like a nosebleed
i usually show up at the worst time.

my guts are spilling on the floor
and i’m wiping the walls with the back of my shirt.

i’ve got prescription paper on the brain
and my back slumped against the wall of an alleyway downtown.

addiction has never been more ****
than a freshly 19-year-old girl with her finger down her throat.

if you could understand how this feels you’d take them too.
you would take them, too.

It all bled and bled and bled.

The hurt. The abandonment. The truth. The metaphors. 

It all bled.

It all bled so vicious and dark,
That I started wondering if my bitterness
started staining the crimson of my blood.
And painted it a stark black,
As I picked apart all that I lack.

And I bled and bled and bled like
The never-ending torture 
Of birth and death.

Pages
Upon pages.
I write,
I scream.
I bleed.
Upon pages.
Where I drown out my cries.
In various fonts.
Setting the world I so desperately despise
Ablaze.
In the places that killed me to breathe.
You lived.
You found comfort.
Solace.
You found peace
Where I found pain.
I do not hate you for the love you lack.
But you do not know what it is like.
To watch you be without it.
It is the emptiness that speaks volumes.
It is the “something”.
That I long for.
Amidst the nothingness you provide.
Among the sea of chaos.
I wish to see you drown.
Maybe then.
You would have a drink to offer.
On your diet
I have starved
You have forbidden all things essential.
Where
Hope
Used to take the edge off of the pain.
The tears I rationed.
all have dried up like the well that held your capacity to care.
Simply put ,
I have lost all of the weight you placed upon my shoulders.


Because I finally took a bite of something sweet.

This life,
This
Wonderful.
Beautiful
Struggle.
To live.
And to breathe.
And
To love.
This.
Is life.
Mistakes.
Cracks.
Breaks.
Happen.
But life.
It goes on.
And on,
our bodies.
We wear our past,
Like
Paint plastered on the ceilings.
Too old and too hard to peel off.
Viridity
The days of true gold.
Where everything simply meant nothing.
Serendipity.
Those years were indelible.
How I miss those days.
Before I met you.
Before
I felt the agony of your absence.
Before
I learned the true meaning of philocaly.
That.
Was all
Before.
I knew from the beginning,
That when I found you,
I was only meant to lose you.
I learned to love you so that I could miss you.
You drank my poison,
And I drank yours.
I was icarus,
And you were the sun
I was a writer.
Who shed no tears.
But I bled on the pages for you.
Time
And time again.
And
I would do it.
Time.
And time.
Again.
To the ends of the earth.
I would go.
For you.
When our bodies meet the ground.
When we die.
Let us become part of the sky.
So that every time that it rains.
You.
Me.
We.
Are everywhere.
We couldn’t be when we were alive.
The places.
I would have taken you to.
The nights I would have spent with you.
Oh,
To be loved the way you love.
To find you in every melody.
To share the same moon.
Under the sky of stars I would have robbed for you.
This life,
This
Wonderful.
Beautiful
Struggle.
To live.
And to breathe.
And
To love.

This.

Is life.

I am not a person.
Not enough space
is filled by my presence.
To be considered
There.
Nobody bothers to say hello,
Or even
glance in my direction.
I am simply too little of nothing.
To be anything.
Important,
Or unique.
I was a madman's invention.
Built obsolete.
Prepared to sit on shelves
For years to come.
Society has made themselves clear.
Even if I tried my best.
It would never be enough.
I
would.
never.
be.
Enough.

You put me
“In my place.”
But really.
You misplaced me.
You seem to forget who I am
And where on your shelf I should go.

I used to belong to your collection of important things.
But you put me on the bottom in a box titled “Miscellaneous”
I’m not used to being down here.
It’s a little degrading.
Not as bright.

You never take these things out.
I’m not sure why you keep them, really.
But you know I don’t complain.
I don’t tell you to fix me every time you’ve dropped me.
And let me tell you.
It was a pretty high shelf to fall from.
I don’t have to tell you not to worry.
You don’t care enough to anyway.

I wonder if you got tired of me.
Maybe you grew bored.
Couldn’t teach me new tricks.
I didn’t have anything more to give.
My battery died.
My lights went out.
My voice button doesn’t work anymore.
Not that you listened when it did.
But you kind of just let me die.

And then told me it wasn’t your fault.

Except…

You never replaced my batteries.

trapped words that I cannot  
scrape from my mouth  
spread like poison.  
radiating tendrils  
running under skin.  

I stab the pen into my arm,  
draw out the black bile  
coursing my veins  

and use it for ink.  
pouring my pollution onto the page,  
scribbling the bleak and vicious  
cogitations  
the nefarious abstractions  
that dig into the hushed  
corners of my soul.  

I hope to drain myself-  
enough to return colour  
to my veins,  
bleed red once more;  
taste joy and love  
on my palette  
in place of ash,  
and the ruthless regret  
that clings to my tongue.  

I am fading,  
withering like a husk.  
I fear I will run out of ink
and find nothing red left

A coronation, watched by our entire great nation,
Some with trepidation, others boisterous jubilation.
Trump feted, his fawning family silhouetted,
Basking in his light, his confidence and might.

This Grand Old Party, it's followers vociferous and hearty,
Anointing their chosen man, to rule their ever-growing clan;
No harm to love a cause, giving thought and sometimes pause,
To what this passion brings, the words the siren sings.

Whereas strong leadership is good, it can be tainted just like food,
For democracy renounced, cannot then easily be found.
Let’s be careful what we wish, lest it be a poisoned dish,
Our founders crafted choice, beyond just
one resounding voice;

Autocracy is not a word, that in our Lexicon is heard,
We must vigilance ensure, for our country's story to endure.
Unity the dream, but like salmon in a raging stream,
Needs fortitude and grit, knowing when to fight and for the greater good, submit.