day-old suicide notes from a sanitarium

i know i’m the endless burden

the problem child you wish to leave

whining and wailing on the front steps

of a rundown cathedral

until the priests send the hungry dogs over

or a devout blind old woman crushes my half-formed skull against worn concrete

slipping and cursing the blasted godless beast that broke her spine

it would be such a kind mercy, then

i would be so nice to dream

that in a softer life, death caught up before sentience

and i was allowed to leave before i even begin

but instead here i am 23 years later

with an unstoppable rot

i couldn’t resist

shriveled with “fake depression” and some mysterious illness

that you’re pissed i don’t want to heal

well, why heal me only to heal your own anxieties

why heal me when last friday i tried to hang myself with dad’s favourite belt

why heal me to make the faceless doctors rich while all i ever hear

are pitying complaints about how much it all costs to exist

i would rather die a sorry death

than to feel so sorry i’m spending your precious coin

than to feel like i’m siphoning every last spit and shine from my siblings

who deserve this care far more and more

after all, they’re the velvet green lining in your wallet and i’m just

a devouring pocket black hole

so every little joy of mine is a blatant sin for you

if i’m not another blunt instrument, then i’m overused and depraved

but when i chew on my tongue and stifle my laughter in the witching hours

you ask me why i’m coughing out blood the next day

don’t ask won’t tell just lie

so please just tell me i deserve to die

i deserve to die

instead of some half-baked halfhearted “you still deserve to be alive”

tell me i deserve to kill myself because that’s all i’ll ever be good for anyway

(i know, god—)

tell me i deserve to rot away without remorse

and you’ll be there sighing in pure relief beside my bloated corpse

tell me i’m too morbid and too sick

tell me i’m too sick to cure

because like your bad brother, i’d rather bite the bullet in my bad brain

than to swallow your sick little pride

yes i’m sick, sure, but sometimes i wish you were simply abusive

and beat me down with senseless violence instead of desperate words

just so i have a proper right to be this fucking miserable and destructive

just so you can stop crying wolf tears as you ask

the gutted lambs where all this choleric trauma is supposed to stem from

because you just know it wasn’t you

it wasn’t you, right

it’s always me, right, isn’t me

is so pointlessly melodramatic and full of unwarranted angst

so full of burning ballistic bullshit and boiling blood and blacklist knives

so full of baby patchwork scars

that you dare me to open again and again

as if i’m not planning to split my tired wrists open permanently at 25

(or, god be merciful, tonight)

to get a taste of what it’s like to be truly free

so dare me one more time

all i need is one

one taunt to set the expiration date down and down until it hits spurting artery

dare me to make you feel satisfied

and dare me to feel sorry

for not wanting to stay alive

when all i ever hear from you is how much it sucks to be so

so won’t you just let me be and let me go

i’d rather fake a slow death than to hear any more fast bitterness because

i know i’m your endless burden

the rotten womb you wished had bled out before it took a defiant breath

but this sorry shame is all i could offer to your altar, so please, just one more time

dare me to relieve you of myself.

Cosmic Concessions

She counts on stars, astrology
My moods are mercurial
But I’m no mercury
Don’t hold your breath
Baptized in the river of you
Hold on death, the moon’s
Just a sliver of you…

~*~

06/11/22, 2:52 PM.

A warm freckling of sugary stars and fondest memories in tea leaves

The stubbornly serene way we used to sit and clasp our scarred hands

Tightly between spilled drops of stale flourescents and too-sweet coffee

And pastry smoke swirling old stories of something amusingly distorted

Or perhaps something stolen, pages deathly silly and vaguely traumatic

Stifled yawns and snickers stretching the longest nights to just one more

Minute, please and endless little pleasant hey, I could walk you there’s and

Gamin playground games in between ill-begotten stargazing—there I was

Sitting right next to you, one and the same, and yet I somehow never felt

The unfurling distance killing the moonlight between us the way you did;

