Lost in Space

I go walking in the rain to hide my tears,
Quite the cliche, but still,
A deluge against hot fears and chill,
It’s the only way I can stay standing,
Without understanding
Why.

Hate the cold, love the thrills, so
I learned to embrace all kinds of pills.
Sweet lies as they laugh,
‘Though for a second I feel well,
They are false promises by half,
That just bring darker hell.

I crawl into cracks,
Hiding from the doubt,
But I’m so fucking lost,
Am I crawling in or out?

Trembling, I tremble more.
Parts of space not seen before.
Stuck on the event horizon of my heart,
An endless fall into a deep black hole,
Major Tom, I’ve lost control.
I’vr become a total mess.
I ache more, I cry more. I become less.

Joke’s on me..


Didn’t get that far through ‘Joker’,
Before I started to cry.
I wouldn’t make a very good clown,
I couldn’t say why.

Movies I see in myself
Always tend bring me down,
Because people are cruel and unkind
To those with a different mind.

You’d have to look pretty hard to find
One more different than mine
Around here.

I can’t put a label on it,
Except that I don’t seem to fit
Around here.

But I still couldn’t tell you why,
A movie of a man who laughs
Is making me cry.

Your very own butterfly effect

As you no longer stand
Where you always stood,
This emptiness inside me is so
Poorly understood.
One hundred million butterflies
Together flapped their wings
The moment you departed.
A coiencedntal thing? That did far
More than leave me broken hearted,
Now it’s a massive tidalwave your
Butterflies have started.
As it looms, large above my shores,
I’m left without a life-boat,
All I have are wooden oars.
And although it means that I would drown,
If you need them,
They are yours.

..in a blaze of glory.

I bear the scars of your forty-fives,
You tried your best but I’m still alive.
You used two pistols and magazines,
Shot my heart and destroyed my dreams,
But a heart still works if it still cries,
And I cry.

I’m full of holes from your forty-fives,
You couldn’t have missed me if you tried,
But planned demise isn’t what it seems,
Because I survived all your plots and schemes,
And a thing’s alive if it still bleeds,
And I bleed.

Now I’m immune to your forty-fives,
And when you shoot me, I will still survive.
The slugs are out and the wounds are clean,
So go find better guns, if you’re still keen,
Cos a girl’s alive if she can dream,
And I dream.

Some Days

Some days
I don’t know that you exist,
On others, I don’t even really care.
Some days
I want to slit my wrists,
‘Tho I fear I’ll find but emptiness there.
On so many other days
I’m simply lost inside my brain,
At least the parts that still remain.
And if you cut me all apart,
You’ll find emptiness and pain, no sign of a heart.

But some days
I cannot unremember,
For the sun becomes an ember
When compared to you.
Some days
All that will exist
Are the parts of you I’ve kissed,
So at least I will have all of you.

Some days
You’re my everything.
Some days.

Sugary Bipolar Low

She brings me spun-shadow,
Like a cotton-candy treat,
Delicate, and deceptively sweet,
She says ‘taste of this’.

Already sugar high,
It’s so easy just to try
Spun sugar with a darker dye,
Just a bite.

But an insidious spiders web,
A sticky gossamer thread
Like fine, fine spun-sugar,
Gets inside your head.

Ensnares you there
In shadows.
Wraps around you,
Like a sticky quicksand glue.

Mired in darkness
That clings and brings
You down.
‘Taste of this’.

Spun-shadow.

‘It’s so much friendlier with two.’

Soulmates and lovers and
BAEs til the end.
They come and they go,
So I guess they pretend.
They all seem to break
When they should try to bend.
If you ask me the truth,
All I want is a friend.
My heart seems to ache,
It won’t bend, it will break,
Because all that I want is a friend.

Dear Santa..about that heart.

Where do the pieces of a broken heart go
If they’re too fragile to stitch, or you don’t know how to sew?
Are they put back together with some mystical glue,
Or is there somewhere you can go, to purchase one that’s new?

One thing’s for certain, it takes forever in time,
Fresh hearts are in demand, judging by the waiting line.
Installing a new heart must be hard, I’ve no doubt,
But I’m stuck at the part where your insides are your out.

This isn’t really new though, it’s not my first time ’round,
First-timers wait the longest, due to covering fresh ground.
I always ask for Adamantium, for a heart that cannot break,
But they keep giving me a glass one, and no choice but to take.

