ade

purple, maroon
maybe a blue
chino.
i’ve seen you before
i’ve seen them
all before.

i suppose i better
rest now,
see how i feel
when i wake up.

the stars will
have moved,
some gone
completely.

i regret pinning
my hopes on them.

i struggled for sixteen years
and i felt it,
had i known then
what i know
now—
i’d have went mad.

i carry with me,
this golden lover of mine,
he carries for me
my dreams
and stuff.

he tells me a warm’s
gonna come, and
that tree in the
back yard - yeah that tree’s
gonna grow.

“that’d be nice”, i say
but it’s october now,
and i can feel the snow.

maybe it’s another
season, till my tree
grows.

or maybe the seed’s
a dud, an empty oak.

and maybe my dream’s
are duds, empty hopes.

and maybe my lover’s
not mine, a slut perhaps
a bloody bow.

so i’ll leave him
here for now
in my bed,
in my mind.

i walk quicker alone.

and if i had known
then, what i know
for certain now.

well i’d be writing
a different bloody poem.

and if it’s all wasted,
shall i pack up?
tell my mother
it’s just not
working-

and go.

this life isn’t for
me, refund, can i have
a refund please.

give it to that deady baby.
the one who never
took a breath.

there’s a few in my
family,
i’m sure they’d enjoy
it best.

that cold on my face,
that fire in my chest.

or maybe they wouldn’t.
maybe they just knew,
that no matter the
mouth, that all
breaths are
wasted.

so they didn’t breathe
and i did.

slip away
on a tide of cloth,
black bed makes for
dark dreams-

and i do not remember
that sinking feeling,
for the motion
is now my escape.

fall into arms
that do not soothe,
the heart— the vein,
arouses the soul

and torments it for
it’s lack of love.
careful am i?
so careful that

i look down at
cracks, at drains.
i wont fall, but up
i look at another chest.

another chest,
a big chest that
smother the mouth
and nose.

knowing not my
strength, i crack
a bone and if i leave
blood will flow.

but sorrow doesn’t
let me go,
when i take my head
from the pillow.

it feels like last year again, and i can’t write again, and i can’t think again, and i’m hating everybody again, and i want to be someone else again, and my family’s shit again, and it’s cold again, and i’m sad again, and i’m obsessed again, and i’m stuck again, and i’m telling it to tumblr again.

lover, when you wake
and find i have not stayed,
i hope you know i’m sorry
and have to break away.

nothing’s as sad as falling,
out of love or happiness
than being left alone
and forced to reminisce.

so i wont take your heart with me,
under my arm tightly held,
i’ll just cradle it in my thoughts
and my love will be well.

i’d rather have potential,
than a lack there of,
so a heart full of hope
is better than a heart full of love.

to fall in love with a man,
there was nothing sweeter,
and to have first touch of his hand,
there was nothing sweeter.

to cry for love, and to hate it so
i thought nothing was as bitter,
but to lose love, and have it go
nothing’s ever been so bitter.

the most painful thing

of all,

is to fall out of love,

and not land.

christ, the low brow
blinds the brown,
murky waters make
hardships for the
coy—

some luck? he has
none. eleven, eleven
he cries - what’s the time?
wet weeds

they loiter, no beauty
in these snakes
grapply at my heels
seethe and spit,
seethe and spit.

it rises like an
intangible mass of
dew holly—
is it october already?

an then it is gone,
that fat red coy
is in the sky again
but has it changed?

i remember blue,
has it foresaken me?
the clock, the crystal
eye of my grandfather.
am i sixteen again?

not so pure, my skin
so pale. a golden
eel of sin, a serpent
with eyes.

this is no eleven year,
no spring, this is
the descent - the mayans
rise? has time gone?

i ascend, at the beckon
of the snake charmer.
strong grip, quick tongue.
O, do i please?

eternal, i know you well.

and eating for the sake of it then wanting to have the body of a god and not reading or writing but wanting to be a writer and complaining about my lack of skill but i’m just an uggo so it doesn’t even matter anyway cause life’s just hilarious like that ain’t it guys ain’t it.

don’t be fooled,
bed sheets don’t
always make
lovers.

and don’t fall
prey to the charms
of someone who reads
plath.

just because he’s
in a church, doesn’t
make it any less
dirty.

if you reply to
that offer, then
there’s no going
back.

you say you like
it rough,
but you mean rough
love.

he says he likes
it rough, and
means a kiss and
a punch.

you give yourself
morals, and enjoy
the thrill of
breaking them.

but they don’t see
the battle you
fought, hell they can’t
even spell it.

collecting ages,
and scenarios
doesn’t fill your
book

so give it a rest,
cause you aren’t winning.
you felt more loved,
when you were just
texting.

this dully ache, is too
comfortable and if
you rest your thoughts,
you’ll only get tethered
down.

there is an absence,
too slight a thing,
that no one even noticed.

feet don’t stop
but thoughts do,
perhaps the biggest pain
of all.

clocks move quickly,
but do you mind?
maybe tomorrow you’ll
get lucky.

but there isn’t a
full moon tonight,
and your dreams will be
darker.

i can sell ‘em quick,
help you pick the
perfect pair even in the
dark.

but can you, in
your audi and your
tan, find mine? i think
not.

you don’t deserve
to know of it, since
you did not even
notice it.

so don’t patronise,
and save the advice,
i am a survivor at
sixteen.

i have discovered
it, the way of life
and i have already
lost it.