When guys ask what I like
(in bed)
I say, rough.
And they usually smile or high five
(i got a high five yesterday)
They don't know that I want
them to
claw my back until
it bleeds
(oh baby, more)
I want my wrists pinned down
(mark them as a souvenir)
Bite my lips
my neck
my body
(i do it, but it's so much better from you)
For some
reason
it hurts
so badly when I ****
(but you shove it anyways and i silently say thanks)
Physical pain is so much better
(yeah, i like it rough)

These stains will never wash out,
Of a carpet you never liked,
Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide,
With a worn and rusted bike,

Maybe the spot where I killed myself,
3 lonely years ago,
I drowned in the shallow waters,
Though it barely reached my toes,

I can't stand to do this to you,
I can see you in my room,
Crying into my old clothes,
Saying "why'd you leave so soon?",

The sunlight washed over my wooden floor,
It's been years since you last came,
I barely cross your mind these days,
Things carried on the same.

We are nothing but the interweaving of bleak and hopeful threads that we fasten around a branch to hang the ones we love and cut free the ones we loathe, so they may prosper and thrive from our anguish. Never focusing on others, we are inaudible to their cries in the dark stations that we possess as they morph into cavernous cancer vortexes that absorb their happiness into our misery. There is no reward at the end, there is only the validation of endurance and the uncertainty of purpose. We are loveless quasi-predators that want to be mistaken as selfless and proven important.

This kind of sadness overwhelms without an alpha or omega

i've always found sadness much easier to write about;
it has always felt easier to translate those feelings into
words, it feels more poetic-sounding to me.
but you, my dear, have planted sunflowers where
there used to be weeds and now a
garden grows in my lungs but the vines don't choke me,
the way i thought they always would.

i.
you never told me about her but i've never needed to know.

ii.
i'm reaching for your hands but they aren't reaching back.

iii.
i called out for you in the dark but you didn't respond.

iv.
i'm counting the days until we can be alone together again but it will be months until then.

v.
you told me about how orion's belt reminded you of me but all i could think about was your lips on mine and the sound of your heart beating as i press my ear against your chest, breathing you in.

vi.
(i looked up at the sky tonight and saw orion's belt, and thought of you, too.)

“You intricately beautiful, rich, deep, dark thing. Brilliant light and the darkest dark. With stories to tell and emotions to share. Simple and complex, you are the paradox of life made manifest. I love you like I love the ocean or a forest or a sunset. Or the night sky. Leaves changing colour, falling, decomposing, nourishing new life. Fresh young flowers. You are all of these.”