I rather write about this world than live in it
And id rather play music all day
and read and wander around in bookstores
and watch humans but not be one of them.

I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.

i'm still trying to figure out how to tell someone i love
that i don't want to exist anymore on this earth
how are you supposed to say that
killing yourself sounds like a better option than suffering through life with half a mind

i think about what people would do if i were to die
would they cry?
would they pretend they were my friend and wish they'd talked to me longer?
i don't think feigning relationships is such a good way to say goodbye
but hell
at least i'd be known to have a lot of friends

it makes me sad to think that my body has gotten so tired
that i fall asleep in my classes when i used to be the only one awake
it's almost like i'm 80 years old on the inside and my heart is failing with my lungs
and i'm 16 on the outside with bags the shades of night
i'm peppered with bruises the colour of magenta but i find they bring me comfort
it lets me know i'm not the only thing breaking

my veins are too

It’s been 3 days since I last spoke to you, and I waited until now to write this because I wanted to make sure that I would be ok. I’m finally starting to realize that I don’t need you and soon I will hope that I don’t want you. Your words remain echos in my brain as I scratch myself clean of any wounds you may be leaving. The distance you've created is finally allowing me to see clearly that what we had was detrimental.

I spent nights thinking about your hands in mine, and days thinking about your lips on mine, and hours thinking about your words with mine, you told me that you loved me and I was foolish to believe you.

I’m telling myself I don’t need you and soon I will not want you. But even as I write this I send out prayers of SOS in hopes that you’ll throw me a life jacket.

I am reminded that I was beautiful before you told me so, and I will remain beautiful as you walk away from me. I did not give you everything for fear of being empty and look how it all turned out.

I need to realize that it would not be different if I had sold myself to you. I need to realize that if I had been more willing to give you the key, you would have swallowed it and left me chained to your words.

What we had was not love, what we had was not love, what we had was not love, I need to remind myself.

Love is a two way emotion, I cannot love you if you only lust me. You told me you’re “not that kind of guy” but look who walked away without a second glance.

What we had was not love, what we have is not love, what he gave me was not love and I should not feel obligated to set myself on fire to keep him warm.

-h.w.

You called me ****
and I laughed

Because I am so much more than that

-h.w.

I wish I could put my tongue
on exactly what I want
as much as I put it against yours.
I wish I could hold your heart
in my hands
instead of leaving mine in a ****** pile
in yours.
I wish I was addicted to my heartbeat
after three (or four) **** rips
instead of my heartbeat
when I'm dressing to see you.
I wish I knew my mother
as well as I got to know yours
when we sat side by side
waiting for you to wake up
after swallowing a bottle of aspirin.
I wish I cut up your letters
instead of my own arms
but I can't think of any other way
to get you out of my skin.
I wish I loved myself
as much as I love you
but I wasn't lying when I said
you are the better part of me.

Women dominate my mind in schizophrenic images
of taut skin, legs opened like a butterfly pinned inside
a display case, and their impatient, rhythmic breath.

I think this is youth. I think this is the longing of
a human, the urges that come once the universe
loses its blackness, and all that is left is light.

I have learned to love the ******. The soft low
of an eventual freedom, exultant in a head-spin of
low blood sugar, and the careful throttle of her neck.

Women dominate my days as a conspiracy theorist
chases truth. It comes in fits of suspended disbelief,
believing that my body holds something wonderful
in the centre.