amour




I'm awful at introductions but here it is - life is kind of like a write or die motion, and this is my movement.

I guess it was a mistake

I thought I’d be more excited to be honest

I wish I could tell you about all of the stories I dreamed up of between 11:41 and 11:43 in the morning.

the post breakfast masturbation cigarette

A large ship passes silently leaving jagged ripples of light behind. I wait for the pregnant moon to be sun-drenched in pink; you are my total lunar eclipse. Hide me in the nape of your shadow. The old dogs walk timidly with their owners, their tails tucked tight between their hind legs. I question whether it’s a habit of old age, and the river laughs at me. Cars flash flood the highway down below; this is the ribbon of unrelated lives streaming seamlessly before your eyes. The weather is so charming in its deceit. You laugh because every time you finish a cigarette, it’s like saying farewell to your lover. You kiss it, once on the forehead, one on the nose, twice on each cheek, and finally, once on the lips. A sweet goodbye. Remember me in the future with the sun in my eyes. Remember me spitting secrets out on the pavement. Remember me standing beneathe the moon, waiting for something fantastic to happen. Remember me lying awake at night, obliterated and drunk, smiling because I’m so tired and oh so sweet.

to be alone, or not to be alone?

Possession will be your downfall, trust me. 

"I don’t remember and I don’t feel like it, and this presents a new change of scenery for myself."

go deeper, and heavier
deeper and heavier
deeper and heavier.

"I lie. I leave / smoke, fuck + sleep"
I lose. I cheat. Smoke, masturbate and weep. I walk and listen, sit silently and sweep
my feet under this stair
and breathe out so deep.
I listen to the fountain who sighs with me, (my) sweet.

My sweet.
A bundle full of incense couldn’t burn out this smell. I drown out my insecurities, the ones I am ashamed of, oh so well. The white stretch marks on my thighs. The soft yellow of my wrists. The way I cry and hide my face, and the quiver in my voice. The rolls of my body, and the jagged curve of my hip. My face pressed against (yours) and the three days I fell into relapse. The forced relationships and faked laughter, choking out my throat. My awful drawings and my awful writing. My short neck and my stubborn feet.

It’s happening again. Amazing how one day can fill you up, and yet empty you out, all in one. A calm breeze accompanied by a rushing blow. I felt it coming back to me, around noon.
(I feel alone)
(I am alone)
I cannot stay in the present. My mind zig zags with the past.
The Boy Scout knots in the gym; tying the rope thrice and taut, you make something like a devil’s knot.
How cruel to remember this.
My hands slip through the string, and I fall back into the memory. My fingers go limp at the sound of a nearby train. Ah yes, I do remember.
You reduce me to a child, yet again.
I see you now again, but this time even further away. Dining inside with your mother, in your old house with the lower ceilings.
I pull my wrist, don’t go back there (I say)
But I miss you
I miss you
I m i s s y o u
and this won’t go away.

It’s 2 am and I tiptoe around my sister’s soft snoring. I count five sticks for tonight. One in the afternoon, for a quick, deserved treat. One on a firescape, in the crowd of friends. One again, in the face of loneliness. One later on, for the long journey home. And now this one for tonight, to push away the memories. I want another, but I delay this for another time.
I am alone. And I am loveless. I am alone. And I am weak. I am alone, and I’ve never felt so deserted. I am alone. A lone. A-lone. Alone.
I wishfully think, that we will enter each other’s lives again as old friends. When the springtime comes. When the weather turns around. I am alone. And I am bed ridden with memories.
Cure me of this sickness.
.