I loved you the first day you came into my life. I thought you would be good to me. So I loved you. But as always, I expected a little too much and you only ended up disappointing me. Now you want to leave. I begged you to leave so many times, but now that you’re leaving, I feel uneasy. I don’t know why it’s bothering me, for you’re one of the worst things that have ever happened to me. I guess maybe I’m scared. I’m scared you’re not being truthful. I’m afraid you’ll cling onto my hair, climb up to my head and dig your fangs into my scalp so that I’ll never be able to shake you off. I’m afraid that although I’ll no longer be writing your name, I’ll still be screaming it in the middle of the night. I’m scared you won’t truly leave. I need you to leave me so that I can find sanity. I want to feel sane again. I need to. I need to feel again.
Month: December 2017
Linger Longer
There are things you need to know about me. Like how I linger on things. Not the regular type of lingering, but the absurd type. They make me do it. They tell me it’s unfair to let things pass my eyes without entering my mind, cruel to let sound beat unheard, smell unnoticed. They tell me to feed my mind with my senses so that I can feel my surroundings inside me. They tell me the exterior deserves a spot in my interior, and now I’m an architect drawing everything I witness on the walls of my brain, so that I can linger just a little longer. They say it’s always healthy to linger a little longer, but now my drawings are overlapping, and although they’re weightless I can feel them consuming me. There are things you need to know about me. Like how I linger on things excessively, and how my mind is so hefty, I don’t think I’ll ever carry anything as heavy in my entire existence.
RIP
A girl I once knew passed away not very long ago. She was fighting a battle for a really long time, until her limbs eventually gave up. I mourned her so much. I think I still do, but not as often, not as much as I should. She made me feel whole and worthy. She made me feel alive. And now that she’s gone I hear her calling for me in my sleep every night, only to wake up to her death every day. I haven’t gone to visit her in a while. It’s not that I’ve forgotten her, I just don’t want to remember what it was like with her here. And I don’t want to cry anymore. People keep telling me to not cry over someone that is gone. But I miss her, like nobody could ever understand, and I would trade anything to see her staring back at me through the mirror just one last time.
Damned Explorer
There’s a map behind this closed door
A map I promised to explore
Lands that do not feel like bed sheets
Lands that speak to bare feet
I want to breathe air not breath
Witness life not death
I want to break free from these doors
For there are maps I do not want to explore
Roads too narrow for me to tread
Roads of danger and bloodshed
I want to paint blue not red
Witness life and not death
Mother there’s a map outside these closed doors
A map I need to try to explore
Before my demons convince me into thinking
There’s a world awaiting in the skin that I live in
A map of veins I cannot pass on exploring
Fall
Fall
I’m fall
The fall
I’m falling
The falling
A falling
Falling
Fall
Haunted House
Father my friend says our house looks haunted
She likes the way it hisses in the dark
With its olive green skin loud
And the little rusty squeaky gate
She likes that too
She doesn’t know about that scorching day
You triggered my fists into the wall beside it
She doesn’t know my blood seeped into that brick
She doesn’t see the blood that drips from the eaves
Our blood mixed with anger and dust
She doesn’t see the way our house is bleeding father
Our house is bleeding father
While you’re busy restarting the wifi router
Our house is bleeding
Tell me what the use is of mending doors
When we are imprisoned by walls
We cannot escape
Father my friend says our house looks haunted
But she doesn’t know of the ghosts we adopted
After we exhausted ourselves of silence
She doesn’t know they sleep in our beds
And feed off our flesh
She doesn’t see us bleeding father
And I don’t think you do either
Spilled Ink. 