all of it is still.

this is the last year or so, as fallen behind and discarded. drafts that i give life to, tonight.

I.

If they knew (if they knew, if they knew, if they knew!) how it is. Happiness – no – blinding heat – no, it was – happiness. And I want them all torn apart, all close and here.

I can't stop. I need to be at the gym.

HAPPINESS

He is just so damn...

HEAT

II.

some day all your pain builds as monuments, and some days it's all just seething colour, the kind of colour that eats at other colour, stripping away cheeks and kneecaps, or too much, filling all of your eyes, the whole of your stomach, a bloated painting that once held a simple smile.

i still can't hold a thought.

but yesterday, it was all a monument.

III.

and i race myself to this side again, so far away from the spark that carries me, and even the libraries have died.

IV.

i think it's more than writing, more than any one thing, and maybe any one of those things are the unetched notes to the same song, just such a lost thing, cracked pavement thing, dripping from a bent tree.

V.

and you will never deserve, if you see only skin, and your skin never deserved, the poison they mapped.

VI.

press your song to my teeth, kiss me like granite.

VII.

every day can't show itself for another colour, not drip through your bones.

VIII.

because this moment might feel so close, and this day feel so...

IX.

and then your lips, there was a knife, sudden teeth.

X.

i taste your stomach and knot my teeth, i am a bit confused who...

XI.

i have to believe. i do believe. i believe. i can't be sad because i will drown in it. every day is a fight sometimes.

XII.

but it's raining now, how it clings to the branches of the dead tree, entire worlds passing quietly in moments, and the curtains give before the light. my feet find each other and make promises, a simple warmth or secret, that headphones rewire the horrors, with a beautiful song.

XIII.

these dominoes i planted to the soil, they never grew.

XIV.

i can still feel the movie scene, my mug, your lips, you in a smile like the cold air.

XV.

you pierce my lip with a kiss, run a trigger right under my skin.

XVI.

your eyes are the sun, i'm moving to remove my wings.

XVII.

they never tell you that you will end up this far away, this far removed and scratching at adjectives. that you'd become so innumerously alone, when the coin flips to its poor axis, and you just can't change it, pockets full of blood.

XVIII.

there's meant to be something great and small, to cleave all of this into two.

XIX.

you always stood alone, always crushed beneath your throne, even in the...

XX.

sound the drum! there's this amassing force within me, that soon, i will...

XXI.

i always thought the colours of the world kept the sky pinned to its sleeve, but it was always friendship.

XXII.

i'm always just waiting for the world to kickstart, for something amazing to spark up. the sun is so bright, and you are filled with that newest brim of hope. and i guess i just recall the stories of the paths, and how they go.

XXIII.

stumble until you are living–ingest.

XXIV.

press my face into the sheets, then rip plants from the soil.

XXV

You know, just have a good life. Don't darken yourself with graves, the throws of crumpled knaves. Spill your mistakes, Send a canary into all of their goddamned dark.

XXVI.

I don't know where to stop, where is safe. and I don't want these fucking abstractions, I want first person, I want real. I don't want to be a fucking writer. I just want to feel, and write that down. I don't want it to be pretty, for your eyes to pass through those mists, to get to there. These weeks, are pained.

Everything went to shit after he left, or the feeling that sparked up there. Being in love, you know.

XXVII.

maybe i need more lists. either way, i want to do it my way. i want it to be enough, more than enough. i want it to move things. i can get there, stunted and shitty.

XXVIII.

this game we play, chaser to the mistakes we take, swallowed by the dawn, in stages, blurring out the hands, and I, glow in the dark, stapled by a page.

XXIX.

what if we are assigned a focus, and we meet those parameters, then we are finished. i know it's bleak, but what if it was our purpose. we were simply meant to meet.

XXX.

it's funny how quickly colours can change in a few hours, how strongly a person can paint our days. which is the purpose of my project, so it's nice to see the idea is solid and true. that, sometimes we just need the smallest thing.

XXXI.

don't speak, least you breathe little anchors into the world.

XXXII.

I really don't like how some people will cling to hate, that yellow life raft, sprung out from sadness.

XXXIII.

tonight, we don't give a fuck. we've got a few more hours of sunlight, even under the moon. let's just be, here. we've got our hopes and our pockets and our unshakeable hysteria. we are just plastic cups and fingers on pulses.

XXXIV.

i won't speak, i won't make a sound. i'll just wait up all night, and hope that you come.

XXXV.

so, winter sneaks up on you, tugs at your sleeve, claims you for the night. darkness is a precarious divide, between burning life and staring through walls.