entry_01 — dissociation event// a pattern
03:14 AM
i keep noticing gaps in how i experience time.sometimes i feel like i am only reading myself after the fact.
II
the morning after the fire, the sun went up parting the scorched remains of the home and the wind blew away the smoke, leaving crisp, clear winter air in its absence
i stood amidst the pillars tall, glistening and black
which groaned as tendrils licked at them, peeled away the substance of stability, touched gently, sparks dancing on the skeleton, the outstretched darkened bone opened into the sky
unstable, layers collapsing, burying themselves in confines of a nest, the roof tiles, the tapestry, the railings, metal hinges, window frames warped by heat
pillars, standing guard like soldiers, surrounding the smoldering remains, bow their heads gazing inward, backs of their heads turned on the starless sky
i am underneath, charred skin, crackling like a bonfire, sizzling, boiling, melting
waiting for the snowfall, to cover me up
come, lay upon the darkened frame of this burned house, flake by flake
get rid of the heat, throw blizzards against the gates and remain, freeze over whats left of me
i fell down, cast into hellfire, and found only the absence of heat
returned to the surface i craved the sun, so i brought it downwards, towards the earth, tied it with a rope and pulled with all my strength
as it collapsed into my arms i released it
III
please, wear my black shirt to my funeral
you, standing on dirt and mouse bones
wind bending the tree outside until it shows up in windows that i could never see it in
as if i could reach it, skimming the surface of a mirror
with a dirty teaspoon i scoop out similes and mud
rain and small, fragile bones, small, fragile droplets
where the sirens and church bells toll with abandon, the message is 'rescue me because i dont know what will come after i leave'
say, rejection by both dead and the living
i see signs in the stars, constellations and the veil of clouds that covers them is a sign as well
interpret everything, because who even matters without purpose and meaning
airplanes might as well be meteors, burning up fuel as they fly overhead and collapse with
terminal velocity and i think about dying, falling from the sky as my cigarette burns out
calling death into my hands, rather than overhead, unreachable as i yearn for it
inhale, ignoring the risks because they might as well claw my lungs out unnoticed
more afraid of the unknown, unexpected than a slow death by my own hands, which im too familiar with
you, standing on the same ground they will bury us in
you, on the other side of the screen as i breathe out the solitude through blue tint, i dont have a plan for the afterlife, i want to say, but it seems foolish to wonder aloud
i used to fill the silence with rambling, now my silence feels like an accomplishment, even though it isnt
i pick at my grief, i poke it gently, harmlessly
wanting for it to never wake up but still check if it has a pulse
i take the elevator down to the ground and i wish it went lower, still
i cannot dig in the ground and expect it to make a difference
the bushes turn into wild shapes which shouldnt growl but they do
the climb onto the balcony, i can hear them scraping the glass
the glass is glowing
im sick of the walls groaning and seeing cracks in the light and the ceiling
small voices telling me to keep my mouth shut or everything will collapse and i believe them because i can see the door frame cracking in half right above my head
someone drives a screwdriver through my back separating the spine
theres pain, but theres no feeling
i hear my fathers crutch, knocking against the stairs with every mismatched step, i feel it drive into my head and make its home there
the swish of metal bruise bruise bruise
i fill up my stomach with anything, hoping to taste sweetness but all i get is toothaches and nausea
touch burns, i cut myself on blankets and gloves and cover my head with a crown of thorns
blind me, deafen me please do anything so it starts moving again just let the feeling wash out all the blood that wont boil anymore
cleanse me, get rid of this awful feeling
the walls move like theres something alive inside
i dont have enough sleeping meds to get me through this safely
my brain isnt numb enough since i gave up barricading the doors to my past
it slips, i smell mint and dead doves in jars
i can hear glass shatter five floors below, a body thumping against the pavement drags itself back up, climbs only to fall again
the cracking sound wetter and lighter each time
i am scared to look at how many hands it has left
i know that my mind has gone somewhere and yet i cant bring myself to get it back, i dont care enough about being myself
i need the sounds to die, but not hear the absence of them
phantom, psychosomatic
my muscles tremble and buzz, i have the need to claw my eyes out
One and all¹,
I am not a good speaker, not a poet,
maybe
I'm good at writing sentences that mean nothing at all¹.
Still I cannot pacify the incessant buzzing that drowns out promises and the horizon and the "maybe".
I stuffed pages into my mouth, I wouldn't have to breathe again, you don't have to look at me anymore.
I wrapped my head, pulled out my brain, my eyes, my teeth, just to reinforce the nest.
Still, it's buzzing underneath, only muffled by the shell.
A pang of fear reaching my bones, "nowhere to go" rotting my brain.
Poetry hurts my eyes, inside my wrists,
and the front of my head, alternating with teeth.
Hands trying to find the pulse, then clawing until my throat tears, trying to let air inside my lungs, to make my body work again.
I don't think I was meant to be human, my heart can't catch up to my mind.
I can't hold an emotion to keep it, won't put a hand in to uncover my mouth.
Under the skull, under the skin,
glued to the mask, I breathe them in,
they live inside my skull.
I put on this mask out of fear of disordered thoughts flooding my head, I plucked out my eyes out, I covered my ears to not hear the words creeping in.
Layers of paper, dust and heat, no broken skin or stinging pain.
I have made room for my guilt – many-winged shame I hold inside.
Layers of "try" and of "direct", of ink and tears that quickly dried.
Subsequent cycle of papier-mâché.
Witness the artist satisfied,
until they don't get bored or break.
So, which layer was the first? | So why do I keep writing?
What is the purpose of a poem?
Dear reader,
somewhere, infinitely, there exists a victim of probability, chance, of many, many layers of coincidences.
A mass of atoms tensing and crackling, flesh powered by lightning, is it pacified by meaning?
