stranger's disease

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



momentary lapses of unending bliss

have you ever stopped at the pebble-stone floor lined up with dog shit from the upscale neighborhoods and consider the reason why you're still doing this? why you're still pushing yourself out of bed morning after morning, washing your face in cold water and wearing hills in the wrong weather? it's not a question that someone will ask you, because it's almost impossible to think about a reasonable answer. is it because you prefer or choose to suffer for all the right reasons than be happy with might kill you? they are still out there, the momentary lapses of unending bliss, that you can experience walking downhill in the midst of the morning glory that causes the sunshine when it leaks through the leaves. or maybe while he's pounding into you and he looks into your eyes and you shake while you cover his body with the sheet so he doesn't feel the shivers outside the room. or maybe when the world outside comes crashing and you're still inside in the safest place you can find, hiding in the soft rolling murmur of strangers standing outside coffee shops. have you ever thought how our days can be plagued of these small scale successes, that can only give us hope when someone asks, "have you ever thought why you're still doing this?"




people have said
i was beautiful
i was pretty
and desired me
but it hasn't
it hasn't stopped choking me



maybe today i'll learn
that sex doesn't make me better.
that maybe men are meant to be mean.
that i won't find someone to love me forever
as fast as i think.
everyone's got their fair share of mistakes
and everyone's got their fare share of wrong doings.
i guess i've taken my stall
and i won't keep myself waiting
for someone to show up.
i guess i just want to keep up an image
or i want to prove
that i don't have to be alone.
but all of this has only weakened me.
it has made me vulnerable.
now people call me a whore.
now i think myself as a whore.
and it's not your fault,
it's not my fault either.
i just can't bring myself to meet someone
in real life.
i have to work on it.
i'll get back to you when i'm ready.
now i'll take things slowly.
or i guess i'll try.
with you i hit my head against the pavement
oh so hard.
this was the culprit
it has shown me
that i'm not supposed
to trust the blindness of space
and make my way through life
at a steady pace
because after all
i am oh so young.




charles bukowski told me
'find what you love
and let it kill you'
and my dear,
it's exactly what i'm doing



three weeks

i don't want to lose you
losing you would only mean
sinking in again
and it's the last thing i want to do right now




if it's real then i don't wanna know
if you're true i must have forgotten
i can't remember
my senses must have failed
there's a bed, i see it
and there's this lingering scent
of mouthwash and someone so great
but i can't remember a face
nonetheless i felt incredibly safe
will you ever be real again?
i wanted to hold you forever
and feel the warmth of your skin in these days
it's so cold outside of this place
i can't even begin to explain
but i hurt and i itch
there are bruises in my skin
how did i get them? i can't see
you were only so good to me


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