I tiptoe around the world
like I'm afraid to wake it up,
to draw attention to the clicks
my shoes make

Silence does pervade
while I sit idle on the sidelines,
never close to the centre,
here it is safe

In the background I fade,
observant but cautious,
already weary of this life
and all its pains

But here is a new day;
flickering eyelids do perceive it;
as long as I'm here I'll muse
but not participate

I tiptoe around the world,
not only to leave it undisturbed,
but to keep my soul still full
with the smallest ray

What a thief, a robber
Snatching away the precious
You hedonistic hoarder
Reducing beauty to mere corpses
You scoundrel, you criminal
Plucking memories from unknowing brains
Cold, uncaring, terrible
Burning down the smallest speck to flames
Everything stained by your touch
Slowly disintegrates into dust
Those unfortunate to witness your power
Trudges through every day, every hour
Forced to undergo the withering of bones
No warning, no apology, just more tomorrows
Acknowledge you do not, of the misery you inflict
Pain and strife is naught, but a side effect of your whims
Imprisoned in your snare, only one path to walk
Forever forwards while death looms and stalks
Escape through only its means, and only on its terms
Sadistic torturer queen, reigning your kingdom of hurt
So shall we put you on trial, for your innumerable crimes
Send you to the gallows, compensation for all those who die
By your hands we hope to declaw, by your malicious laws
Entropy wins and defeats, we cower to the floor
As long as you exist, it can always be ensured
We shall remain your victims forevermore

An angel kissed me last night
Floating from the ceiling he glowed
Cast the room in a shimmering light
Bathing the darkness with hope
Levitating off my half awaken form
With scarcely any movement made
Gradually luring me from my slumber
To see his enchanting face
His softened eyes, his smile sweet
As he extended a delicate hand
Fingertips gently caressing my cheek
A wordless greeting, a subtle command
His wings surrounded and enveloped us
Brushstrokes of feathers glimmering white
While the halo on his head was set ablaze
Spellbinding me without any fright
I sought his embrace, starstruck by his grace
As he leant down and brought his lips to mine
He gave me a kiss so warm and divine
Melting with devotion into the sublime
But his body was fading in and out of the air
A wisp of a silhouette in the atmosphere
My hands desperately hunted through the dark
To hold him close before he disappeared
"Come back," I whispered. "Please stay with me."
But he vanished then without a goodbye
Gifting me with the memory of his touch
Lingering on my skin from that night
I cherish dear and precious in my heart
When I found relief there in his arms

I want the air to surround me, hug me,
losing myself in its invisible arms
and therefore finding something meaningful
in its transparent substance.
I do not want to cower from the implications
that I am so dependent on this traceless vapour.
Make me crave you, I think, hoping it hears my wish,
welcome me as I so desperately want to welcome you.
So I stand paralysed staring into the unknown,
the endless vortex of existence,
hypnotising me with its mystery, torment and beauty,
divinity, chaos and serenity;
the paradox of living and reality.
To be a human is to be a reflection of the dazzling mess of life;
how can I not take in the wonders of the universe each time I inhale?
My breath is power, the air my hero,
it gives me strength even in times I fight ruthlessly against it.
What is this strange instinct, this stubborn ingrained desire,
this anonymous impulse that never changes or falters?
Why won't it tell me what it's here for, why it persists,
I want to be informed on what it has to offer me.
So show me, I say to nothing, come out and reveal your secrets,
stop your hiding and give me everything there is to know, consume, devour.
I want to be nourished with it, overwhelmed with it,
so show me that this life is worth living.
The vast and depthless road of reality stretches out for so long it scares me,
the plethora of choices, unlimited possibilities,
fear traps me, foolishly, I allow it to strike me
in every way, shape and form
even when I told it to do everything it can to excite me.
It kept its promise well it seemed, it obeyed my order,
now I'm stuck between two states, helpless and frozen.
It turns out I'm not really sure I can handle it.
It turns out I'm not really sure what I want, ever.

i want to lose my breath kissing your lips,
floating over the ocean before we start to sink.
the mystery in your eyes, softness in your fingertips,
inviting me in with a pull of my hips.

i want to lose my mind to your voice,
surrendering to the words of your choice.
the orders you give, the melody in the noise,
offering us a chance to rejoice.

i want to lose my control in your hands,
melting the instant i catch your glance.
the directions you imply, the motion of the dance,
obeying every one of your commands.

i want to lose my body in your touch,
trembling hopelessly in your clutch.
the smoothness of our skin, overflowing with want,
levitating freely until we get enough.

i want to lose my heart to your desire,
merging our souls so they can shine.
the soaring of our spirits, burning eternally bright,
glowing with tangible love every night.