After all, the name is only what the language permits it to be, soundwaves overlapping, recognised by lifetimes of conditioning.
The victim's fingertips dipped in ink, autopsy of a thought, head is a cavity with many legs inside the eyelids.
Time of death: always and never, only to be rearranged for all of the past and none of the future.
Did you get permission to be something more than
the only truth you know, the only end - meets all.
I'll repeat myself: What is the purpose of a poem?
Do you understand it?
Art is only immortal as long as meaning is sought.
As long as Icarus is flying towards the sun, as long as he sees only the vast skies, he will not think of the fall.
Sacrificing the future to be remembered for as long as you survive, art is an anchor.
Is this freedom, thoughts unfiltered, emotions bare?
Is it a prison, words with no connotation and no explanation for the metaphors?
Every letter meaningless, each verse running into
another, repeating all this bullshit over and over and over again.
If you cannot make sense of the feeling, smother it with words until it dies. If you cannot control it, drown it in sentences. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
You were always nothing.
A single "don't let me be that nothing", directed at no one, won't change anything. You won't say "please".
What is the purpose of a poem?
to tell | to hint at | to forget | to understand | to vent
I think just to write.
Just to exist within the circumstances, that allowed me to construct a sentence, which means nothing at all.
moje wnętrze jest w sferze słów pisanych
maska głosu użyczona zmienia przekaz
nie dobry mówca, nie poeta
balans kłamstw niewypowiedzianych, ominiętych.
chciałbym nie kierować w innych skarg, ale winię tylko siebie i jestem sam, i chcę zniknąć, ale obietnice i horyzont
trzymają mnie tu, gdzie jestem.
kłamca więc?
możliwe, ale już zamknięty w kokonie, z "nic i więcej"
poezja mnie boli w okolicach oczu, w nadgarstkach, w mięśniach
i we śnie, na przemian z sercem
nie sądze, że kiedykolwiek zasługiwałem na to, żeby być człowiekiem
moje słowa które są szczere, nigdy nie są moje
są pod czaszką, pod skórą zlepioną z maską
nie rękoma, nie ciałem, tylko zawinięte wokół szyi palce
nie pozwalają mi na prawdę
więc nie wiem co powiedzieć, nie wiem jak patrzeć na zewnątrz
nie rozpoznaję siebie, nie wiem jak myśleć tak, żeby tobie się podobało
i buduję tę maskę z rupieci, konwersacji, których zaznałem przelotnie, powierzchownie.
kolejne warstwy, jak palce na glinie.
dopóki artysta jest zadowolony,
nie znudzi się wzorem, lub jej nie rozbije
i nie zedrze gardła na dźwięku, który zostanie ucięty
i zastąpiony przerażeniem
więc dlaczego dalej piszę?
how do you talk so freely of every little thing that binds you
walls onto the fabric
laid down
where the rivers met.
shackles rattle in the wind,
rust rushes downstream
where sand covers graves, was once a nation
and every nation has its justice dealt by iron and steel
bars and bullets
bricks crumbling, i saw them -
sticking to the threads, bound to the earth
i felt the fabric shift as it fell,
a veil unto a corpse, a curtain covering the stage
can you stitch stone, as gods once did?
can you heal a cracked tomb?
would you dig your fingertips into metal, expecting it to give way?
unwind the coils of flame
that scorched and haunted with wisps of smoke reaching
clasped the clouds in its claws
how do you place yourself in the pain
and speak when it deafens
was the lie worth losing your hold on the olive branch
would you have handed it to someone else willingly
so they could put it in a glass, wait for the roots to spread out
would you let it rot beneath the foliage of every other leaf that turned over
i was born here, just outside the village, behind the road inside the forest, on a small, green boat with its metal body hot to the touch in the just-before-noon sun.
my first breath was filled with warmth, inside my bones and setting my heart on fire.
my mind was flooded with rain, dripping through the nerve endings into my fingertips.
it was both first snow and first storm.
that is why my hands shake.
it was fall and winter, it was every summer, it was every spring. i was born here when it started, with the first scorching hot day, and i died here on the last, my feet firmly standing on the rocks in the creek, which would never fully freeze.
the sides of the year, a flip of a coin.
my life was sunflower seeds, wooden splinters, apricots, apples and gooseberries.
my death was the train tracks, the abandoned buildings deep in the barren fields, wooden sheds and scrap metal.
it was coldest mornings, burning firewood, animal tracks in the snow.
it was dead frogs on the road.
a sheep skull burning in the campfire, the meat and wood still sizzling, the neighbors knowing me by name even after ten years and not remembering their face, not remembering my past.
i have changed, but i will never be someone else.
i slept deep inside the earth, woke up with both sunlight and moonlight on my face each beginning, entwined rays, like two hands gently squeezing each other.
i had mosquito bites, scratches from bushes and scraped knees. dirt under my fingernails, forest water in my veins. smell of the pines, the bones buried under rotting oak leaves clung to my skin wherever i went.
i let the smoke bury itself in my lungs, next to the tracks, where someone found human remains sprawled all over.
i walk around the forest, which has pressed the shape of war machinery into its body.
i pass the bridge where they found a neighbors body. people say that there are wolves outside the town, but the young are unafraid.
after all, surrounding them, deep in the woods is where all life begins, and it blossoms each night, in purples and oranges giving us the spoils of the stars.
the sky painted in pearl white, glistening roads that all lead beyond what we can know, more clear here, than anywhere else. i swing my feet, listening to the trees and reeds softly whisper to me, and sing when the wind allows them.
once you start walking in these woods you can never leave, you will always end up here, one way or another. after all, its where we are all born, when we first start to see and discover.
