when hope starts to sing along to your pain

oh how i tremble

oh how i tremble when i see my own familiar face
in the distance and i still find it hard to just grab hold

to just grab hold and reach for it.

i am standing at the cliff edge,
one that is big enough for
all the rest
this same cliff i once congratulated as a child for eating whole
snow white's queen
this is the cliff edge
the one with the strongest earth
because it can hold the masses at the tip of its finger

i never wanted to be here
but i'm here.
i'm here paying dull ache for falling
i fell for it, for fuck's sake
i fell for it, the convenience to not stick out
and stand there in numbers
growing numb
without any purpose;
to stand there and not have
the guts to even jump down
and somehow i am upset by this, but not because of the lack of movement

but actually because i cannot say anymore
yes i would do it again

just like that.

nothing can
further shame me from myself
i still blush at the way they look at me
eyes when they don't see i know they all are watching. i will not give up life
for isolation, it is as simple as that.

i can say my poems will
never be as cutthroat as they were before
but those words took a big part of my not many lives
and the words bled me out to
get out
now i can heal?

and on top of everything else, the way the world becomes so claustrophobic
because it is just you
getting sick of yourself
watching everyone
too busy getting sick of your 'condition' to realise you dont want any part of it
a second into the conscious next moment because
the eternal time to spend in that abyssmal black freefall
is actually piss boring to fuck, OH GOD PLEASE DON'T PUT ANYONE ELSE THERE FOR A WHILE!

Can everyone please listen to my plea.

she is behind me
she walks a lot alone now
that is how i lost her,
when the winds ripped her out of me because she had had enough
of the cold slaps
over and over
and my ribs could't take it so she
just stepped out

because of the wind,
that was how i am.

she is behind me
she is behind me, she is calling
my  name and she is crying.

she is crying for my return.

come on home
it's not the best of places,
remember how the curtains never shut
but remember all the colours?
it's not the best of places, i know,
but here is where you can salvage your hope;
that one that remains forsaken.

here is where you harnessed your weaknesses
to turn them into the strength you wanted it to be
when it best suited.
here is where you created your purpose,
remember hard, don't go on,
don't jump over the edge; we already know how it feels
we don't need this again
don't jump over the edge but stop
standing still; turn around

it is not going backwards if you are facing
your right way round

the vessels for your soul
are holding on for the dear life you have chosen
so why don't you
hold on for dear life too, because
it cannot survive a second time.

because the people may tell me
to save a life and a soul on the streets, like
it really would mean anything
because they could be doing what they ask you for, too.

1 comment:

  1. I enjoyed reading your poem.

    Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.