I’m sitting in the passenger seat,
I have not showered in two days.
This trip was worth it though.
I sit quietly, listening to music
and my friends gentle voices singing along.
We are headed home,
but this feels like a home that I won’t find elsewhere."
We pass our days with
Empty stomachs and wild hearts
Hungry for something more,
More than the paper and waste;
Lust for life in technicolour
Biting at the bit between our
Fanged teeth, lips dripping with
The elixir we sucked from the
Dying corpse of the past
Running with abandoned violence
Between trees and car parks,
The grey monotony in which we were bred
And if we scream, don’t listen
And if we cry, ignore us
For the sounds we wrench from our throats
Are a feeble replacement, a weak ghost
Of the voice that was stolen from us
So many moons ago.
i am afraid
so i write down words
to make sense of things
but i am a jumbled mess
i am scrapped thoughts
resting on the floorboards
and i am a fire hazard
I tell them about how I love the winter.
How I love the cold breeze that sends shivers up my spine, or the comforting happiness around the time of the holidays.
How I love snuggling up in a warm blanket when life is too much to handle, or chugging down hot chocolate after sitting outside for hours.
How I love indulging in the beautiful Christmas decorations, or simply sleeping in for two weeks.
But as much as it pains me to say, it’s all a lie.
It’s such a fucking lie.
The heart breaking truth is that during the winter I can tear myself apart with my cold, bloody blades. And no one will think twice as to why I have long sleeves on."
I feel bumps along my hands,
home to the gravestones and
ghosts of the people I once
held close but lost, nevertheless,
to a cruel world and unjust hearts.
I know they still haunt me even
though they should be long gone
in their worlds and I am just an
enabler to all of these chills
but I can’t help wanting to
keep them around for they
were people I once loved.
I can tell they are slowly killing
me but I don’t seem to care
because I keep on believing
that if I just die now,
I’ll be able to meet them again—
but I’m not entirely sure I can
take seeing others hold their hands
as tightly as I once held them.
But all those pieces are better off
Than I ever was when I was whole"