I am a failed experiment in evolution.

Still alive and still here,
We're all just waiting for the pain to go away.
We want to be able to breathe past
The lumps in our throats
Or on our brains
Or in our hearts,
But we are stuck in a whirling inferno
Of triggering our own pain
And dying from it.

Et maintenant
Ma vie est une petit morceaux
De quoi cela devrait être.

shadows are falling,
clouds and people and buildings and trees
crowd all around us as our stomachs crawl
from the graves we dug ourselves early,
just in case we need them.
*we do.

I had the overwhelming sensation
That I should've been holding a hand,
Your hand,
As I travelled home on that bus.
Something so mundane as public transport
Still feels igniting when I can run my fingers
Over the knuckles
Of your strumming hand.

I want to tell you, on this day,
Just how happy I am that you're alive.
No.
How happy I am that you were even born,
But I bring it up and you tell me off,
Because you don't like it.

I don't like this either, as it happens;
I feel bad for the elation I got at setting my alarm for midnight so I could make sure I messaged you first thing, and going to sleep again with a smile on my face, hoping I could help make you feel as valued as you are.

So yeah, happy birthday, sorry for caring.

We are surrounded by humanity in this bus. We are breathing one another in and yet out eyes are glued to our screens and our minds are drowning in utter crap. We consider it to be socializing if the other person is typing. I suppose it is in a way, but nothing will ever compensate for the touch of a hand or the real, unaltered laugh of a relative stranger because they could become a friend. It breaks my heart to see so many people absorbed by technology rather than a decent conversation. Yes I am aware I'm a hypocrite because I am typing this, but how else may I get it across to the rest of the world? We can't all read the same piece of paper...

I am a literal poet,
I write in facts, not simile
Or encryption
I tell facts how they are
With a good choice of words
But I never steer away from
The truth

You are the literal poet
You bring life, and wonder
And confusion
You don't needs facts,
Just the beauty of life;
The beauty of you
To bring happiness and promise
To me.

I wish I was brave enough
To show the world
All that I write about you.
But they are not ready for the world,
Or maybe I am not ready to share you
With the world.

We're all so cute and sweet.
"I would never hurt you."
"You're my friend, why would I do that?"
You can't not hurt me,
It's what people do.
I don't want to be spared from
The pain of caring for you.
I tied myself down to you,
And let you whip me with the words
I fed you.
So don't lie to me and say
You would never hurt me
Because I know you will.
I do not, however, know that
You will pick up the pieces
Of my broken mind, and put
Me back together, that I might
Pretend
I won't be hurt by you again.

Giving up doesn't sound so bad;

No more nightmares, right?

Because nothing hurts a person more
Than smiling at them
after they slap you in the face.

I think
I'm tired
Of people talking
To me when
They don't bring
Anything to say.

Follow my chaos down to the stream,
Nothing, but nothing is ever as it may seem.
Cowardice is bravery, the truth is a lie,
Expect the unexpected, walk so you'll fly.

Wanting, waiting, hoping, praying
For the weight to go away.
I want to be able to breath
To see,
To hear,
To touch another's hand.
Without having this tight,
Horrible feeling just above my heart.
My friend says I can control it,
If I want to
But I don't think he understands just what it is to wake up and fear the wind
Or the sun
Or the leaves or the trees or the people or the walls or the feelings.
Or myself.
I fear what I don't understand or can't control.
But I don't understand myself,
And I can't control myself.
So I wake up and I'm scared of the things within myself that make me 'me' because I don't know how to prove to myself that I'm not something to be feared.
I call it fear because there's no other word that can be related.
But its not fear
Or anxiety
Or paranoia
Or insecurity
Its a thought process one goes through when they can't trust themself.

These are the moments,
Where bleeding
Is easier
Than words.

Well *******, would you?
I will figure it out eventually
And I don't need you
Poking in, and telling me
All the ways I could improve.

I will make it better,
In my own time,
In my own way.

Dead weight.
Toxic.
Soft.
Breakable.
We built our waterways out of it.
For decades.
A flow of toxins.
Much like emotion.

My emotional state has taken a swan-dive
Off the edge of happy
But oh
What will happen next?

Broken hearts,
Broken fingers,
Broken minds.
Broken ribs and broken
Noses and broken *******
People in every place I look.

There is not a person
On this night
Sober or drunk
Coherent or spack
Who didn't tell me
That you are perfect
And that I should hold
Onto you forever.
*It's kinda my plan.

I am angry
My lovely one
That you feel like
You've been lost

When all that
Has happened
Is you've been left
Alone in a room

You are not alone
Because my mind
Dwells on every
Freckle on your face.

I woke up from a dream
Of being entwined with you
And thought that,
When I opened my eyes,
It was all real.
So I leaned over, to kiss
Your shoulder
And the cold half
Of my bed
Kissed back.

I'm not good enough.

All these things we are scared to ask;
Can i kiss you?
Are you okay?
Do you want me to go?
We constantly hope for the answers
To form from dust and tears,
But they never do.

Breathing feels like breaking.