my time is running out
my mouth tastes like the seconds before throwing up
theres not enough space for my tongue, my gums shifting, oozing sweet bile
teeth ache softly, slowly, pressing upwards
i am not mad, i know all of it is justified
i stand up and sit back down, filling myself with powdered medicine and brackish water
i think and think and look outwards, stitching frail threads over the parts of me that decomposed, as if it could hold me together
just one day more, one month, one year
one lifetime
please, do not let me succumb to the emptiness
i wish kill the disease at its core, but no matter how hard i try to convince myself i can handle everything
i dont like pain
it would be easier if you were the one holding the knife, but i wont burden you
i want to read, but beautiful words make my head hurt, make me feel exposed
make me feel. worst thing to do, when all emotions seem fabricated, fake
i want to know how these ugly, razor sharp claws peeled my skin away once more, taking it off me like a winter coat and hanging it on a rack to dry
i didnt notice, until i was bleeding on the carpet
my muscles leave wet spots on the bed, nerve ending firing, softness of the sheets sharp like needles
where did you take it?
i am not mad, maybe i deserve this
i always want to hurt, until i cant bear it
the scarred layer of damp, ugly flesh
can i have it back?
i dont think i want it back
i should cover myself, head to toe in white sheets
and lie down, waiting for my wooden box, my mound of dirt
god knows i dont deserve velvet or marble
every time im dying, i feel closer to the living
when i feel alive, i know its not comprehensible enough to be considered "human"
i need it to kill me, this pathetic bid for longing and obscure pandering to slabs of meat and bundles of nerves
when bone cracks and muscles tear
will i be left with a soul
or will my final rest be nothingness
when pain buried itself into my core, unnoticable to the eye
i wondered, is my soul tainted with it as well?
i want to rest, without losing time
why is a lifetime of self-hatred so hard to take back
i dont know any better now
breaking apart is never clean and pretty, but i need it to be effective at least, something you can stitch, not something thats infected and wont scar
im ugly, disgusting and inadequate and its hard to believe i can be anything other than that
i think too much and i dont write enough, another lifetime lost in the passages of my own brain, something i cant heal from, for all thought without action is stagnancy
its hard go ignore the way my hands shake, its hard to look past how fucked in the head i am, how i care too much about the wrong things and too little about the right.
i am banging my fists on the walls, yelling in the mirror to let me accept love, let me finally be free and unashamed
let me be vulnerable, please dont sabotage me this time, i scream in my own face, ripping my fingers through the sweaty skin, but never quite looking myself in the eyes, avoid being seen and maybe forget about the truth "i am a weak, strangled and mottled excuse for being alive, everything about me feels like a lie"
i am waiting for nightmares
i still think it was never that bad, for me to have gotten to this point
i still think i have too much light left in me, it doesnt seem justifiable to feel like this
like a silhouette with a stab wound straight through the heart (like holding a lighter to a sheet of paper and then dousing the edges with water)
the rest of me, underwater, too damp to catch fire fully
i dont burn, i smolder, except the tamed fire where my heart once was, now an expanse of charred flesh and muscle, nothing left to burn
emitting warmth and smoke, but never catching flame again
no oxygen
fire needs air, somehow, not to destroy but to survive
nothing can survive the fire, it only consumes and lets itself be fed, burning with no regard for who it scorches
cant burn air. cant hurt it.
and yet i run away from it, going underwater and praying for the last gasping heave to leave my lungs
please, if everything is going to hurt forever, let me stop caring about it
if im going to suffer again, let me go numb
i want to be a martyr so badly, but im cowardly enough to be only a survivor
i feel no love in me, but i am filled with it to the brim
_"lit as if there was heaven behind us"_
now i feel cut hair falling on my shoulders, see it out the corner of my eyes
the walls creak and moan with mechanisms that shouldnt be possible behind them
a great chorus, foreign and glowing under the false night sky
chanting to a crowd in the caves, and yet they remain in darkness
the saints breaking their knuckles on hospital doors, wail to the heavens
nobody can show care after death except them
you don't know the last moments of your friends, and they won't tell you when you meet them beyond
that makes you strangers, turn away from them
i see them in my dreams, my last moments and theirs
that's what they are about, the soul leaving like dragging a fish hook
i plead to go back, even if i died to save you, for i hate the thought of leaving with nobody else to love you like i do
you are there, holding my shoulders as my ghastly hands beat on my own chest, begging to be let back in
_"if i have to think about what i write im going to make mistakes"_
i miss you now and i will miss you, always
wishing to go back
"do i fear death or do i fear pain?"
its been about hope and suffering, seeing clearly
i wish i knew how to treat you good enough, but i feel like a fox hovering around a crow, careful to not bite too early
every time i look into your eyes, the constant question of "am i hurting you? is this fun? when will i get bored again? do you really love me?"
will you tell me if i hurt you?
you are the most precious thing in the world to me
i dont tell you that enough
tired, so tired of being hollow and curling myself in a ball until my bones break and i can fit my misery in smaller spaces, out of reach.
i wanted death as a concept, wanted to love as a challenge and wanted to write because i thought had something to say.
i write because i stepped onto a one-way track to losing myself, there is no room for me here, words occupy all available space.
the only thing rattling around are rabid animals, not compliant. i fed this monster, i kept it warm, i let it bite me. i spoiled it and gauded it into devouring my heart, piece by piece.
now that it overwhelmed me, i cower from it, im ashamed of what ive created, of my life. i promised myself death and pain, misfortune, i made a bed out of glass shards and i cant crawl out of it, every thought a miserable metaphor and nobody can understand because i made myself incomprehensible. i feel like happiness wounds me, like i can understand life only in the most general of terms, like "enjoy the small things" was a command, an order that i obeyed not understanding.
all those people gathered to fill the emptiness, i appreciate, but what they dont know is that theyre filling the hole with dirt.
what is the point of screaming if all youll ever get are words, not actions. its not even echo, it mocks me, not mindlessly but repeating thoughts, i reread them, stare into them and try to replicate the sound but it sounds soulless spoken aloud.
i dont trust words, i can only use them but they wont aid me in anything. i forgot what it feels for sentences to make sense.
what am i? a puppet that i parade around like i know what life is, like the pulling of the strings isnt a spectacle of my own making, my play that i stare at, dead eyes. all of audience is a lie.
