I am ill.
And it is you
that cannot save me.

I move and I retch...
you grab the bucket
and hold it for me;
but you cannot save me
from my
demise.

I long to live for you,
but the more I wish to
live, is the more
I wilt and die.

I wake up
and fall asleep
on your shoulder.

Kiss my head?

Imagine you and her together,
Right now.
Hand in hand,
cheek to cheek,
laying comfortably in bed.
The vinyl record humming,
and hearts kissing.

That's me and him.
We're like this, but we love separately.

6ft apart.

One above ground,
one so below.

Your lips taste like you hate me again,
but your hands look comfy in mine.
You said that I smell of the Sunsets on Titan,
and my eyes are like our old VHS tapes.
My smile is like the evening sun,
hitting the patio of your old English home.
That my touch is a whisper,
and my heartbeat is irregular.
It doesn't mean I'm different,
it doesn't mean I'm sober.
Let me li(v)e my life away,
into the arms of our conscience,
don't stay in wait for me,
we won't meet again.

I've grown up so scared
in the past.
Forced to grow in habitats unknown
to myself or friends.
I feel within every fibre of
my being; the aching boredom of
being awake.
My body holds so much sadness,
but under layers of skin
and muscle and deep
cuts there is a softness
needed to be rediscovered.
I only mean well, but
when scared, I say things
that upset people in the hopes
of pushing them away
yet pulling them closer.
My shell is tough and uncrackable,
but if trusted, I poke my head out
now and again to show you
a smile
or a tear,
once in a while.

I feel absolutely,
Inconsolably
Defeated.
I wish you liked me,
I wish you didn't hate me.
I wish you'd take pictures of us
doing fun things,
and not just of the friends you
claim to hate so much

The feeling of being pixelated,
of being weightless and nothing.
Swimming in the air,
and watching sober friends
waiting down there.
It's like wading through
keyboard keys.
Square. Unorthodox.
Choking on letter x's,
using them to spell
'help me' in sign
language- you
don't speak it.
Blinking in morse code
at your teacher, tugging down
sleeves. Hiding yourself from
your reflection- Make it think of
you as a child; untouched. unchanged;
pure.
I swear I'm still me.
I'm paper soft and tearable.
I swear I'm fine.
Toes curling under hardened shoes,
blisters on your big toe.
It throbs under the pressure.
Grounding you.

'They're just a teen' gets dropped on the daily.
Like the added couple of letters at the end
determine whether our feelings are valued
or not.
They only ever tell us they're here for us
when someone offs themselves on the train
tracks next to the school. Call this number
if you feel down.
Teenage years are the time to find out who
you are, and maybe I am a depressed mess,
but us Gen Z kids are doing our best to make
sure us sad'ens feel alright.
Sometimes we don't feel alright, and, so what,
if it is just down to hormones and periods,
and Max's muscly shoulders or Louise's
brown eyes.
We are allowed to feel like ****. Cos Teenage
years are the time where we find out life isn't
like animated movies;
that bad guys are defeated and the hero wins;
cos, in the end, sometimes we're our own saboteurs.
And we find out,
sometimes that's okay;  to knock ourselves down will
make us build ourselves up in the grand scheme of
things; I sure as hell know I hate how I feel most days,
and I'm sure most teenagers do.

I'm just a teen;
but I have a loud voice, terrible jokes and
a **** economy to grow into,
and I'm allowed to be mad and cry
and I'm allowed to feel like ****
and want to die
because in the end, I know it'll all
be fine.
Married or alone with wine.
Sometimes life is ****,
and that's okay;
and to me,
that is the teenage dream.

To My Lover,
my one and always;
the dance hall is empty without
our swing.
Come back to me, darling,
Let us waltz the halls again,
without a care in the world,
except for the fear of stepping on
our toes.

I've loved you since our first touch,
and since then, you have had
my heart in your cold hands,
let me warm them...
come and dance with me.
I want my arms around your waist.

Your hands on my neck.

The pieces of my heart,
weigh me down
and cut me,
Yet,
I ache from the lies you spun
and the time I spent with you.

The next time we meet,
you won't have teeth.

She was my nightmare
dressed as a wish,
and still, I let her kiss me,
and steal my heart.

The Baphomet at
the bottom of the bottle
said he'd drown if I
didn't drink.
He said he'd drown me
if I tried to throw him out.

You forget what it feels like to see an old friend.
Like the one
you keep hidden behind picture frames.
The small, cutouts of their faces,
detached from their bodies
make you respond a certain way.

You remember how they made you feel,

(hopeless, desperate)

How they felt against your skin,

(sharp, sudden, like a knife to the soul)

How they made you weep,

(you were useless under their control)

You forget how much you need them,

(You depend on them for your every move)

You think about them day and night,
they could creep into bed with you,

kiss you,

make you snap awake.

