explodist

It gets faster and faster, the thoughts and the heat. It is always the same—always going to be the same. I stare at them, and they don't stare back. I am kind with broken limbs, ingest the little scrap, and still remain. How the fuck are we expected to maintain to the fucking rules of this fucking world, when we are not them? And I cannot. I can't do job hunting. I can't escape patterns. I can't be very alone.

And it is never enough to give in, because this brain has to be bent enough to fight—resist—survive. I should celebrate cheap, little survival.

Maybe you are not looking in the right places. Maybe you should stop looking.

But then the right song plays, and I can come back: the only living boy in new york, by simon and garfunkel.

venom

I hold so so much hate, that I want to undo your existence, all the little things you do, to cover up miseries. And I want to pluck them, reveal your shriveled corpse, and not bravery. I know it is wrong, but this is my venom.

that bites my skull

I—am—really—feeling—bad—tonight.

Intense darkness is setting in, and I can't see a fucking thing to keep me safe. I can't feel better, for hours now—these hours.

It won't pass. It won't pass. Please make it pass.

I try to remember—try to remember—try to remember. It is more than now, this moment of wounding—it is more.

You have no idea, just to write, even here, this much little safety. I hope you understand—fuck—my brain—it couldn't. But here, it is different, and I can use that.

I need something, to keep me safe—fuck—I keep stumbling.

I let a boy smile too closely, one, who doesn't really care, except that I do. And so I will keep caring, like a star, consuming itself.

And I gave another chance, because I cannot ever turn away, and all he did was pluck away my fire.

this—is—fucking—crying—my—eyes—out.

insect jar

This feels like space between the walls, all missing teeth, seven legs in the insect jar. Just an alien feeling, numbness, the crash after the fix. A lot of my systems are a mess. I need to recover, at least. And I know I will, but I always allow myself just enough damage—six legs, and one writhing.

Still, I would never give a fuck about all these things in the end, if you came close enough—all naked skin, sweat, crazy fucks, a cure and kneecaps.

Forever fearing contact.

It was a blur. It was nice. It was nothing.

But you're beautiful tonight, and the stars are burning bright, and I give this curse to you, like there's nothing else to do, so let the purple sky explode, let it shower us with toads, let the scarlet river flood, let it drown us all in blood, tonight, I guess, I'm human, so thank you, for fighting, and having sex with me.

Fuck the scene, that does not distill your means.

box of teeth

my head is a mess, staring into glasses of milk, more plastic than—and fingers clenching, and throwing my headphones at the fucking wall. I just pull my sleeves up a little more and try to let go. i really feel like a song, a person, something I really shouldn't go into.

but, I did not write: record this infinite night.

it was, it sparked up, and now has it come to—returned to napalm, writhing, a box of teeth, all fucking menaces.

I no longer hold the sentences to explain, that I wholeheartedly fucking abhor the way people function. I am meant to be the one that is odd, and strange, and creating the wrong and awkward patterns. but I care, and I build invisible kingdoms, from shitty fucking light bulbs and glancing moments. it is everyone else who does not. it's just—bite down, more, more. it's just: I had a good fucking night. it was warm, and we were both aliens. but, it is always the same. when I am not escaping orbit, I try to crawl closer, but it's all just distance.

you—just—return—to—them.

like I am stuck out here on the opposite side of the mirror, licking stamps and wounds.

I can't focus. I'm trying to stay quiet, trying to listen to them, trying to keep the hope there, for a spark, but it won't.

I should give up.

(but I can't.)

I should fucking—

majorcollider

I want to start my project. I want to contain my anxieties about it, about what people would think, and laugh, and smirk silently. I want to do that. So I am doing something that is going forwards. I want to stop being sad. I want to stop that. I am sad, I guess.

Don't you ever feel like the wrong end of the magnet, that that you are positive, and everyone else is negative. And they are meeting in book stores, and in violence, and in plastic cups. And they all ignite a little spark, and you can feel it all around you. The more you look, the more sparks there are to feel. And for once, you wish everything was still. But that is bad, because how can you hope for happiness, if you deny others theirs. I always struggle with that. I hate myself for that. Because I really do only ever wish you well. But my own wells are all drained.

Too fucking slow. Too warped. Too ragged. They pass, and my fingertips repel them. I couldn't get any closer.

small little hurricane

I just hate this. Who says we shouldn't care, that whoever cares the least holds the power. Who says power even means a single damn thing, to anything. All I know is that it is impossible not to feel, not to care.