"the worlds a stage"
and the world is empty.
endless string of contradictory actions, always starving for more suffering to collect, until it overflows. god, i cut myself open on every passing second of the day, the hands of the clock in my hands, digging until they reach bone marrow.
i cant read anything without it filling me with jealousy, bitter bile of worthlessness which im always piling up on a pedestal in the hopes that maybe somebody takes notice.
whats the point of building myself up on unstable ground.
i cant even say i have reasons, i became thoughtless, parrotting my own words, my brain mocks me "hurt yourself" it says, but it knows i am afraid of pain. "end your life" but i know its not desired. why must i care so much about what people think of me? i wouldve been dead a thousand times over, my soul coiled tightly and weaved into the void, but i wont find relief even in death.
same as them, one day i will walk into the river with stones at my feet. if one day i am asked to die, i will agree, in hoping it will awaken my obsession with life once again. i will have my relief, my escape, after monotony, tripled, in pain. "quite deliberately", someone will say.
i will not hear it.
how many metaphors can i invent to say everything except that which proves me wrong
how many questions can i skip before you admit that there is no right answer
sound the alarms, a room, small, cardboard, cramped
my body is a shitty, shitty canvas
painted over, layers older than my bones
how much further must i stray to finally crack in two, rebuild myself from the crushed bone shards and paper and ink
stretched over the wooden frame, nailed nerves to the bone
crush, crack, snap, break
drag the fingertips across walls, skin, meat
is it there?
skin sticking to cotton, sweat running and clinging to the brow, refusing to blind me
oh i am bored with being alive if theres nothing that makes me live wonderfully
another minute passes, get up, refill the plastic bottle, drink from the sink
stare into the mirror, pretend i understand what i am striving to achieve
wave, touch the glass, wish that i could sink to the other side and disappear behind the frame
splash
grip my face, both hands, feel nothing
observe, advertisements brimming with innovation, ignore
sort by cheapest, complain, try to fill the urge to possess by stocking up on cheap paper prints and plastic imitating steel
"what do you want?"
"i'm fine with anything, as long as i don't lose too much"
words, blue light intrudes into my thoughts and my wrists thrum with steady, soft pain
add compression gloves to cart, pretend that a healthy body is nothing more than that, i can fix it, i can pretend to fix it
a flaw in the design
turn invisible, more words, conversations i cant slip into because im a pretender for the moment
present nowhere, leaving a virtual trail, looking for myself in strangers and fiction, finding myself nowhere in particular
maybe if it makes me a little less real, i can leave what burdens i have within the losses
whatever
i am my fathers son, trying not to be.
i am myself, trying to be someone more.
swallow the bitter pill and make it taste as sweet as sunrise, days work will be gone before i can take another
forget to say, losing days,
good morning
was is morning today? have i seen the sun?
the storm passed us by, but i waited still
the sun is still gone, wait an hour
refuse to go inside, the concretes cold suspension
above ground, one vault and it all ends
i dont want anyone to be scared of me, say, staring off into nothing
they dont know what they should be scared of anyway
pretend that it doesnt hurt, at least dislike me for something honest
resilience, blood on his chin, dripping
the floorboards have to be cleaned every other week
did you forget that i wish death for both of us, in different ways
its better to choke the weeds before they grow and spread across from the field into the bed of roses
there is a gaping hole in my chest, that seems to feed on every wrong thing
my body tightens trying to fill it in, to no avail
i collapse around it
in my life i always seem to run from something
my worst fear is being stuck in one place, no progress and no movement
maybe i was running from the hole that follows me around, sitting tight and snug in my rib cage
i watch the minutes tick by in intervals
3:02, 3:18, 3:41
i was always scared to love
not because it didn't mean anything, but because it meant too much
i was scared to be let go off, not secure only with myself on the tightrope, clutching at every uncertain thread
followed false hope
i am in no pain, i don't feel anything
sadness, anger, anxiety
but there's no pain here
time is stretched and rushed
every minute a second passes and every hour feels like the entire night playing over and over again
I'm confused and scared
i don't understand anything
why did i suddenly become so distant with myself
what are the reasons i cared and what are my obligations to go on
what do i care about
and i know its you, since that day its only been you and im sure
but i dont fit in
please dont let me fuck this up
i wanted to tell you that you look nice
im too awkward
im too scared now
i need reassurance and i want you to know that i love you
even if you were the one to say it first
i have grand ideas, great delusions about what future might hold
first i need to get out of this glass cage
i need to find the exit or shatter it completely
after all
there are no safe retreats
3:49
there is a gaping hole in my chest, that seems to feed on every wrong thing
my body tightens trying to fill it in, to no avail
i collapse around it
in my life i always seem to run from something
my worst fear is being stuck in one place, no progress and no movement
maybe i was running from the hole that follows me around, sitting tight and snug in my ribcage
i watch the minutes tick by in intervals
3:02, 3:18, 3:41
i was always scared to love, to mean something real and be open
not because it didnt mean anything, but because it meant too much
i was scared to be let go off, not secure only with myself on the tightrope, clutching at every uncertain thread
followed false hope
i dont know how to be vulnerable.
i dont know how to show im scared so i turn the knife around every time.
i have no idea how to wear my heart on my sleeve and it shriveled without access to sunlight.
im not sure if i have morals or compassion anymore. i seek conflict, i seek pain and want to hurt. i want to be cruel to myself, but through not being able to feel anything i doomed myself to an eternity alone with that cold hole with ragged edges where my heart used to be until i tore it out and buried it.
