Life goes by so fast, there’s no time to look back,
And notice the flaws and qualities I so definitely lack.
I’m traveling life’s everlasting train,
Which seems to only retrieve the sadness, the pain.

Simply put, life is death.
The only difference is,
Whether you choose to get back up and finally live again.

Life stabs you so many times, that you mentally bleed.
It seems there’s never enough of what you actually need.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, money is nothing.
It’s another headband in the great race we’re all running.

No products or items can fill our hearts and make us happy,
For we all are told that we need these things and we keep on adding,
The worthless objects compared to our immaculate souls.
We all can share them, but we feel too scared, too old.
The ones who risk everything are the shy who are undoubtedly bold.

How deep does your happiness go
Through the skin you must burrow
With sharpest razors to make you bleed
Searching for the pleasure you so need

Satisfaction runs through your veins
Yet it's release leaves you drained
Your red water streams present euphoria
While the scars leave you in paranoia

Your arms speak volumes of desolation
Written with thirsty razor serrations
Whether frequent or far between
You seek bliss in its iron sheen
What a shame your happiest dreams
You believe lie at the end of the stream

I didn't want to hurt you
But what would you do if the blade's digging too dip into your skin?
You push it back
And no matter what you do
You hurt the person holding--thrusting--it back to you from the other side

See?
We're both bleeding.

i pull up my pants -

leg, leg, zipper,
buckle
.

the room heaves with me ,
a breath released
and a mind
unclear :
.

i don't know if
he made me bleed,

i don't know if he
even
would .
.
.

the sky looks yellow
as he walks me home,
but it's not:

it's blue
and the wind stings my
cheeks
.

It was March 2007,
   An exact decade
The land was barren
   My bare body laid
The air was in drought
   Helplessness rioted and raid
Humanity was in scarcity
   My debt soul sinfully paid
   For its innocence
He was inside me, collecting dues
I was nine, crying and loud
He was forty one, enjoying and proud.

My money ran out,
August 2011.

April 2017
Debts never truly forgotten,
It was after work Saturday when
My debts finally finished paying
A vase left him bleeding

No longer loud and helpless.

-fir.m

a thought like a flower upon my heart
and drew around it other thoughts like bees,
for multitude and thirst of sweetnesses,
whereat rejoicing, I desired the art
of the Greek whistler, who to warf and mart
could lure those insect swarms from orange-trees
that I might hive with me such thoughts and please
my soul so, always. Foolish counterpart
of a weak man’s vain wishes! While I spoke
the thought I called a flower grew nettle-rough.
The thoughts, called bees, stung me to festering:
Oh, entertain ( cried reason as she woke )
Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,
And they will all prove sad enough to sting!

— J.C

The first time you made me bleed,
I thought it was for love.
I thought the knife you were slowly
Thrusting into me was an act of affection,
That you really were doing it to save my life.
It wasn't until I realized that love is not synonymous with pain
That I understood it was I who was saving myself.