I feel waves crashing down on me,
though I am nowhere by the sea
If I can’t trust myself
can I trust you?can you trust me?it hurts to be humanit hurts to errI indulgeI drink sadness and despairI breathe smoke, instead of airmy eyes burn from lack of tearsmy heart beats fast and weakwhen I confront my fearsmy blood-stained fleshis like this ink-stained fleshas I try to bleed outmy terrors and rageI’ll make you […]
just a bit of physical reciprocation
I’ll settle for a fractionor an indefinite decimaljust help me out a bit pleaseI know we’re trying to help ourselvesbut we hurt each otherbut we make each other feel goodbut we want such different thingsbut we want the same thingI know you want meyou know I want youI know I want youyou know you want […]
An ant cares less for me than I do him…
It hurts too much to write right now
I’ve been trying so hard to live without painbut the instantaneous dissipationof the only words I could mutterhas left the room empty.The reverberations of your footstepshave dissolved into the infinite,leaving mecold, trembling, and alone.
desire for
There is a part of me
so coarse and dryit cannot thrive inthe light of day cracked and bruisedthe blood tastesbitteras it grindsthe imageof others sanctuary insolemn solitudesilentlydivide separate self andothers as isolated as the moonamong the stars alone amidstthe galaxy
There was nothing
How I really feel about 18th century British Poetry
I really don’t fucking give a fucking rat shit about fucking Windsor fucking Forest by Pope. Fuck.