Why, I ask the sheets of my bed,
the warmth of the covers on me, the pillow rested comfortably.
Why, I ask the shadows in the corner of my room,
the specks of paint on my walls, the chipped wood on my door.
Why, I ask the hour of midnight,
the endless well of darkness, the undisrupted quietness.
The flickers of a flame, the ripples of an ocean,
the peak of a mountain, the trunk of a tree,
the sand of a beach, the coldness of snow,
the petals of a flower, the whistling of a breeze.
Why, I ask the world.
But it keeps its lips sealed tight.

words of venom
dripping with poison
tongue armed with blades sharpened

words of contempt
soaked in malice
and barely unrestrained violence

directed at the unsuspecting victim
darts hurled as hard as i can throw them
piercing deep and scarring wide
tearing through layers of fragile pride

words of disgust
burning with scorn
lips parted for a torrent of rage

words of hatred
snarled in distaste
and unleashed from the tongue’s cage

aimed with precision and thoughtless indulgence
a gleeful abundance of countless insults
surging restlessly and encouraging the feed
the ardent addiction of foolish greed

but the words always manage to come back
recoiling at first then ready to attack
because they bounce off the surface of the mirror
the reflection of my face as they cut deeper
sinking inside to wrench a hand round my throat
stopping my breath to not further demote

but the words always inflict the damage intended
and here they seep into my subconscious
watch them spread, watch them burrow
and feel them multiply my sorrows
because the words are always present at any time
they, after all, come from my own mind.

The afternoon sun slides over the horizon,
giving the sky a kiss goodbye
and leaving the clouds blushing pink,
floating with bliss as they watch the sun sink

It switches places with the moon
who gives the sky a kiss hello
and is greeted with the stars' glow
Millions of dreamy eyes watch from below
as they begin the world's favourite show
The moon dances in their twinkling spotlight
receiving applause and bouquets all through the night

Once the moon is finished it gives a final bow
and slips from the stage, disappearing through the curtains
The sun then brushes the waking world
with a loving wave of its hand,
its strokes doing its own special dance,
leaving clouds fluffed and meadows shining,
song birds singing and faces smiling

And when the afternoon hour is upon the world
the dance of the two orbs start again,
circling around the planet of blue,
one a large golden flame, the other a glistening grey hue,
providing comfort and security, taking care of this little globe,
so full of potential and purity.
And the people below celebrate,
showering them with gratitude,
songs, poems, prayers, paintings and rituals,
welcoming them both with open arms
The eternal ballroom goes on until the end of time
safe and alive in everyone's hearts.

Old habits never die
They just stay in the shadows and hide
They lurk and linger beneath the surface of your mind
Waiting for the perfect moment to strike
Slowly creeping out when they feel it's time

Old habits never fade
They just trick you into thinking they've shrunk away
One night they're gone, then they surprise you the next day
"Remember us? We've come out to play."
Because old habits always stay

A reminder, a memory, a haunting a curse
Reciting all the things you've learnt
Retracing the steps you thought you forgot
A well rehearsed line, a feeling that doesn't subside
A vice that only grows tighter over time
Because old habits never die.

my heart has learnt to move to the rhythm of your touch
your fingers wave the spell, and it starts to dance
sweeps across my skin, and it slips into a trance
it has memorised the steps, and remains mesmerised
even now, long after the puppet strings have been cut,
still it sways to the memory of our dance,
any song sending it flying, mystified.
forgive its foolishness;
it is too familiar, it is too
easily reminded.

i wish life was a video recorder,
so i could capture this moment and rewind it,
or a tattoo you could imprint within your brain.
me and you in ikea, hidden in the zipped up tent,
where we laughed in whispers and kissed in secret
the muffled sound of empire of the sun drifting through the fabric,
the soundtrack to our movie, the finishing touch to our painting.
i now hang it in the gallery of my mind,
revisiting it in times where i miss you,
along with the blue plastic flower i bought for the both of us,
tucked safely above my desk, a halo reminiscent
of our glow.
i wonder if you still have yours.
and i wonder if you think of me whenever you hear that song,
echoing faintly down the halls of your internal gallery.

