dead and gone

i see nothing.

i feel nothing.

i start a new life that holds

emptiness and i hold

chills in my hands

i see nothing.

i feel nothing.

yesterday blew away

and i am not looking

back because there's

nothing to look back on

i look forward to a hollow road

nothing is calling for me

i see nothing.

i feel nothing.

smelling chlorine and

overdosing on dark dark thoughts

listening to the same goddamn song

dead and gone

i see nothing.

i feel nothing.

i do not intend to wake up from

this spotlight dream of

a new me

an empty me

i see nothing.

i feel nothing.

and it's better this way.

mother told me

I'm just garbage dumped

by the roadside, I'm just the

picture on the wall they never notice,

I'm just how it's become, I'm

just the broken

glass of fused light bulbs, I'm just the girl

stabbed and forgotten, I'm just the debris of

explosion, I'm just the one who's

walked out on life, I'm just the one

who's lost her life,

I'm just the one who was born too easy, I'm just the accidental

suicides, I'm just a prayer ignored,

I'm just frozen memories

broken, I'm just a moth that loves

the lights, that blind

that kill.

There are still comforting days when

I think of dying

like sunset skies.

notes, write notes

i scribble i scribble i scribble

i want to say things i want to do things i want to

be things i want to

be.

let me be.

LET ME GO.

34 flashes of light

i am scalding my skin to find what

else is beneath it,

curling up on loose hair on the floor, watching

smoke escape my fingertips like dirty

secrets, dirty emotions

i try to hide under piles

and piles of transparent sheets

i still see right through me.

there are a number of things that still

flash under my mind like

the smile i fake when i fake i am

happy i am a pathological liar because

i feel real being somebody with

colossal stories, i am my own coloured

canvas that hurts my eyes because deep down i

see nothing but a monochrome dead-end.

i have succeeded in trying not to

cry, because my eyes now hurt

when i feel the prickles i spit out

i am dead deceased in my own world

where things no longer

exist like poolside memories

and love love is dead

love is

dead love

is dead.

i feel revived when i feel cold. cold like

english wind slapping you in the face.

the lights are burning out and i smell my

own sin i can see myself better in the

dark, because i am parallel to torn sheets of paper

and ripped emotions and

a pitfall.

one thing i hate about depression is

you can't pretend it's not there

because you can so obviously feel

it poisoning smiles and killing

sparkles of dreams that once mattered.

i still can't sleep what

do I make of me now?

the heartburn theory

inhale.

raging emotions.

inhale.

lock up. pile up. hide away.

exhale.

freedom.

everything is clear

you know things have changed

when you forget to look in the mirror

when you have to take pills

when you take a drag and

don't really care about saying 'fuck'

in front of your mother, it's never the same the way

i wake up in the mornings

not from sleep but

clogged spots in my mind

tainted

where you once dotted with red ink and

carved your name on my brain

like aboriginal art

you i was maybe

perhaps

could

but never will

i try to stay in a place

where time does not exist

for time is an illusion, they

tell me

so i try to make it stop

but i find myself skipping the parts

i wish to be in

life is drifting away like

seaweeds from a shore

and i'm following through

drowning

spluttering like

a helpless piece of

nothing

i sneeze a little louder but still

nobody hears me

i am getting old

i am getting deaf

i am getting blind

i am getting dumb

because i forget how to speak

and i don't see beauty

because i forget how to smile

and i forget how to feel

sun burns

dragon flies

heart breaks

i dream graphic dreams like head splattered on

car windows and splinters in your eyes

and they wonder why i do not sleep

those ignorant, innocent, happy fuckers

there was a time and a place where you had held

my life in the palm of your hands

and there was a time and a place

where you dropped me

and it's an abyss of which i can

never stop falling

so i try to space myself away from

physicality

and tear my soul apart like

how i did your love letters and photos

and movie tickets and your smell your memories

your life your life

i divide uneven proportions of myself

so perhaps when illusion breaks away and

i hit the bottom

it wouldn't hurt as much

for i'd already be broken.

blank paper

several dispositions several

conditions like the way

I like it a lot but am

sickened becaused

it makes me giddy 

until I am

weaker than broken

mirrors

showing me what nothing

is, and nothing

feels good.

several figments several

fragments cut apart

because I tear things

up so I can feel

whole, like the palm

of my hands that

hold nothing

and nothing

feels good.

