Tag Archives: 3 AM

from a writer who can’t write, to a friend who doesn’t care

Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading
So sick and tired of all the needless beating
But baby when they knock you down
And out is where you ought to stay…

~*~

i’m never enough.

every time i build

my invincible walls

back up, you shatter

it with a crashing

sledgehammer

and a glint of your

candy fucking teeth

you’re so goddamn eloquent

an angel with a seraphim

choir voice, heavenly

and i’m just a shitty

raconteur, a useless dry

quill pretending to be

a writer, a croaking bullfrog,

a clean cut nothing

vying to be the something

you would notice and

admire back, and maybe

even e n v y . . .

but no, don’t read

the lines in the wrong

perspective, oh no

i adore you so much

darling, that it turns

my heart into chiseled

stone and devours my

lusted guts like acid

in my abandoned brain

for your creative spell

is my personal dante’s hell.

but this jealousy

hurts so fucking good

that i find ways to

compare, contrast

and inflict pain on myself

emotionally, mentally

p h y s i c a l l y

desiring the day you

finally notice my scars

and compliment them

and i’ll feel fucking

revered and glorified

by a cheap side remark

by a person who couldn’t care

to a thing with ugly taint.

am i really so insecure

as to resort to low blows

and pathetic attention whoring

to feel a little better

about my blithe existence?

F U C K. Y E S.

because no matter how

many beautiful words

i bleed in silver and gold

from my pen and

into the blank canvas,

prose, poetry, stories, lies—

i’m just never enough

to make myself worthy

for myself…

no, i’m never fucking enough

for you.

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Six: metal & skin (v.)

sharp,

slash,

slit,

sanguis,

splash,

s[k]in.

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metal & skin (iv.)

i remember

memories

more vividly

when i’m

in pain,

so was it

my sin not

to forget, if

i want the

memories

to remain?

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metal & skin (iii.)

someone

please

give me a

blood donation

so i could

cut myself

and bleed out

all over again.

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metal & skin (ii.)

it feels

better if

you close

your eyes,

count to

three, and

pretend you

are bleeding

quaint stardust

instead of

putrid blood.

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metal & skin (i.)

it hurts

less if

you don’t

stop to

t h i n k.

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Cheerful Lessons from a Cynical Asshole

I’m an optimistic person

Can’t you see my wide smile?

I’m enthusiastic asphyxiation

And it hurts like shit all the while

.

I’m a jolly fucking Roger

See me laugh at your plastic jokes

No, I never tell you to shut up

I just silently hope that you’ll choke

.

I’m a person of self-worth

Yeah, I believe in my useless skills

I’m hopeful and me, I shan’t conform

But a sock out of line, I gotta be killed

.

I’m as positive as an electron

Aren’t I learning how to be good?

It’s better to stick to such a delusion

Instead of acting the way I should

.

Shit, I’m a damn happiest camper

And life is treating me fucking well

And if I cannot be any more okay

I guess I’ll catch up with me in hell.

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Watercolour Dreams

I am so fucking tired, but I don’t want to go to sleep

I’ve had million dollar dreams that I wished to keep

I’ll dream for you darling, sing by the turbulent seas

Only if you promise to swim pastel horizons for me

I’m so fucking tired, but I simply can’t remain awake

For coffee brown eyes are keeping me up quite late

You’re fading in brushstrokes, I ripped at the seams

So let’s play like stardust on our watercolour dreams.

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try, but the taste of blood remains

the taste

on your tongue

is called

bitter resentment,

and you

better get used to it

’cause you

can’t wash it away

with the

strongest apology.

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Serve Chilled

The best form

Of revenge

Is the one that

Manifests

All on its own.

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