12.1.2016

Seams and plastic

Taught around my waist

Suffocating me

And it looks like bags under my eyes

And feels like floorboards on my cheek

Hot and cold all at once

There is not enough time in the day

Or clothing in my wardrobe

To hide satisfactorily

 

I am beautiful in the way broken glass is

Shards gleaming and sparkling in haphazard headlights

I am bruised and battered beneath the weight of my own fingertips

Like a peach, grasped by an ignorant child

 

I want to paint something beautiful but I do not want to be the canvas

Not tonight

Tonight I wish to be seen and loved as me, or not at all

Because I am running out of disguises

 

I remember entering the blackness on a dozen occasions

Without fear or hesitation

I am craving that escape

I long for the precipice of departure

But know this nausea will not take me there

10.1.2016

I consider sometimes

The option of just relaxing into the pain

And the anxiety

And shame

 

There is no peace here

There is no alone without lonely

No happiness without contingencies or a time frame

No rest without alarm

 

I have someplace to be tomorrow but nowhere I’m headed in five years time

I crave rain because I’m thirsty and vodka and mixer is no longer quenching it

I am dying, but it is a slow death with nothing to do in the meantime

The neon only has color when you want it to

And tonight I don’t want anything

 

I know the words but I cannot link them together

I can only glue them, wrap them with wire, and hope that they set in the right place

Like a broken appendage

 

This emptiness is cavernous and I know it cannot be filled with small talk, people I don’t know, or kisses (genuine or otherwise)

I want promises

From myself, from you

That we’ll both be here, and hold onto one another

Even when I can’t stand your touch

Or so much as your voice, echoing and muffled behind my closed door

 

My friend, where are we going?

Running desperately to catch numbers beneath our feet

And hold onto them

Cold metal in empty palms

Curing stomach aches with delirium and sips from opaque water bottles, when the only ones we’re fooling are ourselves

 

When we open our mouths the laughter does not escape, but turns into perspiration on the backs of our necks

So the walk home feels cold

And solitary

Though we march towards comradery nevertheless

As it is the only way we’ve found to avoid being stung