awaiting a great finale where my mask is finally stripped off and people see the side that was hurting and bleeding and dying for so long its rotten, but that wont happen. i have no redemption in my future, just building walls to keep everyone far away from the horrible, cold and fake version of me im creating.
i am in no pain, i dont feel anything
sadness, anger, anxiety all covered up nicely, in a laugh that sounds easy or eerie calmness and avoided questions.
but theres no pain here, for i no longer feel anything else but the unstable rush of water spilling inside my body.
i am human but i no longer feel like a person. i am a cage thats keeping a rabid dog inside it, i am a grave waiting to be filled by an empty casket, shoes someone has put on for the last time and an empty bottle smashed on the pavement. all those things have more to say about them than i do about myself.
thin stretch of matter over varying circumstances and the cruel passage of time thats always too far away or miles behind me.
the gentle drip of saltwater spilling onto the floor through the lips of a corpse. i am hoping to go in any painful way that leaves my body unrecognisable.
i want to stop feeling so cold and i will set myself on fire to accomplish it.
time is stretched and rushed
every minute a second passes and every hour feels like the entire night playing over and over again
im confused and scared
i dont understand anything
why did i suddenly become so distant with myself
what are the reasons i cared and what are my obligations to go on
what do i care about
and i know its you, since that day its only been you and im sure
but i dont fit in
please dont let me fuck this up (but i did)
i wanted to tell you that you look nice
im too awkward
im too scared now
i need reassurance and i want you to know that i love you (but you never did)
even if you were the one to say it first (and you lied)
i have grand ideas, great delusions about what future might hold
first i need to get out of this glass cage
i need to find the exit or shatter it completely
after all
there are no safe retreats
3:49
muted sadness, muted memories
everything is hazy and i keep forgetting keep misremembering, misplacing
cold cold fingers i dont feel anything wrong but everything i touch feels hot and cold at the same time
and im not talking but i wish i had the words
i wish i found a language, invented a phrase that gives meaning to whatever it is im stuck in
do i want to get out
meet someone talk
touch, skin to skin just to check if their is as cold as mine
forget or remember i do not know where to start looking for the answers i dont have the questions to ask
and itchy everything is itchy but it goes away instantly when i think about it
buzzing and swaying my body drifts from the floor to the ceiling and gets stuck in the attic
dust and cobwebs
dirty skin my face covered in unwashable grime i am stuck
i am stuck and dying and yet i move
yet i think and there is no peace here, no way out
its just vague suffering disguised as fleeting inconveniences and the responsibility of being my own caretaker, my own friend became a prison that i wish i could destroy from the inside
i was never dead, but i wish i stayed there
i was never dying, i was never alive
strapped to a bed, knife in my chest, needles in my palms i scream but there is nobody to hear
and all the echoes drown like a sinking ship and there will be no carpathia
no one answers my calls of distress because i am out on the open ocean
with no shore in sight to bear witness
so how do you feel now kid?
have you got everything you need
are you sad or lonely
on a scale from one to two
how would you rate your time being here?
patron saint of liars and all-knowers
trade a rib for a mouth of teeth
give away a coin and gain eternal life
gratitude and happiness with no meaning
no liberty in your own creation
i have no further suggestions
except move on and maybe go to therapy
the world wont pause when youre 12
and it wont pause when youre 23
youre alive there somewhere
waiting to leave this place for another
the outside is taunting you
lost on your own, no morals, no purpose
where does it lead?
learn control unlearn control
go back control and z
delete everything youve worked on
and only you can see the unraveling
of your own physique
hope, hope, hope that you can heal
you know you will someday
i know
but change doesnt happen easily
if you just sit idly it wont
you have to make progress yourself and its ugly and unforgiving its not linear its all scary
but there are no better options that to wallow in your gratuitous certainty
fuck your parents and all the flaws they imposed on you
generational lineage of
_maybe the problem is me._
december speaks in
grief, for something that couldve been
good
but wasnt
of the ends and means
until the clock shows "nihil"
tears begin to fall, as fireworks rise
as you realise time is the only thing
you dont have
with your own hands, you dug a grave
between the countdown and january
promises to be better, stronger, void
you have torn apart
the same hands which were
gripping the edges of your halo
as it seared brighter than holiness speaks
do not be afraid
it seems unlikely
to have been born so close to god
to think it means something, the circle of history
why was it forged so that the first snow
happens during fall, still
so much potential wasted
when you were born to challenge the divine
and its not in this world, unreachable
who are you fighting besides yourself
we have all the known time in the world
but only known for us, nothing more
the only way in which a man could love a god is to be oblivious to the vastness
i want us to be infinite
i want to watch the sun rise and then explode
and i want to see humanity, leaving handprints on walls, carvings in stone, drawings in bathroom stalls
i want to know so much more than i can, and i want to never forget how it feels to be alive.
i read about royalty, soldiers and generals, clegry and presidents
but i am moved only by letters sent from one forgotten person to another, glad to know that love never runs out
in the age of thoughts running through wires only to be buried in numbers like dirt and covered in seconds, i want to stop for a second to say: i know you
i want you to know i was also here, on this earth: i saw you
i dont tell you this enough:
i love you, im right here
i loved you, i was here with you
make tangible proof that youre alive, leave stones overturned and signs visible
how is the world so cruel, that someday it wont let us laugh as i hold you hand and yet so beautiful that it let me do this at all.
i love you, i love us, i will love our little, short lives until im gone and even then, maybe someone will experience the same love we did and feel what we felt and thats proof enough that we were there.
i want our stories to never end, whether we are young forever, or when we do grow old and weary, you let me know that i was loved.
if i ever lose you, take my hand and ill promise you i will think about you until i die.
if you lose me, please tell someone else that you still love me. tell them who i was. id do the same for you.