You wear them on your sleeve,
and you hide them under heavy coats,
and thick jumpers.

You forget how the bad you feel,
when you see the marks they leave on your skin,

(the violent, puce lines that tore at your paper)

And yet, you leave their head behind the frame,
because you're not sure you're ready to quit them
just yet...
So you count the days since you last saw them.
Watch as their grips loosen.
Even though you relapse into their arms now and again,
you believe you can become sober in the future.

I love you,
and I hope that you can tell
by the way, my eyes stare too
long into yours.
If I was to speak I wouldn't know what to say;
as all, I can think of is how pretty you are.
Pretty in a dark chocolate sense,
the kind that lingers on your tongue,
the bitter, harshness of beautiful boys,
the type you know you don't belong with.

You smile and I hear old dancehalls,
haunted with melodies of yesterday night.
Put your head on my shoulder, darling.
Come lay in the sun,

and watch the shadows of our grandchildren
play.

I can't change what you believe,
but if you could just see me in a different light,
and love girls like me I'd be thankful,
because you give me that look,

the look that makes my heart stutter.

I see you, rabbit,
sitting in the grass, breathing
hard. afraid.
I see how you shake,
it's cold in winter.
freezing. I begin
to run, the feeling of
power and powerlessness
takes over. Why can't I
stop? What is wrong with
me? I pounce, landing.
thud. You cry. I stare, my
body heavy on yours. Your cries
loud. Sharp to my ears. I could curse at
the stars for making me this
way. The instinct screams in
my head; **** IT **** IT.
Instead I watch as you try to run.
Blood. White snow. Enticing.
I want to cuddle. I want to love. I want
to eat. I have a warmth you have been
looking for, Rabbit. Come closer,
Rabbit. Why aren't you crying,
Rabbit?
Rabbit?

i sit and I ache
waiting for something to happen.
for anything to happen.
sometimes I wake up and the
room is spinning
and there's something in the
corner
of my
room
send someone
anyone
i just want to experience
something
warm
agai
n

sometimes I feel lost in the bed sheets;
clinging onto a body I wasn't made to
hold.

I am a child,
wrapped in cheap paper.
I'm tearing
at every edge.
I tape myself back together,
but I rip in a different place,
and I stare at it.
I feel my body scream in pain as I grin at a
stranger.
The wound is festering,
it's puce with grime.
It's growing and expanding forth from torn scars
that I've tried to heal with butterfly bandages.
But, every time the butterflies bite my skin,
after using their wings to keep
my laceration
from ripping further,
I use the bird that is my fingernail to pick at the scab,
and watch as the butterfly tumbles to the ground,
joining a thousand carcasses laid strewn next to me.

They're shrivelled and crisp,
scattered in disarray.

I hear them apologise,
for not staying so long.

black glassy eyes staring back at mine.
double reflections. doppelganger.
a hawk with spread wings,
attacking a nest. Its claws arched
aimed at a chick.
Stuffed and basted like it's Christmas without the carols,
it is still.
unmoving in the glass.
the chick, too, is frozen in time. or fear.
or stitches or reflections.
crown of feathers stuffed in my pillow,
I think of the hawk at night.
that chick.
those talons and that eye.
that little eye
staring back at mine as if to say;
save me.
I cannot.

To my lover,
the one I crave the most.
My core winces to see you weep,
but with the state of your home,
I don't wonder why you're sad.

If my empire was torn to shreds I would tear also,
but my place is within you.
You are the one I'm invested in.

You are the one for me,
so, just text me when you read this
...because I'll be your home.

I'll keep you warm.

Sandbox giggles and seesaw chuckles
echo around the park.
Little ones pitter patter on tarmac and grass,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is the sun is shining
and they're going to feel like this forever.

Rubber throwing and hushed whispers
echo around the classroom.
Schoolkids adding and subtracting,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is that they hate math
and they're going to be an astronaut when they grow.

Cheesy pop songs and girly giggles
echo around a bedroom.
She's curling her friend's hair and smiling,
oblivious to her age.
All she knows is that Jake is a cutie
and she's going to marry him when she's 21.

Birthday wishes and lots of love!
echo around the dinner table.
He's having his first beer as an 18-year-old and loving it,
oblivious to his age.
All he knows is that he's going out tonight
and staying up till dawn.

Baby rattles and first words
echo around the house.
The baby is mumbling its first word,
oblivious to the meaning behind it.
All it knows is that its mummy is warm
and it's daddy smells nice.

Memories of sandboxes and summer nights
echo around their heads.
They're laying in a bed in a sanitary place,
oblivious to the current situation.
All they know is that their time is up,
but they had such fun whilst it lasted.

You gave your baby life,
so, tell me this;
why would you want to take it away
over something as simple
as love?

Our hearts are too loud to hear the music,
but we dance to our own beat.

