Talk to me about sadness
I want to tell you
But i ask you
To fill space
Fill me with you
For soon i will
Go, More words to suspend
Speak so i can swim
In the low light cavern of your mind
In the riptide of your tongue
Without hearing
Only seeing your shape shifting mouth
I am no longer leaving
I am staying
I am staying
Here
With you
As your tongue spins time like a bobbin
I rest
In the aimless needle
Knowing my spot on the quilt
There is a comfort in seeing my trace
My thread
Threads parallel to yours
In this moment
We are infinite
On this quilt
Entangled
Least i have something to remind me
Something to keep you close to me
I want to tell you
What?
scared of my own feelings
When i cant find their cowardly bodies
I let you keep talking
And you do, you keep us here, you keep me
close to the hearth in your heart
Until
Its done
Im walking away
And You're walking away
I don't look but i assume you are
Threads leaving the quilt just as they pierced it
Undone
through the blurry windshield of my pupils
Wind peeling the drops from my eyes
As i peddle away
Away from the end
Away from leaving
Away from death
Away from myself
Away from
You
Talk to me about sadness
So at least i'll know what to expect when i leave you
Will you do me that favor?

he kissed me
by the river —
soft, sweet,
almost right.

but he wasn’t you.
and he didn’t notice
that quietly,
our magic slipped away.

he sent me a text,
still in a haze,
wearing the memory
of my taste
on his lips.

as i read it, i cried.

because i wanted the boy
who broke me,
instead of the boy
who tried.

As always, when no one's awake,
my thoughts begin to eat me alive.
When I’m weakest—
when no one's watching—
I finally break down.

My eyes bleed
until sorrow drains from my face,
leaving nothing left to see.

My heart sinks
a little deeper each time
into a dark, hollow space
no one could ever reach.

There, my sorrows feast on me
second by second—
yet somehow, I’m still here.

No liquor strong enough
to keep me from drowning.
I walk into
a never-ending darkness,

awake—
in flesh,
adrift in shadow.

Riding this rock, that just won’t stop spinning
Fighting a battle, nobody will be winning
No need to worry, we don’t fight alone
There’s about a zillion of us, calling it home
We fight each other, while our nations fight more
It’s all over the news, with the blood and the gore
This place is getting warmer, no matter what we do
Soon it’s going to be hot, too hot for me and you
There will be nowhere to go, no place to hide
We can’t make it stop, we’re all on this ride
We can’t get off, at least not without dying
We try to save ourselves; let nature do the crying
Rivers run dry, they flow yellow, green, and black
When this rock is over, so is time, and that’s a fact

My whiskey bottle is crying, it’s empty for the night
Guess I’ll just sleep it off until the morning light
Tomorrow will be better, my bottle will be full
I can take the cap off and have another full pull
My whiskey keeps me sober; it helps to hide the pain
It holds back the sorrows that seem to pour like rain
Now it’s the afternoon and my bottle’s working fine
I feel better as the whiskey clouds my mind
My whiskey bottle is sleeping, dreaming of tomorrow
Thinking about drowning all that pain and sorrow
Wash away the troubles; rinse away the blues
Soaking down the problems that always come in two’s
Now I’ve got my cap off; tilted with the bubbles running free
Keep them going; keep it flowing, till I can’t see

When you see someone crying,
You should help.

You saw her cry,
You didn’t help.

But I was bowling my eyes out,
And she was barely sniffling.

That mirror that remembers more than a face,

And all the memories you want to erase.

Even that tear and scar you forgot about,

And every time you had a doubt.

The mirror was called more than a few names,

Every time with inner shame.  



The mirror prays every day,

That one day maybe you both see the same.

If tears were red,
they'd have seen —
my white pillow stained by morning,
red marks blooming on the bedsheet,
on my face,
on my shirt.
My eyes, still puffy,
still red
from the bleeding of the night before —
not from wounds,
but from weeping.
Eyes not meant to bleed,
yet they did.

And still,
no one noticed
the colourless blood I’ve spilled.