shout at the world that we arent forever, but every second were alive is worth infinite years of loneliness
if we cant be infinite, why do i feel endless and immortal when im alive
i dont want to leave this earth empty, even if someday everyone forgets us.
forgive me mother for i know sorrow
forgive me father for i know hate
the holy spirit left us in silence
faith is dead in a place like this
the masses repeat your chords of enlightenment
strumming each word with careful contempt
god strikes down sinners, but god doesnt hate you
he loves you, he made you this way
contradictions repeat, how have i failed to see that i tried to believe something i didnt need
i try to understand and i fail every day
every day every day
so i turned my back on the church
watched the doors close behind me
slept through the morning bells
though i wish that god was dead
losing faith felt like losing a friend
i stare into the void, waiting for him to call
but i got your message instead
revenge for disobedience, full of fear in self-loathing
tell me, why did he make me like this?
when you take off your shoes as you enter
you can hear god scratch under the floorboards
i hope the music drowns out the scraping
if hes downstairs, were higher than heaven
i will burn down the church once i get a chance to
once the mass has ended, the pews are empty
there are no soulless prayers, no psalms and no choirs
its just you and me watching flames climb in silence
god doesnt love me, i hear thats what they say
maybe then you can love me instead
as i kiss you, for a moment, hope that ill go to hell
because in the end, eternal pain will be worth it with you there as well
fleeting songs of rain in may, responded
which bloodied hands carried me over the edge
and let us both drop into the ocean below
with a soft chord, seagulls quiet, morose
never waver, give yourself to the water
for you are naught but another drop, another ripple in the fabric
black waves may carry your ashes, the might of life, unstoppable
trade your breath, trade your lungs
below the surface, reach the other side and exhale what binds you
bones in the sand, blood in the water, your soul given to the vast expanse
nothing here matters, you were never significant
find
the comfort!
oh the joy, anchorless, drifting
the beginning of the decade
brought in suffocating heat
i am 19 and still dont get
exams adulthood and weed
i know art and mathematics
just because thats what ive learned
art was by my own volition
maths- because i had to learn
i keep making dumb decisions
with no one to help me stand
i cant get my driving license
i will take the bus instead
ill go out too late to get on
so i certainly will be late
i pick clothes that will not fit me
i buy sweaters way too big
i dont know if thats a statement
or i just cant bear my skin
i depend on validation
i want them to hear me speak
i want hand shakes and ovations
so i dont think that im weak
someday i hope you are happy
as happy as i pretend to be
ive got portraits of poets strung out on my sleeves
like a winter the numbness takes over my arms
i cover them, fold them let them push back
ordinary when i wake up and abstract when i laugh
the words are misplaced, no thought in order
memento mori, for now its just a concept
to sell to masses death as profit
remember youll die remember to matter
fail to remember youre nothing but ashes
you scream outwards, black sentence, an absence of meaning
a closed book, anyway, i have to ask
who cares about philosophers?
what does that change, do you feel better with the thought of your death?
fuck it, remember your own mortality
enough to doubt what theyre selling to me
but damn, i am not sorry
i would buy postal stamps if
the only letters werent court mandated sheets of bureaucratic orders
handcuff me to a sinking ship, in captivity breeding greed
i stay here, where im not subject to rally calls and bloodied shrieks
listen at the door to hear
do you follow me? do you know the consequences?
for both sides now have nothing left, as you charge onward
remember all you have is death, not glory
moving forward, memento mori
i have nowhere, no place, after all the worlds a stage and something staged, a word a gesture, nothing honest
empty handed and drunk, reckless with no bounds, familiar
jovial, who says that?
imagine that, freedom
memento mori
for those who left, for those who stayed
i am alive and you are dead
i do not mourn you
a hand that splayed upon my chest
my bones dont ache since i got rid of all the nerves, they clatter as if i was laughing
whose teeth were cast upon this grave
put them together, what was mine
what i have left, contorting, dead
i am no longer rotting
so fuck you, eh?
memento mori
soft paws in foxholes and burrows
howling and creaking on the cot
cold does not surround me in the desert, water is foreign
the chill should descend in the night, but night never falls
there is no snow, no backdrop for this dry, scorching bloodshed
i am back and everything hits me with a frequency of
grenades whizzing past my ears, ringing
how do soldiers sleep?
military doctors, medical camps, flies and buzzing insects sitting on bodies
rotting limbs, shrapnel deep inside organs
relax your body, breathe in, tense and release
oasis, i will find it
maybe death feels like this - warmth and a promise of saving
i should not have anything except this body
i am sure of it, yet i tend to avoid looking at it
all fingers intact, nothing hurts yet i radiate sickly heat
comfortable in hazardous circumstances
eyes on the horizon, mirage - savior
one foot in front of the other, on my back, crawling
i should not feel cold, i tell my body, so it allows the tremors to pass
my mind is in the desert, so it follows
like i am in a tent, listening to groans and orders
like i cant feel my legs, yet i can smell the infection
like i am outside in the sun, skull boiling and vision swimming
in the desert, they drink tea to help adjust to the temperature, so ive been told
i have nothing left to drink, my mouth cracked in two and tongue lapping at sand, but alive
i see ice statues in the scorching sun, they should melt but theyre standing still while i run hot
i have been out in the sun, walking towards a destination
it has been days and night does not fall
permanence, always noon
mirages forming in the distance, uniform abandoned
ice on my teeth, out of place, i bite into the statue
drink the water, drown in it, not too much at once
sustaining my thirst
i do not mind that it tastes like iron
fall asleep quickly, get up as soon as you wake
youve been given an order
to follow the sun until you reach it or fall under it
fall inside the sun soldier, burn
how many bodies in the desert
how many armies marched through
has anything ever been worth the journey you may never finish
is it reality i am running from or fantasy
why does reality feel more fake than the mirage
nothing i can gain, nothing to obtain
the oasis and everything that was given to me
everything that flows and grows should not be here
how do soldiers sleep?