Bright lights. Blue, purple, white. Sweaty
people. Standing too close. Eruption. Cheers.
Happiness. I turn to look; lost.
Afraid. Anxiety. Asphyxiation.

Cold beer in the left. Camera in the right.
Grabby hands. Singing. Guitars. Drums
that bang too loud. Hurting ears.
Headache. Nausea. Tequila shot.

Smiles. Greetings. Sitting at the back
of the room, tearing up. Favorite song.
No one to dance with. Too small in
all this space. Too small for this place.

Stiff bent fingers like roots of trees,
disfigured and bent to sunlight,
clasp gently to the pine box soon to
burn up and in the end,
your skin is still thin like slices of paper,
your thick, wormy veins travel through
soil like flesh, sunspots like kisses
or lovers names or history span the range
from fingertip to toe,
gold rings like auburn leaves and diamonds
like raindrops on winter days, nails like
petals and knots like knuckles,
roses like knocks on wood,
and kisses like knowing what you do now,
doveri farla finita
così possiamo essere completi.

I drank your thoughts,
and created your masterpieces,
hoping the love of yours will transfer to
mine.
They feel like water on a sunday,
the blush of a teenagers cheeks,
and the heat of the fire on my legs.
Mine feel like anxiety and stress,
the ones I find under my bed.
Hidden from view.
Obscuring me from you.
I need yours to make mine feel lighter.
Tell me them once more, and intertwine
with me.
Just, intertwine.

What kept me sane was knowing that
you were close.
What made me break was knowing that
you never left.

I cry a lot for myself.
I think about myself as a toddler. With a blonde,
choppy bob, and a mouth as big as my face. Those
little rows of perfectly aligned teeth grew to be
wonky in the centre.
Those bright eyes that held so much happiness,
somehow flood towns and rivers now.
That picture of my sister, mother, father and I,
huddled around a pub table. My cheeks are flushed,
my small red top so bright next to the blue and yellow of their shirts.

They all smile while I just stared, afraid;
Knowing something about the future I could never quite
comprehend.

I always expected more
than what I could ever get.
I woke up and smiled;
convinced; this is home.
This is it. All I ever wanted
and needed in this world,
here in this tiny space.
I can't remember when
I last did something
great. Meaningful.
Something you could be
proud of. Smiles and Pleas.
Like the sound of the bird outside
my window; fluttering like
a flag in the wind.
One gust could set her sail.
Set her free.
One slice of the knife sends the
carrot top rolling off the board;
onto the floor. Knock, Knock,
Knocking in panic on
the bathroom door.
One pull of the trigger
and I'll be asleep.
Far away from me...
Or rather...who I became in the end.

I'm telling you,
that if you feel an inkling that they are violent,
they make you scared,
they threaten you,
isolate you,
if they will love you to death
and not the romantic sort of love-you-to-death,
the scary, dark, horror-fueled death,
the one that makes your hair stand on edge when they enter a room sort of death,
leave you walking on egg-shells death,
their voices are glass covered in glitter death,
if they are your father, mother, step-dad, sister, best friend, roommate
anything or more,
leave.

They aren't worth your life.

My chest seems too tight to be true,
because all I seem to see is you,
so when he cries into your chest,
or when you smile my way,
I hope you know I held the gun
to the temple of my head
before today.
I hope they believe when they see the news,
that loving him killed you,
how death kissed your breast
and held your hands,
called you his lover
so you could kiss him back.
I pray you cry in the grave,
scratching at the lid of (y)our coffin,
and that you look over and see my eyes,
looking at you.
They're piercing, aren't they?

I swear to you,
the unstable heads of the masses are lacking hearts,
and in their places,
the empty, sickening hole,
the spongey, earthy remains of what used to be,
lie hollowed out carcasses of the devil,
next to their sycophants and empty graves.

I can hear you crying through the walls,
the muffled, choking of your feelings.
you're falling apart before my very soul,
and all I can do is knock on your door.

Her shoes are lost,
one in the closet, one out of the door,
one step to freedom before her parents
pick them up and throws them,
oblivious to the bang when they hit the wall.

BANG;
the knocking of adolescent hands,
on the closet door.

BANG;
the knocking that fell on deaf ears,
when the tears and pleas weren't sufficient.

BANG;
the children that want a chance at living their lives
in the warm embrace of their parents
arms,

and not in the warm embrace
of the fire;

burning their coffin to the ground.

I knew that they would break;
the wax sun and paper moon
that stood like clouds above the bed.
The ones that spoke like absent dreams,
when the teddy in my arms wasn't
enough.

Is there anything purer
than the gaze of a dog, laying
across your lap or curled to
the motion of your legs?
Feeling their heart beat
on your calf, ‘protect me’
they say, ‘as, in turn, I protect thee’
They sigh. Warm breath on cold nights.
Amber eyes if shone
directly at them.
Growling at something in
The corner; a moth or Baphomet,
but whats the difference in their gaze?
Loyal to the touch,
Loving to the heart,
Linked to the soul
And then;
they depart.

