stranger's disease

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



who won?

i lost but i think i never had anything to lose in the first place


post op

tension has arisen. it's nested in a place i can't define as well as i can talk about the structures of life. but it's there, i feel it. it struggles to break free. my hands shake and i tell everyone, "i know panic." for some reason i want everyone to know that i can panic. just in case. in case i do it and i need help again. in case i feel like drowning. i haven't sunk my head enough since the summer. now i'm alright on the surface but it still feels like sinking...





she could spend a day in someone else's head
if she had to
she could wear you out with headaches
if demanded
she keeps reminding me of it
already running out of good intentions




don't ask questions you don't want me to answer.
you know me,
you know my intensity.
i can be brave
but i break easily.
don't ask questions for answers' you'll evade.
i'll never aim to please.
i aim to ease.
then don't expect me to be kind,
don't expect my empathy,
don't expect me to stay calm.
if there's a raging pressure against my chest every night,
and the lid came off when you reached out,
would you be surprised?
it's not charming,
i know.
it's not sweet.
but i'm not sweet and i'm not bitter
i'm just blood between teeth.
     but right now everything itches

how a set of right words could send me spinning

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these days were favourable for a couple of reasons:
system re-wired.
rain washed away misery.
the cold whiplashed my self-esteem.
i learnt that being alone
and being lonely
do not correlate.
i was lonely with people for months.
i stabilize and try again
to recompose the structure that makes me
here we are.
eloquently placed pieces of furniture,
cleverly detailed make up.
scars, scarves, scarcity of space.
i don't feel your urge for long.
you come back, yes;
but it's not lonely...
thanks, bud.
i learnt a lot from you.




care for caring
it doesn't work for me
I think quit before i could even begin
and yet i spontaneously
found how fast my heartbeat can race
in the thrill of the thunderstorm

over us the skies were gray
but i've got my shoes and i've got my hair
and it still behaves like a mane
but i don't care
i wish i could quit everything else but it wouldn't be fair

i should be sleeping and 
maybe i should be planning
but you know me,
(well no, you don't)
i work better under pressure



pre drunken mumbles, part 2 (no curtains)

maybe i was bound to meet someone like him.
his bedroom was a live show,
there were only windows and at night,
i could only see myself and it was repulsive.
it was a very cold shower month we lived through.
i guess he'd still be bitter.
i'd be bitter.
his eyes pierced through me like he was watching, i was ever too aware
worried his eyes may see too much of me.
enough to worry me.
but i let it slip.
it was nice to pretend i was a mystery at some point.
i hope he writes me in bathroom stalls
like i write him.


pre drunken mumbles, part 1

what are you?
like seriously where fuck do you fit in?
is it in bed, is it in whose bed?
is it on the floor, on the strets,
in someone else's embrace?
who the fuck are you?
a missing piece perhaps.
have you found your way?
maybe you fit in being lost
in feeling like you can't belong
maybe you fit in fleeting by
and being unexpected;
nobody to wave goodbye,
means nobody to miss,


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