taunting, twisting
laughing from the shadows
mocking, visiting
me in my worst hours
they’re toxic and dangerous
showing happiness in times there’s not
addictive and scandalous
give me more of what i haven’t got
send me hoping and praying
reality will give me those moments again
hopeless and replaying
better pasts disappearing away
i warp them, manipulate them
worship them, mutilate them
make it hurt less to cope
as they taunt and mock and twist
the knife further into fragile hope
cruel puppet strings they are
playing with a vulnerable mind
all the better to forget
wishing this will be the last time

the imagination can be the cruelest thing
because it's not reality that hurts the most
it's the wanting of a new one
and realising
that you cannot have it.

when i catch myself dreaming
i pay attention and listen
to your heartbeat that's found
in my own when it's missing

I like the world at 3 pm,
where the lights are out and the streets are silent,
raindrops tiptoeing on the glass
giving me comfort in the lonely space,
the house settles for sleep in a softening hum.
My mind bursts to life in swirling colours;
I could open the front door and run out,
lie down on the road and count the stars,
watching them dance and spin in glitter and glam.
I could escape on an empty train
and watch the world fly past in a blurred daze,
still and unmoving and dreaming,
taking its residents amongst flights of desire,
of higher planes and greater distances
while lying motionless in their bed, warm
and for a second, at peace.
I can wish the world away and retreat
to the playful corners and trick mirrors of my mind,
open my soul with hidden keys and unlimited time,
but for now the universe drifts amongst the sky
with an welcoming invitation to its home,
and I watch with wonder and awe,
floating within the galaxy's embracing arms,
letting it open my doors for me
and opening its own in return.

I could
kiss you without meaning,
touch you without feeling,
let thoughts of you fade in with shadows of my mind
passing and unimportant and
fleeting.

I could
pull such empty phrases,
empty my heart of lonely senses
let thoughts of you run wild only with
your skin to mine burning with desire.

But I can't
get back to the past,
there's no point in denying
late at night I find myself thinking
of you more often,
late at night my heart isn't lying.
I can't feel
soft hands and warm arms I want back,
secret notes of wind chime laughs
even though I can't stop myself
from trying.

I could
stop myself
from sinking into the memories
but there's no point in denying
maybe I'm missing you more often.
Maybe that would explain the crying.

what a foolish thing to do
to think of you,
and so late and quiet in the night too.
if you were here
and together were we
i couldn't keep from being a fool to you.
confide in you, so close beside you
and forget my lessons from before.
the past happened to show me
i can't be a fool for you no more.

I thought of you again last night.
Dooming myself to repeat the mistake
of revising the memory of a muted light,
our quickened breaths, our hearts on fire.
I visioned a fantasy of you last night,
where my house is empty and silent,
and the heat tells the truth of what I really want to do,
taste the lips that once belonged to me so violent.
I hated you again last night
for how you make me so vulnerable to miss
a body to hold next to me in bed
the countless times you gave me bliss.
The times when the aching of my heart only meant
I had too much love to share,
and not the selfish need of wanting to feed,
to lust and touch and cast away cares.
I thought of how late in the night
our new year's day dance is not all I want back,
I want the comfort of your smile as you so confidently say
you love me like you did on a now distant day.
But I thought of you again last night
in the only way I know how to,
shedding the meaning of my lonely pain
for a momentary passionate touch of you.
I thought of you again last night
and promised myself this time was the last,
for I cannot spend the night longing for a kiss
I know I will never get back.

I know if we met again
and by chance, alone at your door,
we happened to kiss even passionately,
it wouldn't be the same as before.
I know the masks of stubborn pride
and the fake replica of it all
if we tried to recreate whatever connection
there might have been before.
If we tried to meet without quivering lips
and hurt memories running through our eyes,
then by chance, we could have one last dance
but for now it's all a lie
I know I won't be meeting you again,
there will be no knock on your door,
outside my dreams the passion is gone,
there is no hope for us anymore.
Outside my dreams it won't ever be the same
as before.

they come in the night
whispering, crackling voices
in my mind
hissing, cracking through the surface
when out are the lights
they come in shapes and sizes
and voodoo dance before my eyes
cackling, lurking
in my mind.
they come in the night.

i know you think
flaws do not apply to you
when you disentangled our strings
and pretended i was a stranger
but it's the other way round
for you are the stranger i barely recognise
resembling little of what i know,
of what i used to see.
thanks for reminding me
how messed up i am.
but at least i'm not a fake
and warp myself for other's sake.
see, i'd rather be myself and alone
than wear a mask and have millions.
i just thought
you were better
than that.

