philosophy has lost its appealYour absence isn't the elephant in the room;
It’s the invisible parasites lounging in the floorboards
Just writhing for a taste of lonely flesh.
My repaired left half is gone;
Without you, I’m faulty once more:
The half-blind broken wind-up doll is here again.
There aren't words to describe the emptiness:
just return soon.
tencourage must be a dominant trait,ten2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for how else could you handle
a pin-pulled grenade
with such delicacy
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost,i don't need to sell my soul2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stylish arsonists + I still
escaping from your lips
1,001 NightsIn a land of1,001 Nights3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dreams and dust:
the curve of
a half-hazed sun,
Loving a WriterWhen you read their work –Loving a Writer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it is work,
and you will often come second to the job –
it’s best to know which pieces are fictions,
which ones are wishes,
and which parts are for you.
forest firesmy signature scrawled across allforest fires3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of your sentences like a stain of apologies:
i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hip
like a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.
i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,
for whispering you into every crack in these walls.
i do not have the depth to tether our limbs
with the tautness of our smiles, but i will
balance you on the edges of my knees until
you slip away.
i have been kneeling with my arms outstretched
but the divinity of your touch
never graced my expectant stance.
our bones built forest fires together,
but it was always my tears putting them out.
on clarity, seeing yourself as you arewe're all hypocrites here.on clarity, seeing yourself as you are3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and we're all artists.
we paint ourselves
onto someone else like
it isn't painful for them,
like it isn't killing them
in the process. we give them
ownership of our failures,
we lay our flaws under their
tongues so when they speak,
more often than not, we hear
some distorted version of
ourselves. we expect them
to love the way we love. we expect
them to fight the way we fight. but yeah, we're
all fucking artists, right?
and we're all individuals, of course.
we're all on our brave, one-man
trip to enlightenment,
we're proud of the way
our word has been shaved
down to feelings, and moments,
mood swings, and oxy
off the bathroom sink.
well i can't be the only fucking
one who's tired of being an artist.
i can't be the only one tired
of seeing my skin stretched out over
everyone i know. i am tired of watching
my reflection shimmer and fade in their
smiles, in their wrath. i am tired of becoming
silver in one moment only to tarnish in the
next. i am tired of asking
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,wallflower clippings3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
swollen around the words she never said;
dark rings around her eyes
like planets unremembered, and
a staleness to her touch,
the crystalline Dead Sea.
she's living like a story
that's already been told
"if no one loved you
would you mean anything at all?"
in that moment,
we forget to exist.
.all we are is cheap.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
goldfish drowning in
the ocean, birds that forget how to
flap their wings, mid-flight
Insecuritiesi could tell you a million talesInsecurities3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of when i stared into the abyss,
and drowned in the thrashing waves
of my own torturous thoughts,
that the dark crevices of my mind
began dragging me under
a sea of endless insecurities
imprinting on my bones.
astronomerswhen we're togetherastronomers3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.
we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers creator and destroyer
so close to your lips.
desiccatei.desiccate3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you were 22 years in the making,
a sponge without water
since the day they plucked you from the ocean
and left the sea salt to sink into your pores.
I was something too heavy to wade in,
barely able to breathe,
21 years in the making
with floodgates barring my emotions
since the age of four.
At the first sign of droplets,
the salt of you drew me in
and eased the heaviness of my heart.
In your confessions of self-love,
in your tales of embrocation,
I was only ever your liniment;
was a thing to be forgotten from the start.
an open letter to depressionsuicide princess,an open letter to depression4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I think you're half in love with me:
the way that you
follow me about, grab at my ankles,
tighten my veins
would almost endear me to you.
and in a certain masochistic way,
I nearly welcome your knock on my door,
the steady clink of your
instruments of torturebecause
who would I be without this
to carry around?
but sometimes, dear,
you impose too much.
it's all well and good
to write the occasional
poem, to hold you by the hand
of a Saturday afternoon
when I have nothing better to do
than indulge your caprices
but you're not an amusing
pet, a fashionable idiosyncrasy.
not to me.
you are dust in my lungs,
haze in my eyes,
the frantic screaming of a
behind my voice at all times.
when you get too heavy to drag around
you simply pull me down.
would you care to count the days
that you've shackled me to my bed,
without the will even to open my eyes
and see you?
I am not your plaything.
please, leave m
.i would shed my skin.3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
with autumn, but my veins would
crack like the dry leaves
pollenwasp-waisted beautypollen2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.
i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;
tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.
(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
Ocean Captiveplease,Ocean Captive3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
awaken from this
you’ve become a servant to the ocean,
obeying its every command –
succumbing to its demanding beauty,
hypnotised by the tranquillity.
(rising and falling.)
(falling and rising.)
you fragile, broken thing,
a beautiful golden fool –
your frame filling with
bones stiffening, skin wrinkling
blood turning blue.
you’re visiting the ocean’s depths,
welcoming the cruel world below;
but those lungs of yours are burning,
and those soft eyes are questioning –
you ocean captive,
open your eyes
swim to the top –
and breathe the air,
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,you should be home by now2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's more of a hurricane than a fire
since he broke in & burned
but sometimes I see her with a lighter
& she finishes what he didn't do
(I think she's afraid
of settling in,
but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights on
to frighten away the bridges & the people
so no one will come inside
& smash the teacups, steal the pipes
because since he burnt her beds out
no one lives there anymore
KitchenMilk on your lips – shuffling soul,Kitchen3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shuffling feet on the lino.
Unwind your bones, unstitch your
muscles, unpick your thoughts.
Lean against the counter, bleached like
bird skeletons in the sand.
The fluorescent bulb does not forgive you
for your sins. It judges.
It tuts. It hums.
Rub your eyes.
flakes away like dead
Your white singlet rides up. The ridge of
your hip is like the lip of an ancient vessel,
an amphora dry of wine.
nineariel stole your breath more than i ever did -nine2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when my heart was thudding between your lungs,
because that was the only safe place, or so i was told
i can't remember when my heart caught the fever
for you had guarded it with your own ribcage for so long
my memories melded between your synapses and
we became one
october poems and cigarette endsi. where are the metaphorical cigarettes when you need them, augustus?october poems and cigarette ends2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ii. the poetry fell through the cracked riverbanks of my mind and slid off to elsewhere
iii. so still, i continued to breathe the lovely mindfulness, the unconventional endlessness of consciousness nothing’s.
let’s call them dreamers.
iv. the poetry written on my bones fading with all the sleep i drank (till the drunk of November mornings), the dreams melting off like the stars which ate away at my skin and left me bleeding—dying.
v. so, this is what writer’s block feels like
the eradication of sweeter thoughts and dreams
vi. (i think i finally understood why van houten drank so much.)
vii. “but i think the words you write are beautiful,” he says. “you’re beautiful.”
“i’m not beau—”
viii. still i write with an unsettled heart and
as blue as the eyes which fell upon them
the thoughts spilling out onto the pages it met
tell a liei. rivers are stronger than oceans despite their sizetell a lie3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they tumble through sharp mountains
but they never, ever stop
ii. i can rush and pick up sediments
and disperse them where i wish
iii. i'm lying -
i knew you saw it anyway,
there's seaweed in my fingernails
and salt on my breath