sometimes i am sick of talking to you
and you and you and him and her and them and us. 
there is a language that lives within silence
communicating so much more
as it takes the wheel and steers me in directions
i cannot find on the tip of my tongue.

i can feel it in the distance
growing and breathing in the corner
where i place unwanted objects 
under the blindspots and shadows
it is watching my every move
in sheer mockery.

it is waiting for the moment i do not need it most
to plunge back into my life
foraging through the thoughts i have left untouched
throwing them all towards my direction
like unfinished duties left like unwashed clothes
at my feet
forcing me to look at all the things 
that are wrong with me right now.

it is waiting to laugh in my face.
this language is brutal in its honesty
but i have learnt the art of conning the truth before.

this dirty, dirty contraption of heavy, crass pockets
filled with nonsensical thought-process
will one day dribble unto the forefront of my sight
until it is all i can see
and i become blinded 
once more
by a ruthless mind that does not forgive.

these unbecoming noises
they wake me up
they always wake me up
with their anguish and chaotic brilliance
urging me
they want me to respond
they want me to hear it all
to sift through the layers of a sickening black
until i am no longer myself
but an actor playing out the script of a twisted
addictive mind with nothing better to do 
than to infect its darkness
upon the lightest of shades.

but i have learnt the language of neglect
thundering through these waking days
where slumber is tucked into cracks for spiders to 
make home
and everything will taste like wine and tea for a while
as i stare into skies searching for moments the ground cannot give me
whilst this heavy mind screams its unnerving notes
its song for the restless
its song for the wicked.

everything rippled.

this is fucking bullshit. they warned me that this will come, but people are not aware that this is a constant stream of white noise. there is no good enough reason for me to feel like this, but i do anyway. i am unhealthily stubborn. deep down, every inch of my being is addicted to the mental abyss of fucked up thoughts and suffocating truths we just want to neglect and neglect and neglect, as we sink into the pit of distractions, distractions, distractions. i am going crazy and it is so fucking obvious but everyone just doesn’t have a fucking clue, and that is my fault, that is my fault because i make it look so fucking easy to handle the broken pieces of constant bullshit with care. i make it look like i am capable of holding the weight of every fucking problem and everything that is wrong with the world, i make it look normal enough because i do not want people standing around me with arms at the ready in case i fall, i don’t want people to feel the way i do, so i make it look like i am strong, when i am nothing but a liar who gets away with her wired state and constant fatigue. but i am not capable. i am not capable of holding even my own problems, therefore i am not capable of holding your problems, his problems, her problems, their problems, everyone’s fucking problems. i hear these words, familiar words, familiar feelings, everywhere, everyday, people trying so desperately to make this depression their own, when in reality, we all share the same fucking issues, we are all potential patients, we are all fuck ups. it never gets easier, it never gets better, and that’s just the fact. stop being so weak. stop being so frail. stop being so trusting. stop blaming, stop pointing fingers, stop being dramatic, stop judging, stop believing your own bullshit, stop challenging people you care about because they will never appreciate it, words fall as easy as rain, worth so little they aren’t even worth listening to anymore, because people will always choose their self pity over self reflection, because we are all time wasters, because we are all pretentious, because everything alive will die eventually, because some days, everything is a fucking lie.

i cannot decide if this is bearable. i cannot decide if this is acceptable. this limbo is killing me. this limbo is killing me. i don’t want to be here, right now, feeling wrong and unparalleled. i cannot breathe, i want to rip my skin off and hang them to dry and i want to dissolve, i want to dissolve into the air and sink into the floorboards, crawl up the walls, seep through the windows, i want to fucking vanish. i want to fucking vanish. i want to fucking vanish like airplanes and children and lighters and people you love. i want my mind to fucking die.

i don’t want to exist in your world. i don’t want to exist in anyone else’s world anymore.


these lips
bitten and bloodied
from frustration
hold the words of ache
that leave my mouth dry
coloured in wine as they 
bracket over cigarettes 
suffocating pleasure
moving silently
screaming words 
cutting through my mind
these arms these legs
scarred and tired
from the tugging 
the pushing and pulling and prying away
of everything trying to crush inwards
like the dark that 
curtains keep in
loud and forceful
these thoughts 
rape my mind
feeding my own poison
to the worst of my being
until all is heavy
bruised like 
these knuckles
this feigned happiness
always an easy disguise
they will believe 
the weight of a laughter
over the waves of tears
turned away
these eyes
squinted and sorrowful
they shine for 
they shine for