I have let myself become consumed by this bed
swallowed whole and looking at photographs
honest, I wish I had taken them myself
I crave images and noise like a hunger
five years ago from today,
I fell into a trap, unknowingly

blanketed in sorrow that has left me
with anxious reactions and a capacity
I am unable to handle
honest, I never seem to know where I am going,
I wonder if I would not be here if you still were.

these past few days I have stayed in one place
even when I no longer held a purpose-
looking around myself, I have become aware
growing out of this town and becoming scared

I am exhausted of this cycle,
of doing and doing and never being
of writing and writing and never seeing
of loving and loving and never finding
of breathing and breathing and never feeling
whole or pure or perfected

I am not hopeless, but I know fear
honest, I am not doubting greater belief
but I am surrounded by small things
and grand thoughts
that I am unable to express
in this orange box

my bedroom walls know me well,
read me like a magazine
they know every page, every fold of my body
they know every thought and desire inside of me
honest, they’ve got me all worked up
mocking my insanity, testing me with irony.
coward and corroding

my bedroom walls play show and tell,
reveal my emotions like a favorite toy
first comes loneliness, then abundant passion
to do more than type up my identity
to become more than a simple entity

honest, I don’t know where I am going with this
I hold no grand scheme or hypothesis
I began looking at photographs,
I ended up here in this mess
leaving these passages open ended-
falling asleep to silence and the eyes of my bedroom walls
I will only be alone when I feel nothing at all


more and more and more

I knew the days would become long,
when I desired them to be short and the nights
would become a canvas for anxieties and to-do lists

I knew the time would run too quickly,
even when i begged, “slow down, slow”

Now I’m waiting for my time,
for desires to turn into decisions and
dreams to reality
and potential to finale
Now I’m holding on to sanity,
like a child clutching a sad stringed balloon
but I am not meant for weakness
when I realize the truth
only in my morality am I alone
only in my world am I abandoned

and you who said there are better things to live for,

you’re wrong
and you who said,
that I didn’t know what I was striving for,
you might be right

unending words,
tied together by fish hooks
take the hand of a devil

red skin and emptiness,
take the hand of a savior
soul mysterious, with round eyes

Even with my knowledge of the upcoming change,
I couldn’t have anticipated the sinking sorrow
I couldn’t have guessed the nearness of
and the next

books and citrus,
curling papers and crinkling toes
vinyl records and burnt passions
this life is made up of perception and music
spoken in conversation,

drained by temptation
to live “normally”

more and more and more,
it’s not enough for me, no