stranger's disease

"i wish i believed you when you said that this was my home"

8/31/15

 
I don’t miss the old me, but I crave a different mirror’s reflection, a different set of lines to read from. I no longer act, but boy do I miss the stage.
— This was never profound,  A.V.P

 

i told you it had to be done by midnight

his voice 
trailed off last night.
one couple of heartstrings
and there he went.
with wet eyes he said
he had to go
and i had no tone
on the cordless phone.

maybe i am his trigger
to the mind unopened
for the past couple of years.
how i wish i was.

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diary entry, august 31st, 2015

i feel like i'm living in someone else's nightmare. i don't see myself living in this skin, rather than outliving it. there's a sense around stating that this is in fact progress, but i don't recognize myself anymore. maybe a moment of acceptance has come at last, maybe this is who i truly am, but not who i want to be. never words more true came out of my fingers, i suppose. i think now i understand the boundaries i am confined into, this body being my only friend for the rest of my living days and everything around me, including myself, will continue to change. however, by no means my essence shall change. whatever dreads are put ahead of me, i'll always put my self headfirst.

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8/18/15

 

talk show host


i want to
i want to be someone else or i'll
 e x p l o d e 

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what looks like blood

what looks like blood
drips down the corner of your mouth.
i watch, in awe, all
the universes you contain.
and for all the misplaced words
and rocking bullets,
i knew i was embarrassing myself from the start.
it was out of boredom,
it was out of thrill,
it was out of love,
but i was out to kill;
and yet the coolest of the hands
took hold of me
and in what looks like blood
i saw the rest of my life.

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8/12/15

 

little token

we had no more
strict policy of
let's be bad.
it was just out of boredom,
i guess we would go breaking glass
but it was not
that.
it was a missing feeling
in our rotting teeth.
cheap shampoo
landscapes the emptiness of
terracota motels
where no man belongs.
we no longer had rules
to celebrate the anguish
we sought for.
bang bang bang
hear my upstairs neighbours again,
i might be going insane
bang bang bang.
oh yeah,
insane.
what a sweet little
free word.

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8/7/15

 

i can't write

come on
punch me
pick up a fight with me
i haven't been mad in a very long time

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8/2/15

 

questions for future me

should i be worried if
no one
in eighteen years
has told me
to my face
that they thought
i was
beautiful?
or  even
pretty?
they say i shouldn't
but
 how can i fight
billions of people?

    it chokes me, you know?

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