Ahead of Me
She had stardust on her shoulders and when I looked into her eyes, I saw the universe
I don't want to leave her
But I had to capture the look in her eyes for myself
Let me go free
Hold me tight
Close enough to feel you breathe
With enough space so I can look you in the eye
So I can brush the stardust from your shoulder
So I can watch you pass by
I'll catch up one day
Just you wait
To Be Honest
I wasn't trying to be
I thought you knew I was joking
How am I supposed to feel
Knowing that you don't really know me like that
I would say that I'm sorry
But really
I'm not
Is that okay with you?
Would you mind I just stopped
Would you care if I didn't?
I'm sorry,
But I don't really mean it
I love you
But I was just joking
(Originally) Chain Me to my Bed -translated 8 times
Don't sleep on me
I want to remind you
Even if you cry
I don't want to go
down
It can be proved with light from
Isn't this just me?
It just doesn't go away
Pull your hair and limbs
And away
It will do me
The hand on my arm
He asked me
Because they haven't done it
I don't want to worry about that
My heart is full of fear
I want to sleep
Please, and wait
Silence of fear of fear
Don't sleep on me
This is the devil's head
From going out the door
Devil is it for me to want to die,
Instead, read my bedside favorite home
Chain Me to My Bed
Chain me to my bed
Do not set me free
Despite how much I scream and yell
I promise you I don’t want to leave
Please, chain me to my bed
This way I can pretend
It was all you and not me
I really do not want to leave
Pull out my hair and heave my limbs
I’m trying not to leave
They force me out
Hands on my arms
I begged, “Let me be”
I don’t like to pretend
I don’t want to care
My heart is heavy with dread
I want to go back to bed
So please chain me down and hold me still
With heavy silence and the feel of dread
Chain me to my bed
This must make the demons rest in my head
Cause when we venture out the door
The demons, they want me dead
They much rather prefer the view we get from laying in my bed
Too Many People in My Brain
To organize my mind
Too many thoughts
Too many people
Too many personalities
Too many stories
They scratch at my skin and knock on my skull
Sometimes I need silence
So I have to release them upon the world
And when they are done there and I've rested my mind
They crawl back into me through my eyes and ears and nose and mouth
And I carry them around with me until I need to let them go once more
These are my kids
I try to set them free
But they always come back to me
Realist
The voice in my head is a realist
I’ve been told that I need to separate this voice from my identity
Depression is a disease
My depression is a realist
But I still don’t understand how the voice in my head is not mine
How is this depression not a part of me
How can I live without it
Will I still be alive soon with it?
Cigarette Halos
At midnight she hums in prayer,
A vibration which resonates outward, forward, and away
Pushed into the darkness,
Her breath will steal you stray
It is night and she has learned best to radiate in shadow
Her hair is the blonde of snow,
A foretelling of what we already know
She lives in the deep, and shuddering, agonizing cold
Tight and thin,
Pale and abandoned,
Her skin is a coffin which keeps on rattling,
The remains inside; hollowed and expanded,
Her body, a sunken city; a valley in every corner and mountain tip across each bone
Her eyes have died,
A very dark brown,
A hazard of being in reclusion,
She wants something more
Like the people beside her,
We choose to live in delusion and memories
With kisses and very little hope
An actress,
A singer,
A desire
I have applauded them for their success,
We are what we want to be,
We are what we were meant to be,
An actress,
A singer,
A desire
There is a hushed silence among the people that reside here,
Their stories go on untold
Behind doors the walls whisper
Secrets and lies,
We deceive
And then we die
She wants to live,
But most of all,
She wants to survive
Sometimes I see the monsters approach her,
The white light she stands under is a beacon
They are moths that cannot fly
Instead they crawl toward her,
A fractured light is what guides them,
Through a dirty, ugly, muddy path,
She is the gold at the hands of their wrath
She stands under it nonetheless,
Against the back wall of a rusted gas station,
Against the cool cover of dust which has layered on a street lamp
She has seen these things before
Behind doors and in alleys,
She has been here before
They like her dress, it is far too short for this cold
She stares at the ground below
She does not have a home,
Her glamour
Does not break.
She spares no blinks,
Oh, to get on with it,
Her time is precious,
She has been here all day,
Her presence smells of gasoline
She
Is
Flammable
With a cigarette between thinned, red lips she plays dangerous games
Greasy hair is pulled behind her in a short tail,
This is territory she knows.
She covers her head with a hood, and her hands shake
I do not know if she is cold,
or scared,
or high-
I nod, because we both understand why.
