“Today”

When does it

stop sounding so serious?

When does it finally end

On a high note

curled up in someone else’s bed?

I don’t know if I should accept that.

A bright shiny skyline

hanging on someone else’s clothesline.

Severe

sincerity as a means to tell myself

I am alive.

The truth is

in the differences trapped

In my eyes.

There’s so much fear.

 

 

“Only Survivor”

My reflection told me that she’d pray for me,

arms crossed and lips in a pout.

I used to hate her.

Now I just feel worn out,

a sputtering candle,

forgoing oxygen for something else.

I’m drifting now.

This is a strange ocean,

filling up the corners of my mind.

There’s nothing worse than wet insulation.

I tried do-it-yourself,

with a hairdryer and some glue.

But there’s no fixing

this affliction

made of

black feathers,

awash in a mess of blue.

“Somebody Else”

A pair of scissors

resting in my palm.

This is a game

of chance.

Because there’s a moment

where I consider,

painting them red.

But I’d soon run out of paint,

so I don’t.

She was asking for it

though I don’t owe her anything.

How bold she was,

standing there with

my face as hers,

dressed in blue.

If this is what dreams are made of,

I must be made of something else.

“Be Human”

stranger in my own

skin can be ripped off,

and thrown aside.

what do you do with

these scraps of sadness,

pinned to your lover’s lapel

like a ruby red pin.

falling in the pitch

blackness as an old hatbox.

i think i closed the lid

and forgot how to breathe.

does that sound like nothing to you,

as I curl up on a square of white kitchen tile,

already cut through.

“Afflicted”

Crossing the abyss,

where my heart sits,

waiting.

She’s weeping,

ugly,

her thick legs stretched in front of her.

Stabbed with pins,

arms behind her back.

She’s surrounded.

No beauty, just a beast.

Her eyes won’t leave my face.

She won’t give up.

I know that, because she’s mine.

What should I do?

Her eyes implore me.

Now I’m the one crying

diseased tears,

ruining,

running.

She doesn’t understand:

I can’t.

I can’t free her.

I’m not enough,

I never will be.

Can I learn to love,

the way I see?

A tightrope walk of shame,

to be vulnerable.

Her ugliness is a feat of pure strength.

I wish I was that sharp.

“A Notorious Headache”

Loneliness of your own making,

your eyes are open,

and you find yourself in grips with it.

This fucking venom,

chronic and life-giving,

killing my ability to react.

Reflective, terrible,

it sits inside my chest,

and rests against my pulse.

Sometimes I can’t speak.

But I can see.

I can see the leaves,

and the way the sun dotes on them.

It’s beautiful and has its uses.

But it hurts.

Because I’m alone,

by choice, though.

Right?

“A Match Made in Blue”

Dreams are vain, vile creatures,

blind to everything that is not of their own making.

Strutting around, piled high with foolish nonsense and glittering promises.

But we love them anyway.

Orphaned from birth, they spend their lives searching for someone to nurture them.

We just so happen to be equipped for the job.

We ourselves are born with holes in our hearts and ghosts in our heads.

We as a species, are naturals at brave and blind perseverance.

So who is better to dream?

We don’t have much of a choice in the matter, it is what we were born to do.

We are also orphans, in a way.

Created out of sand,

so they say.

A grainy mannequin,

in the image of what we “should” be.

Fuck that.

I’d rather just dream.