the same way dead bodies in a morgue do
on their back, eyes unseeing, attached tags to be identified by someone else
waiting to be dissected, torn apart and drained of blood, their own and someone elses
a suit in a casket the same as a uniform in battle
soldiers sleep the way they will not be allowed to die
appear peaceful, body intact, soul guided gently into slumber
what do you feel/what do you think
i could not name a single emotion or thought
i am in the oasis, i am dying on layers of sand
deprived of water yet drowning in it
who buries landmines in the middle of nowhere
feed the skeletons with broken pieces of pottery
as soon as the cemetery opens
living the dream of getting old old old
the worst way to make me look bad
make my hair turn gray
leaving your phone off and going home
still after me, the local shop opens at 6
im out of my bed by seven and spent another 20 minutes staring in the puddle on the street
cognitive dissonance bordering on ignorance
willful and empty i pump out the last couple drops
so im counting my symptoms like sheep
waiting to fall asleep
and if theres not enough ill imagine more
sickly bloodshot eyes and rotting teeth
the streetlights are blinking in tune with my breath
one two and tap out when you feel like youre going down the drain
the streetlights are blinking hangovers away
its almost like a week has passed and the migraine remains the same
im fun sometimes i promise
just not when im lunging my last dying thoughts down the pipes
leftovers and water fuck chamomile tea
cigarettes and alcohol were all that i needed to make me run myself unconscious
we’re all fighting against the devil
old friends squabble like brothers in arms
pitching its voice higher, toward heaven
where are you, father?
a cry — in death we all doubt
the faith that was carved into a spear
and thrust into our hearts
for every sinner, a gesture of mercy
forward — the paper string snaps
flapping in the wind
one banner, one flag for triumph
golden like sunrise, bloody like sunset
a crown of thorns, a ring of blades
but still gold, still beautiful
molded to befit a king
it was said — there is grey between the shades of the sky
orange and purple blended with graphite
and who are you to ask
for a world without matches, gasoline, and smoke
a world without war
and not enough words to express the horror
to not suffer is to abandon humanity
stable
stable
stability — hold onto something stable
do not hold his hand
he will not pull you out
quicksand reaching my shoulders now
haunted by things
i won’t allow myself to look at
for i can’t grasp their existence in my hands
and spread them out
dissecting until i get to the marrow of the bone
falling and climbing all the same
with warm hands at my ankles
and dead hands on my wrists
both pulling me
up and down
until i tear in two
upon the wheel
i won’t die as a punishment
i am a constant
a common denominator
put between alive and rotting
when you’re next to me, i’ll have to check
if the draining sink water
runs down your cheeks
it’s the warnings that i’ll always ignore
my body’s warm
but still i feel colder on the inside
and i fear it spreads outward
what if you feel it
shivering from the chill
you look into my eyes and see the tears
in the fabric of my insides
the seams are barely holding me together
the hands keep pulling
up and down
the mother of defilement
enduring universe
glass shards
a worse fate than the unknown
what if i am not aware that i’m dying?
i can feel myself slipping away all the time
and i don’t know how to stop it
thoughts causing landslides and sinkholes
tragedies, natural disasters
unnatural voices
the words stopped coming to me
i am stuck
nothing to share
i’ll never amount to anything
so much has already been done
and it’s not mine anymore
i am not the person who wrote about you
i am another
writing about a different you
but it’s always love
a terrible thing
you come back in different ways
and i’m still trying to reach the first
the most innocent
the same wounds
the same blood
the same dna in me
and yet i forgot how it is to talk
how to be a person
how can i keep this version of myself?
i keep forgetting
and i’m worried
where have i gone?
why am i gone?
what went wrong
and how
and when
how do i reclaim my thoughts
and reach the bottom of the ocean?
it’s all
sleep
eat
work
but never dream
not anymore
was i the same when i loved you?
red-colored wolf — my expectations
when we touched
you held on because i trusted you to
ruthless yet gentle bird — my losses
we never talked again
and yet i still have conversations with you in my head
sharp and stubborn
lost to your own pride — my betrayal
was i the one who abandoned you
or were you focused on getting me out of your sights?
honest and kind
too good to be mine
i cut you so you would back off
but you never left — my constant
you are better off without me now
that i am just a passerby
a moth to the flame
we were both
and yet you keep teasing
to pull me closer to the fire
a shallow pool of water
two-way mirrors
in which you saw me as good
and i saw myself not worth your time
— my failures
i hurt
so i deserve to carry guilt and shame
i am not worth healing
scars aren’t fading
if you run them over again and again with a blade
i want to deserve this
i need to deserve this
but i keep pulling back
every time i get too close
for what?
what reason is there in my actions?
it’s frustrating to deal with myself
all my actions are fruitless
all the effort you put in — futile
selfish
no good for anyone
i can’t fix it
i want to
but i can’t
it hurts to breathe
it hurts to lie
and it hurts to be alive
honesty is nonexistent
can god tell me
where all my dreams went?
black fog obscuring vision
you stir in your sleep, but mine wont come to me
i spent too long sleeping, now im restless and the void begins to take over
like a disease
cough
another
i sit straight up
i cant feel my arms, except for the skin thats peeling off
i want to get out
why do i feel like my body stopped
the blood isnt flowing anymore, heart beating only a sound with no real impact
it feels hollow, i feel dead
the soul is hungry, mouth empty and watering
fill it, fill it with smoke
with human flesh, bite off your fingers
and i turn my back to you so you wont catch me staring into nothingness when you wake
im scared you wont come back, such an ordinary fear for someone so careless like me
im scared you wont see me in the morning, judt a rigid corpse, a husk
i want to know youre real but im scared to ask if i can check
maybe were both dead now, maybe i infected you
ill go hide under the covers now
and breathe, slowly
steady, im waiting for the morning
i want to get out
but the noise wont let me
do not alert them that theres something restless and inhuman that sleeps among the family
and there you go, stirring again, scratching
outside is there, behind the always drawn curtains and the windows, quiet and free
what made you so afraid of the sunlight?
