Tag Archives: alone

listen.

i’m too
scared
to live
here
anymore.

the weeds
seem
to grow
faster
than before.

i’m too
weak
to live
here
anymore.

the sun
seems
brighter,
and it leaves
me raw.

i’m too
[me].
they assume;
they lie;
no-one will
listen.

so i stopped
speaking.
and i stopped
eating.
and i stopped
waiting.

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[am].

i am alone,
i am apart,
i am numb
and cold
and bored.


it’s okay.

it’s okay,
(but kind of pathetic);
did you really think
i spent my days
pining and swooning?

you chased,
i sat pretty.
i asked,
and you lied.
i was fearless
and you ran.

it’s okay,
(but kind of pathetic);
did you really think
the pain you caused
meant more than a fading scar?

you chased,
i sat pretty.
i asked,
and you lied.
i was fearless
and you ran.


reality.

but when
the one you miss
the most,
is the last
person
you should miss
at all;

it is difficult
not to believe,
that every moment
was intentional
deception;
and a humiliating
farce.

the reality is,
they stopped
needing you,
before you stopped
needing them.


often times.

often times,
he thinks,
she is the one
and only
thing,
that could make
it worthwhile.

other times,
he thinks,
she is a mess
and the only
thing,
that hurts
his chances.

the thing is,
she is getting used
to more days
of missing less,
and finding
she longs for comfort
somewhere else.

and even if
she doesn’t
deserve it,
it means more
to be alone
than in
that lonely cave.


muse[um].

i lined up
for a new exhibit;
it was like
the other one,
but different.

and you
weren’t
there.

i walked the streets;
and wondered
which restaurants
reminded you
of my face.

and you
weren’t
there.

the colours
held your eyes;
i felt you
watching;
i felt you missing.

and you
weren’t
there.

i will return
and return:
to my second home city.
i’d just always
imagined you joining me.

and you
weren’t
there.


matre.

you were more
than i knew.
the hole is deeper
than i expected.
i miss the bubble
i thought we shared.


stairway.

tell me
to build a staircase
to the depths
of your hell;
through the fire
in your veins;
and the cool darkness
terrorising your brain.

tell me
to build a staircase
and i’ll meet you
below the surface,
where the numbing fog
pools and drowns us.
i can’t save you,
but your heart is safe
with me.


cremation.

make me smaller
than any particle
of human light.

grind me up
into dirty grits
of cartilage and mucus.

crush me underfoot
with your feather
and sweep away my soul.

pour me through
the metal grate
along with your waste.

smoother me with
layer upon layer
of tight, black nets.

drown me deep
and let the seaweed
poison my lungs.

kill me now.
take my breath quickly
and let me surrender.


netflix.

i watched it
again,
so i could
remember
the pain.

i lived in
that world
for so long.
i thought i’d
forgotten.

scrape the surface
and you will
find it.

not a longing
to remember,
but a longing
not to forget.