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

I once drew god a lullaby

The temptation drips down like
chocolate syrup on the slant of my lips
as I breath in uncanny
sounds, hot and heavy.

From the corner of my eye I see
him lying beside me and
he's smiling
waiting, he
makes it sweet, death,
he makes me smile
for it's been a while since
I last saw him
I feel real with him

with nothing, like before but
this time it's closer.

The day is quite painstakingly
bright
but it doesn't matter for
people don't fall in the dark
only by night.

My fingers are a shocking
cold, no longer parallel to warm
steady throbs I toy with
wedged between broken veins and scars beneath
my skin and
the sky is burning but I no longer
react.

The tempation drips down as
I lick my lips and taste
rust, and I'm falling into
my favourite dreams.

From the corner of my eye he
holds my hand, and the cold
from his fingertips
soothes, because death always
feels good at the palm of
your own hand.

It'll feel better soon,
when the throbbing stops
and pulse gives in to silence.

such a drug

there are certain things i have noticed since;
like how roads i found beautiful are now
just roads
and they sometimes scare me because i am reminded
of accidents and
abandonned bodies and lightning is so much prettier
on the palm of my hand than
in photographs

sometimes i forget to breath and have to
remind myself it is okay to
live a little while longer
because something on the other side is
pulling my curiosity
i think Ian Curtis and i could be good friends
when i kiss a boy i no longer feel
sweet but like expired products so
sour and wasted because i
kiss lips and dream of tobacco
seeping between my teeth into my lungs
because a body of deterioration only consumes
what's bad for it

there are certain things i cannot chase after
now like seven shooting stars
that left empty handed
because i had nothing in me to
wish for
and time
i can never stop time
so i
watch the skies turn brighter hoping for another shooting star because
i wish for a while
i had pushed myself deeper into sleep
so i never had to wake
to another day of figuring out
who i am

but reality
is always about what's too late and
out of reach

and so it is

sitting on windowpanes becoming
an addict before addiction
found me, i am strung onto words of
a song i love
and imageries of cigarettes in hand
but where do i find them, where
do they find me?

i own a sky full of stars and no one
but internal disasters
to share it with;
am i what they see, am i
the reality i had learnt to
dismiss?
are they what i see, are they
real?

Who draws the line?

the choice is there but I can't reach,
stuck behind a revolving wall of
mirrors refraining, restraining,
I watch myself running out
of control a million times, rushing
into holes; I pick & I drop,
like feathers from torn pillows,
the ones I suffocate within, the ones I cannot sleep on,
there are stories I start but
can't complete because they are
too much of me.

I will one day, in a room full of no one
stand up and make a speech about
all the things I could've been yet
did not find it inside myself
to actually be because
the shoes didn't fit and I
lived in sleepless nights
for too long.

lucifer is my best

one of those cages that
opens from the top bursting like
freedom
whispering 'come on, come on'
just to kill you because you can't fly;
the beasts dressed in red
singing 'hallelujah' because they
rebel like a punk anthem
and spit gold into my ears
because i have poor hearing;
like one of those nightmares
that leaves you laughing
because you are
what made it evil

bitter is not sweet

there are certain things that rile me up
like people who stare
and early hours though i
cannot sleep nights
because i stay up awake thinking of things that
rile me up there are certain things
that pin me down and squeeze away my breath
like men who steal me away and
music
and words
words

they are not just fucking words to mess
around with and they are not meant to be taken
away from me
my words

there are certain things that
make me sick
like wet socks and people who
play music without understanding music
and then there is
you

unfinished

i want to hold you just like
sound, i blend like black nail varnish
in dark rooms. Pink bands on my arm
I am now not your cause but
an effect
I want to skip days and find months, ticking away hours
like years gone by,
I see her waiting for me to
reach out because she
needs me like a vice versa.
I want to tear pages because he
was too young to die. I want to hold you
like rain and
sunlight so the terrible thoughts
go away.

----------
----------
i name this poem 'unfinished' because I really damn well wish i could just finish the pretty moments off. :) But, I suppose some things are just meant to come and go, leaving you breathless and smiling.
And some leave you with a pink wrist band around your arm saying 'remember me'.
Well, I won't forget you, and thank you for appearing for a day in my life.

stained cloth

when the dark stains grow from a
flow that won't cease, i'll shut my eyes and
count to three
giving each number a significant ring
one life
two chances
three slip-and-
falls
one foot in the grave and
the other on fire.

the same shadows tinted
with my lack of sleep, i can keep
minds dreaming while mine
runs free
but i can never, never
escape the four walls
i can never, never
escape the four walls.

i can hear rhyme in my head
but none escapes my lips but i
try to fake a smile and
sing in different keys
still wishing i could breathe

when the dark stains grow
and the flow won't cease, i'll
shut my eyes and make believe

that none of this is real.