I never see who does it all, maybe it’s Santa Claus.
If he’s not received my letter yet,
I’d like to add this clause:

“Dear Santa, let’s just skip right to the end,
You can forgo all the material gifts,
If you’ll hurry up and mend
Me.”

Together Forever (not)

So this is what ‘forever’ looks like
From the other side.
A lot like broken promises
And echoes of goodbye.
Like everything you never got
But always thought you’d get.
Like each forgotten lonely grave
Of every childhood pet.
The only thing that’s certain is,
It looks a lot like loneliness.

Ungiven

There are plenty of moments
Of heartache I admit,
Some hurt more than others,
And those hurt quite a bit.
But nothing cut me open
As surely and as swift,
As when you walked up
And handed back all of my gifts.
The ones that had meaning,
Given over years.
But you just dumped them in my hands,
Ignoring all my tears.
I confess not knowing what to say,
Never having felt that way.
You walked away, left me to hold
Rejected pieces of my soul.

Irony

The meadowlark laughed.
Her singular propensity for disregarding
Guilt and sorrow
Made me think of you.
Everyday is such a perfect day
To be down.
Especially days when you’re around.
I try to tolerate such intolerable intolerance,
Given the chance. The circumstance.
It’s not the end
Of the world,
But I still fall
For the straight girl.

Coffee, tears, and misery.

The sun comes up, but you’re no longer here,
Just tangled up sheets and a pillow of tears.
Maybe I should thank you
For some madness in my morning,
At least it won’t be boring
This time.

I take comfort in my coffee cup,
Hide from feelings swirling up.
All that caffeinated sadness,
Barely holding back the madness.
If I could drink you down,
Would it make me drown
This time?

Grain

Sitting by the ocean with the break-up blues,
You’re in my head whatsoever I do.
You’re the irritating sand down inside my shoes,
You know I hate you, but I love you too.

I put my heart into a locket,
In an envelope inside my pocket.
Should I throw it in the ocean blue, or
Find someone else to give it to?
Somebody new.

I don’t know why you always reside
Embedded in my mind.
A single grain that got inside,
That one that I can’t find.

You’re an irritation to my heart,
The sand that I can’t lose.
But I know a place that I can start,
I’ll empty out my shoes.

Wreck

My life, the eponymous derailing train,
Out of control, and I’m feeling the same.
At least the wreck will be magnificent.
Read the news, see how it went,
My life in print, splashed across a page.
So unremarkable for someone my age,
She lived, she died, is what it will read.
The in-between is what I need.
So much time and room to grow,
I hope I do, before I go.

Bus Seat. (prosetry)

Sits uneasily, bus seat perfunctory.
A lump of hard plastic.
Stares through the once was window, now just a diary of scratches and rage.
Watches uncertain possibilities of herself huddling around trash-can fires, scrounging through back alleys behind steaming food stores.
Standing staring back with vacant yet accusing eyes.

Sees herself in the cracks.
The could have been.
Might have been.
Almost was.
Hot and heavy tears,
Almost unfallen,
Often unnoticed.
Always unsure.
Perhaps they fall for all the could-have-beens.
Perhaps they fall because I’m uncertain on which side of the glass I belong.
Feels lucky.

Feels guilty.
Hates the burden of this unwanted blame.
Unresolved guilt builds into anger.
Resents your unspoken accusations.
Sick with self-doubt about how true they may actually be.
Hates these imagined obligations of grief, twisted and embedded in my head.
All these not-so-very-unlikely possible, potential versions of me.

I hate them.
I hate you.
I hate myself.
I hate society, for making me feel as though I should constantly feel lucky.

Lucky to be as damaged and fucked up and empty as I really am.
Oh, so lucky.

Don’t say it..

The things you said
Have left me stunned.
I wouldn’t say those words
To anyone.

But the knives go in
And blood will run,
For you were not
The only one.

The worst is not how
They cut to bone.
But the feeling now,
I’m all alone.

You’ve said things
You can’t take back,
Then ask me
To forgive you that.

You act as though
There’s nought amiss,
But I don’t know
How to deal with this.

You act as though
There’s nothing wrong,
But everything’s wrong.
Everything’s wrong.