what the actual fuck is going on

 i thought i knew my poems well

but i read them now

and they taste stale

foreign words from a foreign mind.

i guess i am different now

new and improved, whatever the fuck that means.

i cannot make these bands play any louder, out of any speaker

because my white noise is the loudest

on the measure of the threshold of pain

my ears do not bleed

but i swear

my soul shakes

and i let it

because shaking is better than 

sleeping under covers and covers of 

all i have done that i will never

ever undo

i tried to be someone -

what the fuck does that mean?

these words, they are rolling through my mind and i do not know anymore

bahasa apa saya cakap, 

l'ombre viens, et je l'accepte

todas as vezes... 

pain is a friend,

pain is the housemate that leaves the dishes unwashed

and steals your tobacco yet judges you for drinking

and borrows money for rent yet never gets more milk when it is finished

the friend you get tired of, and try really hard

to bite your lip and not fucking bitch about

because you know how he feels

and yes, pain is a man

because only men can stand what we do to them.

i am a feminist who wishes i was a man

i do not identify with anyone or anything

i am hollow

like a husk

like a dead sea shell

i am the feminist that spits at your equality hype, you girls

i am proud that men exist and without them

we would know no love

don't talk to me until you know this

women disgrace me, if they think any less

of the other half of the universe

and to hurt a man

is the biggest sin a woman can ever do

call me submissive, and i will chain you to your bed

bitch

and fuck you with a man of my choice

fuck you

i hate who i am now but i kind of like her

this dead soul

who has so much life

resenting what i stood for and able to rebel with my own self

i am still getting to know her

33 years of age and still wondering if i learnt a damn fucking thing.

i learnt that i am never alone

tribe or death

or ancestors

it is all the same

their words are constant in my ear

my own personal tinnitus

melodic and static to its best as long as i turn down 3khz

and i learn to colour my white noise

and give them meaning

i guess that is why i became a sound engineer.

frequencies

they shake me

they break me

they heal me

but is my frequency healing?

or do i simply destroy what is there

is it necessary?

am i needed at all?

what the fuck am i doing here?

these seconds of calm

there is something peaceful in the grey

the clouds are heavy with emptiness
the weight of the planets lift
as they align.

the weight of you
shifts
as the door of my mind
slams shut behind you

i am boy harsher's rhythm.

there is chaos in this calm
the rain stands still on
hair that never dries
beds never made in rooms that
never breathe
there i lie with sciatica that never heals on these
broken meridians

this heart no longer breaks but
it still aches from time to time
from too many cigarettes and strange liquids that burn,
burn and burn.

sometimes i see where we all go in the end
and i like what i see
the mountains
the taste of sea and smell of ocean spray behind my song
the time i travel is not that far beyond
yet it is always the travel back to now
that takes another bite out of my soul
and time suddenly seems to run out

sometimes it feels like it could be just simply easier
to stay there
and let myself run out.