I want to find the words
to explain to you
how incomplete my heart feels
without the strings bounding yours to it
but how can I say anything
when I've realised I've lost something
I thought I knew,
even after all the time spent with them.

They're just another memory
made to be laid to rest and fade away.
It's hard to know I find myself not able
to say anything
to someone who I don't recognise,
someone who's now become a stranger to me
once again.

my life is like a glass,
it isn't empty but there's very little water.
and it's not the type of water
that tastes better than usual;
it's just flat and bland,
not even lapping like calming beach waves,
or an excited dog.
it just sits motionless in its trap,
transparent and devoid of colour.

be careful with who you put your heart on your sleeve for;
they might accidentally crush it when reaching for your hand.


l . c

don't just give yourself a planet or a star.
give yourself a whole galaxy,
be every swirl of cosmic matter you can find,
and never let a black hole
take away your shine.

am i scared of living without you,
or just scared of being alone

it's strange the rides your mind partakes in while it sits still in your head.
i am unmoving, staring at the endless rows of grey spotted ceiling tiles from a bed, while my mind cartwheels and bursts into flames, cosmic colour, ribbon dancing through its many seasons during my quiet sit down. it swims through galaxies with graceful strokes, leaping joyfully into nebulas and leaving behind a shimmering trail of sparks. it speaks in starlight and dances hand in hand with planets.
the peaceful space of the space in my mind
bursts to life.

I wish my head would stop turning in the direction of my phone,
waiting with batted breath for the writing of text, an indication you're still awake.
I wish I wouldn't fill up with overwhelming waters of disappointment,
because I already know that you won't reply.
I wish you would text me first because I don't want to seem clingy.
I wish I could stop my eyes from glancing at your name every five seconds,
wishing it was a name belonging to a person I didn't want to need.
I wish I didn't miss you so late at night.

gather up all the colours of your life,
hold on to your collection of stars,
so when the world decides to turn grey,
you can still find your rainbow in the sky,
no matter how dim the beam may be.

sometimes i do not know where my life is heading,
where the roads are leading me.
i know my mind travels through space and time,
through shining galaxies of wonder and ripping black holes,
meeting at the ends of the earth with a crashing wave.
but i do not know whether there is a lighthouse nearby,
whose light shines me a way out of the dark,
pointing to a place where i can rest my aching bones.
i do not know which colour my soul is yet,
still picking away at the palettes that change every day.
sometimes i do not know whether to laugh or cry,
and why sometimes it is best to do both.
sometimes i feels stuck, like a box has caved in on my surroundings,
metal, not cardboard, so even the mightiest of pokes can't break its surface.
sometimes i feel time draining away from me,
slipping through even the tightest of grasps of my fingers,
disappearing like an air of smoke in a misty lake,
and i cannot swim fast or hard enough to catch it.
and sometimes i feel like i am wasting my life,
and the smiles, real and pure, of everyone i meet, determine one thing:
they are using their time wisely, happily.
thoughts of storms do not linger in their brain long enough to shatter the roof and let raindrops pour down their eyes.
and i don't know whether to feel jealous or sad,
or cast feelings away altogether until i am nothing but a shell.
but most of the time, i do know for sure,
i am just always unsure on how to feel.

take time learning all the sides of your soul.
be gentle with your hands as you rest them assured on yourself,
be loving with your heart to your mind.
be careful on the stepping stones, waves underneath might crash
and keep you off course.
think about what stops you from sleeping at night, and
why your bed keeps you trapped in the morning.
life may not always be a rainbow,
but neither does the colour black stick permanently to your canvas.
learn to paint it with as many shades as you can;
you control the brush.

if you feed your monsters they will grow.
instead, laugh in their face and give no indication of attention,
except a wave of the hand,
shrinking them back into their dark corners.

if this is love then it is both selfish and selfless.
i am selfish because thinking of you spending and enjoying time with other people can't help but stake me.
i am selfish for wanting you all to myself.
i am selfish for getting suicidally jealous.
but i am selfless for wanting to give every part of me to share with you,
like a jigsaw puzzle waiting desperately to be complete.
is love a synonym for pain?
why is it often associated with happiness when it is mostly the opposite?
why must love come with a risk of broken hearts and no cure,
with dangers and stepping stones made of land mines,
days filled with misery unpredictable?
love may be breathtaking, in both meanings:
it enchants you and it eventually kills you.
it drains you and it pains you.
it brings out the fool and whining and the mess,
and why must i get myself into this?
because love pulled me towards you.
a waste of time this may be but ignore the warnings i do,
for you make it worthwhile, the bitterness and jealousy,
an experience i'd rather not miss out on,
even if it ***** me dry from missing you all the time.
and am i filled with regret?
i think not.