Our love is like an echo at the end of a hollowed-out tree trunk;
Catch me if you can or not at all.
However much you told me
that this was home,
the feeling of being grafted
leaves an impression
on the skin.
The story could never find a final sentence,
The poems are half-written
The words are never given.
I wonder if you understand how
Odd it is to stay up,
writing about people who actually live their lives
Whilst we are still avoiding ours.

Our love is like a car that has veered off the winding road,
and crashed, headfirst into a
Sleepless river.
It refuses to let us leave
because it fills us with warm water,
and hope of salvation,
with smiles and girls nights in,
with beers and old
fond memories of us in class,
And I wonder if the river ever thinks
About the relic’s it hides below it?
The people drowning.
The buried treasure and pure gold
Waiting to be drained and used
Like a doll to a child to a check to a businessman.

Our love is like a bottle of wine left unopened.
The sweet turns to sour-
The bubbles turn flat,
The cork is soggy and the red is a mess.
Sometimes I wonder if you even see this
House anymore?
How the pillows droop
And the flowers are dead
And the candles have melted
On the wooden tabletop in dread?
Tears stain the skirting boards like
blood splatter on the floor.
I just don't think I can do
us
Anymore.

There was a boy
I had never seen cry,
but every time someone mentioned home...
his voice began to waver,
and his eyes,
Well,
his eyes...
they misted...

This is an ode to my friends.
For the ones I've loved since day one
the ones I have learnt to love
and for the ones I hate to love.

This is for my friend,
for the one, I got drunk with first.
We stole a litre bottle of cider and four beers then drank them in the park at midnight.
This is an ode to my friend who cries at parties,
who swears he will die alone.
This is for my friend who laughs at every joke,
the **** and comedian but shakes when no one is looking.

This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who's grandma is dying but they
still, manage to draw on a smile and present a joke.
This is for my friend who has depression,
Or the friend who has anxiety,
and asks me to speak for her at restaurants,

This is an ode to my friends,
who is finally taking control of her body
after being trapped in the wrong one.
For the friend who is scared to leave the house
when it's icy because he might slip and hurt his ***.
For the friend, I fancied till I was sixteen,
and even though it's been years my lips still burn when
I look at her.

This is an ode to my friends who leave me out of conversations.
who have inside jokes they sprout when I'm around
This is for the ones that went to the movies to see the film they knew I was dying to see.
This is an ode to my friend,
who broke her leg whilst dancing in her favourite musical,
and the part was given to someone else.
This is for the friend whose mother died when she was 12
but she remains the strongest person ever.

This is an ode to those who
forget I'm their friend,
who ignore me when they're upset,
who  tell me daily that they love me,
who cry at Disney movies,
who laugh at videos of past times,
who  I hate that I adore,
who  I cry over,
because I can't make them happy anymore.

This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who is so self-conscious, he wears baggy jumpers to hide his stomach.
This is an ode to my friend who has scary parents,
for the friends who made a pyramid out of stones and raised a nation,
for the friends who try their hardest and still achieve nothing,
for my friends the world has seemingly forgotten,

This is an Ode to my friends,
the ones I know I will die loving,
they give me cups of tea with two sugars when I'm having a bad episode,
for the ones that cry when they hear a certain song, because it reminds them of when I tried to off myself in the toilet,
for the one that has never had a kiss,
for the one who refuses to get married.

This is an ode to my friends,
the family I chose,
the ones that send me stupid messages at four am,
then question why I'm awake so late.
For the friend that gets blackout drunk,
for the one with weak knees,
who, when she laughs, falls to the ground in a fit of giggles,
for the friends, I will marry, loving.
Speak now or forever hold your peace,

An ode to my friends,
who I love more than anything,
as we collapse through the stars,

I'll hear them laughing at a joke.

Days come and go like
people on a Ferris wheel.
Round and round,
up and down,
beating their heads side to
side like a tambourine
on a cruise ship;
sailing along
waiting for an iceberg
or something much cooler to hit it,
so they have something to talk about.
Far and wide; the great sea.
It seems so small and insecure compared
to everyone else's, and in the end we
all ripple and break in different ways.
No trickle of water holds the
same bubbles nor the same
shells but people say
blood is thicker than water
but even then...blood drains
leaving behind a coffee stain of memories
that you'd try to tell grandchildren before
your untimely death on the operating table.
"Don't forget that I drew the heart on the tree
in the park, the one with the X and O after it!"
They nod, uninterested, only after your funeral
they truly feel famished.
All the water in the world couldn't soothe their
burning, aching hearts;
'Grandma, come home...
Please...
I miss you.'