Perhaps I simply found it as a closing comfort for my brittle horns while

You found it too unnervingly unholy—god, I swear I wanted to let you in

Be more than a mouth sore of talking skin, but I was scared that the doors

Would lock behind me if I was far too clever and careless and…and so I was

Still callous and careless enough to keep you faraway, knocking behind the

Other side of the door and beating like a struggling vital sign—one knock,

Two chances, three florentine-faded years later and now I’m stuck staring

Out of the blackened peephole blindly, sore-eyed and senseless, searching

For the estranged shadow you once left behind, our pretty palm fortunes

And surreal dreams and bad omens sinking down, I scratched away those

Crumbling mind palaces and vapid constellations in imperfect pursuit of

Feeling cold and colder, but I still sip on my stained mug as I reach out for

Those healed hands in odder dreams and open omens, tender or tighter

Still hoping that perhaps one day, all the warm nights would no longer

Be suffocatingly short so we could walk together just five minutes more.

~*~

Stall me, stall me, I’m all in
Stall me, call me up or break me in
A dark room in the wallflower
Garden of the party…

spit out those bloody ulcers, they’re bad for your health

a stomach full of rusty nails

i spit out one by one

to build a coffin, or come undone

let my fragile abdomen taste the sun

if i twisted our kitchen knife

or let the doctors inject every dose

then there will be an evergreen dying

from my asphyxiated head

to my amputated toes

and if i’m not who i say i really am

or who i want to be

i am only the growing lump

in my failing insides

i am only the cancer diagnosis

patiently waiting for me

but say it isn’t so, please

say my mother will finally get

some rest tonight

say my dreams are worth more than

a tasteless grain of salt

as my tongue is too filled with bile

was it worth it to be childishly contrite?

i don’t want to succumb to

the sore loser sickness

to let the senseless sear poke

holes in my surrendering system

screaming at me to stay awake

and stay fucking still

it’s all in my head, all in my

deathwish-daunted cells

in the disgusting skin i’ve serrated

one too many times

to mend back into something

resembling human

a wish come true, come late,

come too bad to be good

i brayed and buried myself in

one too many blades and open sores

until the point has been lost

in the overwhelming pain

but i’ll throw up expensive medicine

and eat up snow until it’s numb

as i sign away my final winter breaths

for a simple DNR

i don’t want the hospital bills

to dig a hole right down my empty skull

and past my family’s feet

so they could plummet with my systolic rate

they’ll live on and on, and on

an arrowshot horizon, even without my

wasting bones and complaints

to build them a big crumbling castle

or perhaps a birdhouse

with just enough room to stretch

comfortably, enough—

i am far from a saving grace

i reject every silver feather plucked from

my guardian angel’s corpse

and if they truly love me so, then

let me get ripped apart by the

black hole in my midriff

in peace, without a home to distend

things are better if they’re not

i swilled the blood between my cheeks

and swallowed all i’ve got

and if the pain tells me to run

into sunset gold

then i’ll purge every blackest night

and i’ll simply do as i’m told

don’t let the suffering distract you now—

you, now we’ll slowly let

the watercolour hallucinations

take over and over and

overboard, reopen old wounds just to

prove another harmless point:

this body isn’t mine to argue with

this fight isn’t mine to win anymore

i don’t want to live a life

that refuses to live with me

and i’ll grow up but i won’t grow old

now, i’m just here to be a prop at the surgeon’s table

as i close my eyes and corrode.

life in pink

---

a travel tired

an anxious cat

songs all wired

for nature’s blast

take the way

the longest one

eat your hearts out

we’ll have some fun

in food and flurry

and pretty confetti

bad bets passed out

without a doubt

our birthday breaks

and reveal takes

in pink and white

and much delight

family serenade

a sweet charade

to nephews, nieces

plus one, true wishes

no second thoughts

no bitter pauses

the evening’s young

and full of clauses

cheers to drink

and tipsy tumble

burst out in laughs

before the stumble

now hot in flush

i feel the rush

singing throats sore

and wanting more

dumb dirty lips

smacking some crisps

we’ll go and run

to hell with sun

now sobering

before the slumber

we take our hands

slow sand’s a splendour

a midnight dip

struck thunderstorm

the moon hides still

but we’re reborn

in crashing waves

and glowstick fades

and coast-side chats

we’ll fade to black

i’ll hug my child

our evermores

we’ll shriek and cheer

from salt encores

and warmth to wear

seawater skies

before the rain

chases us back dry

this night we’ll ache

to cool us down

as tomorrow paints

our strawberry town.