why does it have to be so dark.
the walls slowly crush you with their warmth
you feel welcome, but oh so out of place
here where the food is fresh and the towels soft
where you can sleep and wake after the sun hits noon
where theres someone watching over you so that you are safe.
and its stagnating, to not be left alone to your devices
caring is an armor and a chain at once
unfamiliar to be welcome
unknown to not be a burden
i thank you for your kindness and im sorry i have nothing to give in return
i see nothing but hear everything
every 2 seconds i have weird intrusive thoughts and then immediately my logic assaults them
its a shame that i hear bad things
emotional merging with music
its a shame that what i writes confusing
how to find solace in your middle when its so crowded and loud
theres a protest in the streets
they dont have a cause
the reason comes from deeper deeper
visceral level was never reached
minus midnight sweet dreams my prince
he cant stand he cant stand up
help him help him
worried so worried
its a shitty party
its a bad show
but if nobody dies well whats the point?
plastic burns cotton burns
i think its not the circumstances
its the pressure
i feel alone now, the cough is back
im looking behind my back
my mouth feels like cotton but tastes like burned plastic
my legs are cold like they arent there anymore
and im rereading to see if i hadnt lost a thought
but if its not there and i lost it anyway
losing before i started
thick mud in my lungs hardened and its falling
clay teracotta?? falling out in shards
ripping ny throat
its closed tight but i can still breathe
i hope to breathe until the morning
please let me breathe until the morning
death is scarier than choices
i hate being stuck
stagnant
broken
locked
lonely
vulnerable and open
what if i dont become a ghost
they went to sleep and cant see me
they would notice if i screamed
to check if im not a ghost
uncertainty is scary, thats why i want to stay alive
life is entirely unpredictable in only one moment
emotions are scary, if left like hungry dogs in one cage
dont open the cage dont open the cagr
please
just throw bits of food through the bars
enough to satisfy their needs
anything less and they will tear each other to pieces
anything more and they're lazy and grounded
something is pulsing on the left
blood rushes to my ear
i feel dead
im tired
i want someone to wait until i fall asleep
someone who takes care of me for once
i may look like i dont need it
but i crave affection in the form pleasant nice to feel
i want someone to call me liar
my mother used to insist on using physical touch to comfort me, even when i wanted to throw up because i felt like i would kill anyone who came to close. one time she didnt listen, she still put her arms around me and i tried pushing her away, saying that i dont want to hurt her, crying and begging for her to leave me alone until i calmed down. i felt trapped, like there was something sizzling in my veins and i had no outlet for it. she wanted to help, i know
normally i could just disconnect myself but that day something must have really set me off because i lashed out and i dont remember anything except the numbness, the blank stare i gave her and the blood.
at the hospital we were both crying, but i think i was crying as company, as comfort for her, and i apologised over and over again, and i said "you should've just left me alone" and that would be better
she said that isnt something that i should request, that its not normal to be like this.
i hate people breathing on my neck, i hate feeling cared for because its the same as being caged, all wrongness and vulnerability displayed and then someone doesnt listen when i say i need to breathe. like there is an explanation for all this but i just dont know
i have an obligation, to never be fully comfortable, to always bend myself because i cant curl up and try to think about what i need other than to be left alone.
im not sure how she can still hug me, given that i hurt her and tried to kill myself right after, and i fucking hated myself for feeling relief, that i finally got through to her somehow, just for a moment. shes such a forgiving person, she honestly shouldve just left me to die. as should everyone else.
abrasive, reluctant in my comfort zone
i sit, unmoving, staring blankly at the walls
what goes on in my mind?
id tell you, if i had the means to know
asking myself every day
does a grave count as a home?
i think it keeps my heart rate up
and i dont fall when i climb out
breaking the limits of what it means to be gone
hands on my keyboard, damp
as i watch another of my mistakes light up
a flare
ill make sure to rip apart my chest so you can reach my heart
shot glasses of sleeping pills
i am twenty one
second avenue
i walked into it
the turning of my life, on those steps
i forgave myself
perhaps
there is something wrong
something to love, to be lovely, to feel loved
kill myself over it
kill for it, thats my whole thing
to pull apart, assault, nick and tear at the thin membrane of trust
shift the blame, twist the knife, turn around
i was born
11:11
i die
now and forever
promise me, promise another year
of this, only this, like a normal person promise among angels and devils
sit at this table or on the floor, doesnt matter
maroon coating
vitamin d
taire — Today at 01:29
pills are a nice color
it makes them easier to take
i need you in my room to make sure i stay asleep
and make me take ignored calls
taire — Today at 02:14
i wish i was a better friend, wish i knew what closeness means
instead, just drowsy
singing "they hate you"
and you hate them back
oh, but youll never take the credit for a downfall
taire — Today at 02:51
still a child
still carrying my past selves on my back
feeling a body next to mine, scared little kid
scared teenager
now, an adult
not scared, but directionless
taire — Today at 03:27
nobody cares nobody cares
not the person you want to
not in the amount you need
i lack something
i miss something
help me
please help me
make me feel loved
i dont know how
i dont know anything about feeling safe
i did my duty, you did yours
obligations, usefulness thats who i am
if i dont have that, then i become replaceable
nobody special
why am i so separate from everything?
help me, please
do something that makes me feel worth it
do something that stops me from disappearing
let me feel weak and vulnerable
let me feel broken, just for a moment, so that i can let go
it starts with remembering everything
and it will end with letting go