-

and if you're still breathing,
you're the lucky ones, 'cause
most of us are heaving through
corrupted lungs*

and convulsing, so empty, completely rid
of tears and whatever else might have lived
within the crumbling walls of my dying sanctuary

it's strange. Stranger than stranger,
a feeling of the coldest of ice shrouding your
body and the most intense warmth enveloping
it and you don't really know how
to react
because

*this is it

they ask me the colour of my soul and i say
mustard
and then they ask why and i have to think

is it because its bright but coated in a layer
of dust
not grey but not entirely yellow bright?

You are a bruise,
    ever-changing in hue
You are too hard to predict,
      your mind a limitless labyrinth

You are medallion yellow,
       painted illness by the goddess' rays
You are aegan blue,
        boiled a facade of too much of new
You are parakeet green,
           hidden underneath an opal like scene
You are mauve purple,
             controlled by the end and its inevitable stage

You are my colour,
              highlighting my pain.
You are my end,
               unravelling the game.

I adjust my scarf, pull my fringe out
lift my skirt above my knees
and hide my old HTC

I pretend I don't know, don't give the answer
Cower behind the mainstream facade
Try to hide that I'm a ******

i feel a pain unbeknownst to most
not pity, yet not understanding
i feel ashamed of the fact that
they take His name before
slaughtering the innocent, the
crying.
i feel grief for those who have lost
i feel sorrow for those not found
i feel anger at these holy men
who take religion into their own
hands.

once again, i
abandoned my poetic post.

i ventured out and sought that of which most
would find unruly.

and like so many times before, my misadventures
only have led me

here,
to hellopoetry.

Eyes narrow, beady
Heart green, seedy
Unextinguishable fire

i'm so sorry,
for doing all these things,
and making all these
mistakes,
and i'm so sorry
for not being there
and for not being right
and just and fair
and i'm so sorry
for being two sided
for being a hypocrite
and for being blinded
and i'm so sorry
for being me, with my
clumsy mouth and mind
and my displaced heart
and i'm so sorry

but you do not have to
forgive me.

feverish, fervent
frantically observant
forever more

what a curious world
but what a regulated curiousity
i'm not allowed to know what that spot is
because it'll hurt me
but i'm told that being gay is bad
and that won't?

they squeeze
they press and pressure and push
until i decide to
pop
and do their bidding
and be a 'ganger
one of them
and then the others,
the true and tested,
the tried and done,
they cry and wonder
what the hell i have done
submitting to the evil
turning to stone
not knowing that the action
it's influence, invincible
unchangeable
not my fault

he loves her and she loves him
and it's a crash, a crack, an unmissable
climatic anticlimax
and there's all this emotion spilling like
god filling
up his canister with darkness and light
from a strange source
like a spring of ill feelings but an
oasis of happy
a clash of the mind and an inability
to express because
he loves her but doesn't love me

Before me lies a plain field
Stretching out as far as sight can see
I can’t even hear humanity’s plea
All the blemishes of people concealed

Silent, like the growth of non-existent flowers
Not a touch of sound
Do you hear the bee’s humble buzzing? Look around
Serenity and serendipity devours the hours

Unnaturally quiet, one might say
What has kept the swallow so powerfully at bay?
And where are the trees, tall and strong?
When supposed to, for all, Doomsday prolong?

Matter not though it does,
For I am happy
Past was the time for trees to be present
And who wants to hear the bees’ irritable buzz?

But shortened was my joy,
As suddenly the screeching calls arise
It was a perfectly made coy,
Nature in nature’s disguise.

And after all, the peace no more,
For the birds shout, wings flapping,
The trees sprouting from the dirt floor,
All that’s left is the tapping.

The tapping enough to make one mad,
Coming from the air and ground and sea,
As if I’ve been hit by iron-clad,
It’s torturing me.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

triple glaze can't shield the sounds
of laughs screams or motors whirring from
all the way down the street
but
it provides slight relief from eternal goosebumps that grace my sleeves

Falling, soaring, dropping
away from you and the warmth of your
eyes.
I can't afford kindness, compassion's too
costly,
So spare me the trouble, the debt, the owing
and retreat.

i always forget about all the mistakes you make,
i tolerate your swings and your constant changes
your inconsistencies and your 'slipped-outs',
and whenever you fight or hurt i'm always there,
waiting,
but this one time when i made a mistake, you
lashed out and said you couldn't trust anymore,
and that i should no longer waste your time
so now i'm left, not even a single friend, 'cause the
only one
decided i wasn't trustworthy enough
for letting out a single feeling towards you
to someone else, and now, you've gone,
just like all the rest.

crumpled paper
blue ink stains
wrinkled fingers
textbook pains

yearning for touch to warm your icy skin,
decorated with fractals of cold disuse,
reading meaningful things on hp and
listening to the music that's most indie
trying to find the one lyric to add some heat
to the freezing stone that is your body by
sending some shivers up your spine and
causing the cemetery that is your mind
to feel the flow of hot, soothing blood
that doesn't flow unless you're in luck

Yellow
when the trumpets sound
Blue
for the apocalypse is coming
Green
everything is dying
Red
i'm falling to the ground
Orange
for the dying sky
Brown
for the day we will all die
Pink
nothing left to say
Purple
your tongue has been torn off anyway
because you do not deserve to talk
your mouth holds those unwanted words
******* away to be heard
do you not see the colours?
do you not feel the wind?
the earth is dying, burning, freezing
this ice inferno to begin
but all you think about are
words

my mind has fallen down, nearer to where my heart is, and it is shrinking, but pulsing huger, whilst my heart is no longer pumping blood and throat is now stuck with this dry lump and my tear ducts are too empty to occupy and it's all suddenly just decided to go, to leave, to place this heaviness upon the cage that no longer protects my unworking heart

i did not expect love and care from you,  but i didn't expect such a bitter fate. i didn't decide i was done with it, but i didn't decide i'd continue.  i didn't want to be involved but i didn't say it was a choice. i didn't want to feel reliance but i had to submit.

hmm
do nanowrimo
accept poetry
anthologies?

because at this rate
they have to

my fear is not of death itself, but
of the pain of it.
because in the end, i will always
be a coward.

there is a lump not so modestly residing in the back of my throat
forcing me to stay silent because if i speak i'll probably squeak and the tears will start dripping
please, can someone tell me what it is that i'm feeling?

it's that time of year again and
once again i'm sitting alone under like
seven hundred duvets and
she's in a mood again because
brother's in the ******* hospital bed
the snow just will not appear, and neither will
friends