---

ft. bbie artemis’ very first beach outing ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

fermi

i have lived in the shadow of

my own self-awareness

brittle teeth and smiling bones and an open chest

with every letter

from every language carved

in agonising ways just to make me

understand

i don’t understand

black eyes in the shape of

blackout jealousy

seeing resentment and divination

in numbers that don’t matter

anxiety folding over seven times

in the pit of my stomach,

universes within the creases

perpetually expanding

tearing wormholes of worry and

negative space to fill in my interstellar veins

to purge the burning blood

burning me out

maybe there’s truly no one out there

or maybe i’m just

too tired still

tired of being omniscient in a worshippers’ world

that doesn’t give a damn

Mirabile Dictu

So say it softer, say it firm

Hold your breath and feel the burn

Gentle hands don’t wake to gold

And bristling bones will soon get old

.

Weep inside your velvet skin

For there be blood in plasticine

Wither now and wither fast

For every loss will be your last

.

Oh, there’s a grief in loving wrens

A flighty song, our willow’s bend

But will you cherish winter’s death?

Evergreen napes hung by a wreath

.

So say it louder, say it stern

Every breath but a wasted turn

Hearts too wispy for thistle chests

As scars and scrapes keep us abreast

.

Shed the bastard flesh you owned

The home you built is not of stone

We’ll wither, then, and wither, still

For every win is not yours to kill.

grownup games

my trauma

in strange shapes

and pretty petty

little words in glass

.

and i pretend

to make them dance

like toy soldiers and

broken ballerinas

.

no, i’ll never be too

old for such child’s play

and my knees will

always bleed

.

but wouldn’t it be

nice to just pretend

to grow up and

make believe?

going quiet

why did you swear to me

and let my numb feel odd

i understand the sympathy

of disparaging your own love

.

why did you swear to me

and let my numb feel good

if i don’t pass your humanity

i’ll let you be the first to intrude.

Fyrfaldig

A hush overcomes me,

And we’re too quiet in the standstill

In the loop that keeps on

Swallowing without remorse

Taking over our every honed recourse

As the roads were buried with snow and roadkill

Still, what else is there left to do

But love and suffer now

In the throes of you—maybe you—

And me, never me

I’m not there to be so simpleminded and so free

With you, always you

You plead ‘pray sing a song about me

Upon the day of my death’

Whilst I still find crass compliance in hoping

Hoping you find some sense in

Madness, all madness, all

But some may call it a sensible rebirth

The burn of twenty-six years

Under the bitter silence of our bored sanity

I wonder, left only to wonder

If you had finally found outer peace,

Then—sought out and sanitised

And sensationalised, they all made you

Into a teenage martyr playing their innocent fool

The gold and glitter tongues are ever so

Picky with what they choose to

Guillotine, but I promise I will never

Leave you in the rearview

Even as you do

Even as this silly heart promises another plastic scar

Even as my anguished mind scratches

At the walls and strips out the dirty seams

And slips on the iciest soul

As it screams and screams and screams for the

CRASH…but there’s only quiet now

Quiet like I said I love you

Screaming like I said I meant it.

(s)mother

I fled the scene

A reckless scream

Embroidered tongue

A hanging screen

Intrusive holes

A leaky ceiling

Hold it—or don’t—

A strangled feeling

.

You hid the crime

A deathless prime

Unraveled lips

A drain, some grime

Illicit goals

A stranger’s flooring

Hold on—please don’t—

A breathless pleading