maybe they all remind you of someone else.
like you always pick the same type.
again and again. like you like to hurt.
and know whats coming. so your ready.
self inflicting. know your pain.
hurt till your numb.
and thats all you’ll ever be.
empty.
who would have thought.
your black lungs and my black heart.
it must have been nicotine fuelled love.
i like the way you play with my fingers and when they intertwine, the way you trace your fingers against my bare skin. how it makes me shiver, i like the way your fingers trace, when you trace it slow. i like the tension, the way you tease. the way your always laced with nicotine, your lips, tongue, fingers. i like it when your rough. when you bite and draw blood. i like it when you make my lips numb and swollen. when you press yourself against me, hard. certain. i like the marks you leave on my skin. reminds me when your not here, that you’ve been.
--- 2 weeks ago --- ---ever cut yourself into a million pieces? sharp. all the thoughts cloud and all you can do is scream and its silent. like all of this only exists to you. pieces dropping. drop like tears. shards shatter into a million tiny reflective fucking pieces. cuts so deep you can’t even bleed because theres nothing inside to bleed out. just wasting away. empty with scars. thats all i’m left with to tell me this was real because nobody knows. nobody close. i want to and i can’t. i can’t love anybody. i’m so empty i have to pretend. i just want to feel something, anything. something real. intense. all i’ve ever known is this. the truth. my reality. god it feels so good to let it out. and i don’t remember anything different but sometimes i pretend and i forget and this helps even if its temporary. break everything you touch. what the fuck is going on and who would even know and i truly wonder if anyone can feel this. i want to know. i don’t want to be alone. and the thoughts are screaming. and the screaming is deafening. am i the only one thats deaf. can anybody hear me? hear the screaming?
--- 1 month ago --- ---to those with no fixed address.
to keeping the sadness at bay.
to stories you can’t begin to tell.
long stories. complex histories.
endlessly continuous.
theres a comfort in this blanket.
these temporary states.
vague strangers. different. all the time.
and you don’t know till you been.
time is variable. immeasurable.
yet theres the beauty of it. documented.
an image of you. an image of me.
young finitely. dying infinitely
refusing to exist. periodically.
incoherently and somewhat.
somehow. chaotically.
all those marks have left our bodies.
faded away into time and space.
taking it slow. taking it rough.
the taste of my blood on your lips.
your lips on mine.
it couldn’t have been sweeter.
five am bloodlust and hormones.
unique in its own form.
the tease was all we had.
masochistic love was all we got.
but i’m on a suicide mission.
eat less. wear more.
new is always better.
and all that gold is not glitter.
“oh but who was it i was talking to then?”
it might have been me. some part.
i don’t know anymore.
the harder i think.
the further my motives.
space and time. time and space.
i have trouble staying in one place.
my mind is a void. constantly shifting.
its always been an empty room.
constantly filling it with interests.
i get by.
“you need to see somebody about how your feeling.
get treatment. you don’t have to be alone”
i told her i can manage. what does she know.
i’m not as bad as i use to be. writing keeps me sane.
documenting keeps the sadness at bay.