your hands feel like fireplaces in mine,
and the bed is an ocean for us to float upon,
coiled around each other like colourful bits of ribbon,
lips connected with a single effortless touch
and skin shaking under wandering fingers.
i open myself up to you like a galaxy,
and even though the room is a dim spotlight,
i see you make up all the shine of the stars.
and though sleep lies heavy amongst the world,
and night has now rolled under,
you are my sky of suns, my favourite memory,
wrapped up in the sweet essence of us.
i would rather time stutter on its breath,
so i could relive this moment in your arms
til my dying day.

I will learn how to swim.
I will steady my breaths and relax my aching chest,
my hands cupping the water in a loving embrace.
The rough waves will not frighten me away,
I will view them as inviting to splash in.

I will learn how to ease my arms
and kick my legs through powerful torrents,
not stopping even when crashes of blue stake me,
even when the pain runs throbbing through my body.

I will learn how to conquer the storm
and be one with the fish,
unafraid and invincible
through the sharp broken shells,
swimming towards the light of the underneath corals.
I will pass ships with pride and be brave enough to close my eyes,
using the sea as my resting pillow.

I will learn how to swim.
And against the waves I will win.

it's the little things, like
sleeping in on purpose so your appointment gets cancelled,
or avoiding texts from a friend
because you know they like to talk too much
and you'd rather not talk to anyone.
it's lying to your friend group that you have work to do at lunch,
and spend time in the library trying not to fall apart.
it's the crying before dinner and worrying if your family might've noticed your red eyes.
it's the late nights of trying to fill your brain with something
but you're too numb to think of anything to distract you from the weighing of your chest.
it's the self pity you feel when reading back on old diary entries - pages upon pages of written sadness -
and the confused unrecognizable soul you see in the mirror,
with shaking hands and the same clothes on from last week.
it's the plans you fail to do, like simply going out,
lying to yourself there will be a next time.
it's forgetting to get out of bed and spending 4 hours sitting still in the dark trying to figure out what is wrong with you.
it's the strain of your hand when you're writing a stream of thoughts you could never show anyone.
it's wishing you didn't have the ability to think sometimes.

My new neighbour depression,
lives in a house rotting in the ground,
scarred wood torn away and roof tiles scattered,
with garden flowers withering away,
trees cracking at the slightest move of the wind.
Ever since he moved in a storm cloud
hangs low over the neighbourhood,
soaking my lawn and treading on my grass.
My neighbour depression
throws heavy stones to crack my windows,
leaves untidily scrawled messages of hatred in my letterbox,
leaving a trail of black paint up to his backgate.
My neighbour depression
takes advantage of my protection of thin walls,
and each day attempts to crash through them like a wrecking ball,
slowly dimming my lights and making shadows in my room
appear darker and bigger.
My neighbour depression
walks down the street like a black hole,
******* out all the sound around him.
And my neighbour depression
is starting to make me forget what my voice sounded like.

i'm not sure how to not feel like i've forgotten how to breathe
when i think of how you're having fun without me,
and the lost time you could be spending with me
wasted on other people.
it's selfish jealousy that riddles me with a heavy chest,
teary eyes, and it's pathetic.
but i love you to the point it hurts,
to the conclusion that i don't want anyone else in your presence.
but for now i'll stare silently at my wall,
trying to pretend i don't know you,
and trying desperately not to flood myself with
mindless wanting.
i miss you.
and i'm trying not to hate you for my own selfish reasons.