Originate From The Park

Though we are under surfaces and

unable to connect

we will still find time to 

regenerate dead things

inside us

we'll put plasters over our hearts 

and sing "Don't Worry, Be 

Happy" - jumping cues and

high jacking planes

colourscolourscolours

Though we no longer say

'cheese!' and smile for 

reality

we will still find 

moments in us

to be content

we'll stretch out our painful

thoughts to make space for nothing

because we don't need

reasons to be happy

without reasons

-----------------

a halinot production. :)

for you, haziq

undressing

I am a full born hypochondriac. But I cannot breath. But I am real. But I cannot breath. But I am real, not real, real. I am?

I try to suffocate in cigarette smoke so I can fake surviving life, it's sick, I know, fucking sick. I float on dirty, grey clouds of my dirty, grey thoughts, where is the sun? I am a product, property, proprietor of my own demise, I cannot see further than where I stand. Where do I stand? I am the broken shards on your floor, reflecting your distortions. I want to, I want to, I want to - WHAT? I am loose on the edges, my thoughts are distracted like dead symphonies and the shadows of bright lights burnt out. I drown like vegetable in oyster sauce, I am my own peace and my own war. I drown because I want to, I shut myself because I feel safe twisting myself inwards, I stop caring because it takes
too
much
effort
and I put enough into learning how to breathe like an average human being. I am trying to be average. I find delight in little things like chocolate and favourite lines of a song, but that's about it, no more. I want what I want, but I know nothing of it, I will go wherever this confusion leads, I don't care much of precise directions. I swallow gutfulls of lies and emit twice as much, I don't even tell myself the truth anymore - you are still beautiful.

Oh, his jawline, his fingers,
the trail of his spine beneath his skin, I don't miss you, I swear. I see you, I see you there, but you are out of reach, maybe it's better that way, maybe not, it's not, it is. The coldness, the cold, it's burning because I have no correct sense, not since the phase of you, what I left myself in. I wallow, I fall, I hide behind walls and pillars and doors of what was once -. I dream nothing and it is beautiful, I wish to be this way forever, I don't wish to, I want to change, but where are the emotions? Eyes cracking like dry leaves, I am dehydrated of my own humane feelings, I dilute myself with self-satisfaction that is non-existent,
I thirst,
I thirst,
I thirst for what's gone.
And that's you,
that's me,
what's me?
Bleak, trodden and
splashed 

around 

like 

background 

paint.

I am used to control, I am
losing control. 

I watch things like rainbows, water and time seep through me and I am overwhelmed by things I can't claim my own. Like bitten fingernails and hair clogging up drainpipes. I never thought razor blades beautiful, anyway. I kid myself in fixing jigsaw puzzles when I don't even see logic in piecing breakable things together, like when he
gluedmeup
and danced me through the best hurricanes.
Yes, I tried to do it, I tried to, I had sex with it,
it made me bleed, yes,
the razor blade made me bleed.

I see you, I see you, I don't want you. You are like the stink in Birkenstock shoes and rusty diary keys, I would love to keep you, but there are things people throw away along with torn pages of a chapter. I understand myself lesser each day, and I think I no longer like mysteries. Lurking behind every blink, every step, every twitch of my finger, I can hear it, I hear it. It is the sound of it calling. The sound as hollow as its name, as gross as its meaning.

It will swallow me whole and I want to let it.

Emptiness. Take me.

I have run out of seconds and
third times are never lucky for me.

we are aftermaths

There are things
in its place
bottle caps, air
vents,
Indian sugar
But they don't matter
now, do they
now that you're gone
and everything
seems less beautiful
like maybe the hours
when I think of you
and the days when
I think to not
think of you
the days I smoke to not
cry for you
like the days I suffocate
in hours of you you you
and I swallow chewing gum
because the aftertaste
tastes like you.
There are things that
linger delicately
in corners I avoid,
I understand things
like meeting people or
washing hands or
listening to songs that
broadcast my heart
but after you,
the balance can never
sum up,
the plus signs are odd,
the numbers are
disfigured and I
cannot find you
because I don't want to
I want to, I shun
you, I keep you
closer
I become the effect of
your haunting memories
your voice your body
you are the part
of me that I
try to kill mute
you are gone.

-----------
a poem
Fiona and I