I swear we've touched before

although I had always been wishing
you weren't a fragment of
my own imagination

I'll remember you in new ways
like the creatures of the night
remember daylight
the way old oak branches
reach for the sky
growing a home within themselves
growing from nothing at all
in pending loneliness
many moons ago
a nocturnal acquaintance
formed his own memory
a mere shadow in disguise
the ghost of
tomorrow's sun