i once had a teacher say to the class "use this free time to space out"
and i couldn't help but laugh and wonder
the dangers of that activity once i ventured into the depths of my mind.
see, a good idea that was not for me.
i've spent enough countless moments and wasted time in my own head to memorise how skipping away into it went.
you do not skip, first off; a tightening rope bounds your legs and demands you to stumble into an endless pit.
rain plummets like bombs upon your unfeeling grey skin,
and a dark shadow's sharp nails dig into your chest
and leave a gaping hole, unwilling to be fulfilled.
your throat closes like the door behind you, so there's not escape,
no screams ready to echo off your prison cells walls,
no hands steady enough to reach out for an exit,
just the blind mistake of opening up a trapdoor,
like an alleyway where you live in fear of each corner you turn into,
and falling into the arms of laughing silhouettes of embodied tears,
whispering lies of how you'll be safe with them,
dimming the light and muting all sounds until
only your thoughts can keep you company,
burning static and fuzzy against your aching brain,
and handing you the long list of reasons
why a smile shouldn't be on your face.
so teacher, may i laugh again at the suggestion,
and shake my head in disagreement,
because believe me,
i do not want to live through that
again.

i'm taking in your scent that still lingers against my hands
before i go to sleep,
to remind me one last time of the day i had with you,
and to pretend you're here whispering goodnight
with soft protective arms wrapped around me.

I’m just a more miserable version of myself
and my pen is my weapon that it uses,
Leaking out the gas I consume
and fogging the paper with words of death.
It carves out my pain to a permanent grave,
doing the bleeding for me,
slashing across the page; ink runs,
tears run, but I
can’t run.

I do not want to feel the pain of missing you.
I don't want to walk to the end of my street without a hand to hold, and I don't want to stare at sunsets alone.
I don't want to sit next to an empty swing at the parks we roamed, and I don't want to only bid you goodnight through meaningless letters.
I don't wish to seek the comfort you bring, and the dull ache that follows when you can't. I don't wish to be so dependent on your presence.
I do not want to love you in the way not spending time with you stakes me.
But I still love you in the way missing you means ultimate sadness.

To be in love is to be sad,
when your side doesn't meet mine in bed,
when a message sent stays unread,
when not even a day with you fulfils
the ever filling cup of need I have for you.

To be in love is to be scared,
if this time is the last to hold your hand,
if you've had a change of heart,
if you're not sharing enough of what
I want to give to you.

To be in love is lonely,
thinking of all the time lost when it's not shared with you,
wanting to slip in the bodies of other people you talk to,
just so I can be close and never miss out on you.

But to be in love is to be comforted,
a reassuring shoulder for tears to splatter on,
a lantern in the dark, a hose to the fire;
to be in love is to smile, to free the mind and soul,
to entwine heartbeats even when days grow old.
To be in love is to be fearless.

To be in love with you
is worth it.

i shall remain as a hidden piece of a puzzle,
puzzling myself to pieces on why storms
swirl daily around the absence of my brain.
and on this rainy friday afternoon it should be no different;
wondering how i came to be, perched away
in the back of the room to watch a flood of unfamiliar smiles.
when did i become so lonely and outcast?
the dread of not liking most of the people i'm around dawns
and my jagged edges of a puzzle piece emphasise.
i do not fit with these people. they are
too sure on their happiness.

knees;
games too rough and concrete too hard,
a cry heard from across the park,
a healed wound covered by a playful sticking,
and a slip up cared for and forgotten.
i can carry on with a smile;
i had thicker skin when i was younger,
times when tears were only shed at accidents.

heart;
a once unrecognisable beat of ecstasy,
put on repeat when your face surfaced,
when your fingers met my surface,
but they soon dug in too deep and left scars.
now pieces lie around my feet and red drops
leave my aching hollow chest from where you took
a once alive merchandise of our love.

nose;
too much caring leaves me astray
in a dark city awaking at late hours,
craving something that can leave me numb
and forgetting parts of my thoughts exist.
trails of white disappear in a sniff,
a sigh of relief, and i know just for now
i am not doomed.

wrist;
a bathroom door locked,
water running freely just as crimson joins it.
watching the flood of the last thing i feel
as skin stains, eyes drain,
nothing is worth it.
i am doomed but at least i
controlled it.

do not waste your time.
fleeting is life through the slippery grasp of your fingers' attempt.
the past was not made to be repeated
or present.
do not trap yourself within it's reach.
there is never a warm up for the future;
hurry to catch up before you get
too cold.

They use soft gentle tones,
as if the scream of already known truth
is feared to burst my eardrums
and shatter my seemingly delicate china glass
of a soul.
I am not as broken as they think I am.
My mind may be frayed in places but
never do the patches become too worn and the seams
unravel and burst against my will.
They can throw all their unintelligent thoughts at me
and mistaken my non-catching for clumsiness.
But I have myself by my side and that is all that is needed.
Pity is a misguide and a sentence of the weak,
and I know I am better.
They are wrong, and
I am strong.