And you're only here for the taste of gravity. You leave me waiting. And if I showed you one pure thing, you would be fed up, you will be gone. So I just keep thinking, a hurricane beneath this colour of blue, adjusting my slouch in bed, killing the sheets.

tempest shot through the eyes

Tonight I should be able to dredge up the ocean, like the night sky, glittering with everything dead and gone. I should be able to bring down mountains, reduced to pebble and seed. I should be able—

I work my best when I am coming to pieces, all the electricity arcing around my head, fire on my tongue.

You have to realise, there is more to life than a lot of things would tell. Our brains glue so thick to the small days that fall around us. But you have got to cut free. You have got to climb so high for clarity. Whatever is striking us down, never really enters us. We keep our sparks, the only stars still alive. Winking between storms, we keep floating.

So I stand on the edge of three months, and dark days. Three months that could mean a career, something shitty and sustained, a few coins to keep my pockets busy. Dark days that I don't have the answers for, not yet.

if you could feel louder

I am scared now, and you don't even know, and I don't know if i can tell you. I am strange, and I am brilliant, and I can hold lightning. So why am I so afraid? That you will leave?

Lightning, it flashes so brightly, but fades away, it can't protect, only destroy.

I think the whole world is so well dressed, and shitty. I think they are so ugly in their masks, with eyes of the storm.

You feel this one way, that just leaves me to ruin. You hold your teeth, calculated and abandoned, dizzying in splendor, and then you leave. Why do you leave? Or why do you feel so falsely, these stunted kindnesses?

I want to ignite. I want you to die, if not for my pills of smoke. Like it was, with the little smiles. But it's already missing, moving through these cold, sad distances. Do you even know? Or are you racing me there? When I only want to destroy you because this is burning a hole in everything I understand. I wish you would come back. Hold my hand, slowly.

earthquake

The poison is back, immeasurable tremors in my teeth, violence on the blood line. And I want to destroy you for everything you are. You are never enough, not for me. I will go back to the darkness, swimming in blood. Milk isn't helping. Music isn't helping. But I enjoy it. This is the problem: you try to control the rage, and you are cutting off your head.

the lightning bolts that love his heart

This isn't fucking art. This is rage. Seething energies. Rushes of green underneath my skin. Reverberating.

Why does it come, over and over, leaving me spent. And the rain comes down, and it doesn't even catch on the window, or make me smile at all. I want to rip apart everything I am not a part of. I am back on the outside of everything, in a single moment, eternal through the striking hours. And I am mad, because I want to feel. The whole problem: conduit, colour, cage. It cuts through me, fucking m. I want to feel, and share, and survive.

This isn't art. Don't come through with those expectations in your eyes. You strangle me. It's still here, boiling, and low light.

And, see, I understand—I am not blind to my malice. I keep my eyes everywhere. I feel bad. I can see the patterns, and the cycle, ecstatic in screaming, bursting heat. and then frozen to small miseries. Black spots swimming around me. So I write it all down. This way I know. This way I can learn.

I just don't know what the world wants. You have to bring something to the gaping mouth of the table. You need an offering of colour, those days you wanted to keep. You have to take your loved ones, and their limbs. Whatever you are, you have to feed it through. or go to ruin. I can't be strong enough in self, writhing, and that's always going to be my weakness. I try to help, but you have to be whole in that, brave everything. And then I am exposed—the lightning bolts that love his heart.

I don't pity myself, I promise you that. I just need to feel. I know I am not alone in this. We are just separate, and silent. But we can come together. We can be the armies of autumn.

a death in the

today is a bad day. today i am a fucking artist. no, fuck it, i don't even have a brain. just a masterpiece of debt and shadow. i am so angry, i can't speak, i can't say a single damn thing. i don't know why i go looking for it. it's so easily found, when you fall off the planet, flipping coconuts until you bleed out. it's never enough, though, to keep me away. i don't even know. it's so fucking blinding, this violence in my eyes. it severs everything, the structures of a day.

i would just need you to come into fucking orbit. fuck. fuck. fuck. close your eyes, look goddamned away, leave me here. i'll burn up in purple death. falling through the floor... but i won't, but i won't.

pressing all buttons, hiding, you're already laughing.