I emerge when you're not there,
I hid from the worse of the abuse,
skinny into the sheets near pockets,
I hid my breath and the trembling
My mother knew I was always there,
but gave me points for the evasion.....
My own blood and their siblings,
but I hid like a strange and magically
once here and freezing like a
fridge.
I can't stand heat but the cooling
and rain affects fragility of wool...

It almost happened.
I was almost good enough for him.
He almost took responsibility, our magnet pieces of love almost gathered,
Before the scene got all dim.

I never knew this would be my lesson,
In a closed book, an endless waiting session...
Now, the page turns on me and you,
The story is about to end, not with a goodbye, with the almost, in a blurry view...

miss me,
think of me at 3am
of how you said you wouldn't
leave
but what did i expect
with your words
clearly faker than you
nothing about us was real.
i see that she was right now
post-you is awful

I'll break apart like a marble
of sledgehammer smashing
strangers of this fable,
I look the eye into darkness...

Heresy is a cursed word here
but its all I have ever known
since before and after dust's cleared
and too fatigue for weeds overgrown...

Strangers are often comfort and warm,
honestly without such a false charm
A shoulder for the days we so mourn
after bullies cause us shattering harm.....

Bleed into me like the tap's dripping
Fading Ghostly like a new spectrum
of failed repetitive of the names hissing
The rusty old end and a new beginning

i realised that i never finalised the finishing of writing this.. so here it is. it was done in part four but.. i felt the need to announce it. so..here. this is "obsessed."

its very easy --
to get obsessed,

getting obsessed
...but with writing?

it can hurt.

because it becomes
your only way
to cope,
to stay sane --

to be okay.

and its hard to
open up to people
after writing for so long.


and having paper
be the only one
who truly understands.

its difficult to be
vulnerable and open
about your feelings
and opinions
when writing them
is all you know.

not my best work, imo, but that doesn't mean it's bad.

I'll swing to your madness,
the old ropes your dad tied to,
a backyard fun that's been wired
and shadows, come part to blind,
and yet, surprises to this fool,
I open my eyes to you smiling
and those snap moments of giggling....
Your hair getting wrapped up here
with the nose to nose of your cheeks.