Clouds of smoke rise above her,
She drags them out like carbon dioxide,
They cling in the air,
Thick and tainted,
Pure- they are blinding,
Especially on these nights,
When the skies are black and white,
When our virtues are faint
Over here, there aren’t any stars,
But I have seen many angels
We share stories in cigarette halos,
I do not believe in God,
But these are the ones I can relate to
An actress,
A singer,
A desire
We smile, and continue on,
passing each other by.
Me
My Mind Is Split
And the Lines Which Separate and Organize Have Long Since Faded.
I Am Lost
Inside these Walls of Mine.
Caged and Chained,
I Stand a Slave of Many Masters.
My Creatures
Are running Free.
A Sign is Posted
I Won’t Ever Die.
This Is Not a Mask I Wear,
But the Reshaping of Skin,
The Moulding of Bones,
The Quick Burning and Cooling
Of Sacred Flesh
I Am Steel which
Breaks and Cracks, Bends and Relocates.
I Was God and Creator.
I Thought They Were the Same.
But Creators Must Make Things
And Gods Must Rule Them.
My Creations Are Atheist.
It Does Not Become Less Painful,
This Skin Holds the Innards of Millions of Creatures.
They Have Swallowed Me from The Inside Out,
Replaced Mine with Theirs.
This Body Is Worn with Exhaustion from The Weight It Carries Inside.
Stretched and Pulled, Tightening and Loosening.
There May Be A Few Holes;
I am Leaking, I am Spilling Out,
It Should Not have Broke
Sometimes I Am Beautiful.
I Hear a Voice,
“Merciful”
There Is No One Inside of Me.
This Is a Part of Me.
I Am God and Devil,
Sinner and Saint.
I Can No Longer Differentiate
The Parts I’ve Created
With the Remains of Me,
They Have Been Sewn Together.
What Was Before Has Taken to Form
Scar
upon
Scar
Upon
Scar.
There is no Healing.
At Heart, I have Lived 10 Thousand Lives,
It Pains Me to Know,
I Have Died 10 Million More,
And Still
I Know Not Where I Reside,
Be It Fiction or Truth.
I Must Write in My Blood-
My Words are Loose.
I Wanted to Write Words and Stories
To Be So Consumed with the Passion of My Creations,
My Mind is Gone.
I Belong in Two Worlds.
I Know This has Become Wrong.
Leave Me to My Self Devices,
A Scheme of Way-too-Personal
Self-Sacrifices.
This is Not a Game, But a War.
These Are Not Tugs, They Are True to Their Core.
So, I Write.
Write,
Write.
Where I Should Be.
I Am Where I Thought I Wanted to Be.
I Thought that from The Beginning
The
“I”
Was Me.
Matches
My paper goes on unscorched
The fire rises and my body drops with exhaustion
I am tired, but I cannot sleep
My veins are the tunnels that shield enemy warfare
There is a war inside me and it’s pouring out
My seat which was once wood has turned warm
It is metal that carries the outside fire inside, through my skin and burns
Cold and hot,
I am bleeding
I bleed in matches
They fall out of me like rain from clouds and water from icicles;
Loud and quiet,
Slow and fast
They are sparked from the air inside my room
This fire is the war inside me
I am inside myself
But still my paper goes on unscorched
It is perched; blank and white upon my wooden desk
A desk that once matched my now fiery chair
The desk burns, but does not break
My pen is waiting,
For a moment I think the ink inside bubbles
But still it does not write
My bed is alight with flames and begs me toward it
I am melted into this fiery chair and the matches inside me multiply
They weigh me down and I cannot move through the flood of them
The fire grows
But still my paper goes on unscorched
The moon is sweet
A cool breeze on my face
It sends unearthly pure light
A relief from the fire that has burnt my eyes
It does not see my paper guarded by an army of fire and surrounded by waves of matches
Still my paper goes on unscorched
It is a bright and loud night
But no words ignite my paper
So I burn in fury and letters
Branded by ideas and thoughts
There are too many which have melted together
None are left but a desk which burns, but does not break,
A pen that bubbles, but does not write
And paper that smells of smoke, but still will not catch
Lately
Lately I’ve been cold
A dampness layered atop of my bones
Lately my heart’s been aching
An exhaustion has swallowed me whole
Lately I’ve felt shallow
Like I’m not in my body, and have to be pulled
Lately I haven’t been okay
I don’t feel like this is home
Lately you’ve gone away
I don’t want to be alone
Lately I’ve tried to let you go
But here I am, windows open, door unlocked, staring down below