stranger's disease

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




it's kind of unsettling
how sometimes you let green lights slip.
how the glasses of wine slip away from my hand
as quickly as i fall asleep.
then i can't remember a thing;
well i always remember
but never the important parts
the hurdles we build on our own path
and then the need for growing old.
it was the never ending need for connection that broke our hearts.
we have not seen each other in months.
in years, maybe.
or have i ever?
you'll never be here.
or there.
where are you, anyway?




okay so if i ever leave this town remind me not to take with me only the parts i like. that way i could only suffer. good memories are necessary but if i can't remember crying or being heartbroken in the same corner i was once kissed, then what's the whole point of leaving? i know i'll miss home terribly. oh yeah i may not be romantic, but boy my heart does quiver when the sun goes down in this concrete nightmare. the buses are the worst and there's this traffic i hate; everyone screams at odd hours and i've got the alarms settled deep in my brain. probably this will repeat itself in other places. i can't escape it. no matter where i find myself next there will be suffering and joy, but if i don't remember the pain that made me, then who am i? if i ever leave, remind me to pack the city alongside my luggage so i may never feel the need to come right back.


no clothes; alright
no sentiment; alright
no words; alright
i will disappear; alright



be careful

you have to be
as careful with the unknown
as you are with what you own.
there's nothing more terrible
than not owning up to our words;
as if the world wasn't built on promises
on word over word over
and time and again there's
someone who crashes the treasures you've built
and they know nothing
oh they know absolutely nothing about me


whatsapp transcript, 21:23

i'm still not happy. like, i thought i was gonna be happy after seeing him or something but i'm not.i'm not happy. i wasn't happy when i arrived, i wasn't happy while i was there, and not happy now that i left him. and i don't know why and i hate this because i wanna be happy with him, because he's nice and i like him and we have fun... but there's just something off that i just don't like.... and if i'm not happy then what's the point? right?




i talked
i talked and talked and
i kept on talking
and i kept myself awake
and i kept talking to myself
maybe words could heal me, i thought
maybe if i talk enough i'll let it out
so i talked and kept on with my madness

guess what?
it worked
i don't feel anything anymore


if i lost sleep for you then
be fucking

mother fuckers



he said it was alright
said it was just the weekend off
but it's been longer than i have been hoping for
and now it's touching down to earth
now it's sinking in my head
i'll be the ghost tonight
i want to touch you one more time
so know i'm blending in to say goodnight
and even if it's leaning
even if it's got to part
i want to make sure this is not my fault

but it is
baby but it is, i swear
i guess i have been too aware



the coldest hands

"if your hands are always cold,
how on earth are you going to keep me warm?"

i wonder if there's any truth to it.
if there's anyone who could actually
just hold me together
for long enough to rinse away the shivering touch.

the cold has its own evil side,
i can't feel anything beneath my palms,
you resist my touch
   (don't worry, i would too)
i can burn myself and still feel nothing

is it evil,
or is it a blessing?

     depends on how much you want to burn yourself, i suppose.



stranger's disease

you're the victim of my eyelids.
there's a close-bound reinforcement
compelled by everyone you've ever known.
the victim of the fire escape:
a cat that ran through the doors.
it fell, and as it did,
the landing was seen as something outstanding.
from the bottom we watched and i admired.
just past the ladder i climbed
so high i told you i could never get back down.
i was freezing to death and there was smoke in my chest
hell if you knew what do with me.

you're de-frozen, detached.
disembodied by the lights.
killing and fighting demons at your back.
you're rusty like vinyl,
you're heavy and deep like plunging waters.
you're clean,
you're a stranger's disease.
and there's nothing like running through the cracks,
of someone else who once knew you;
the person that you thought was the one.
there's nothing more familiar
than pulling apart the lid
that kept the ribcage together.
there's nothing,
let me tell you,
like dying away in august midnights.


to hope

to hope is to regret,
at last.
there’s a lot of damage in building dreams up,
and watching them fall
as swiftly as you can say no.
there’s a lot of courage in opening up
but the bleeding will wash us over,
it’ll wash me over,
you’ll slip away…
to hope is to be strong,
i guess.
because hope hides the true face of fear.
behind the house of cards are
a million days for a million tears.
there’s silence and there’s the scent,
of someone strange but so familiar,
and in the back of my head,
it still rings,
“don’t run away.”



a break

remember all the laying
and lying and staying
i wonder where i might go now
if i'll break my heart again



you hear?

i was the streets
and my hair was making weird turns
and everything i ever stood for
was bound to go to hell.
whilst i waited i froze to death
and i drank coffee and wine without restriction
maybe the former individual inhabiting my skin
would have complained.
would i have been ashamed?
i can't make people understand
that i just don't care.
i am a proper runaway.
i run i the worst times
escaping from the fathers and the mothers
who have nested me this long.
i am a sailor,
heart at sea,
sunken in machines
buses and the never ending necessity
of commuting.
for this i'd outlived
a hundred times the skin that fights me.
and for this i think
i'll keep on fighting
even if when i speak you can't talk
like looking in the mirror
like loving in between the walls




i will start up the fire
it burns my eyelids wide open
i am nothing yet i burn
and i will bleed
for days and all the bullets shoot
right past behind me
i am scared
to death
and i should not fear death
as i have seen it with
my own two eyes,
i should not be offended by it.
instead i worry about how insignificant
connectivity can make us feel.
i feel so lost in you
when i wake to two hundred feelings
and i fall asleep to nothing.
i'll learn, eventually i will
and i'll stop the burning fires
that have caused so much damage in me

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