14 Aug

I am in love with every thing,
and in equal parts i loathe,
i hate.

and sometimes, when i play with one
of you, my broken dolls. I feel

because i can hate your suffering
and love your joy and pretend
the world works in discernible patterns

and cycles and pretend that i
am a useful sort of god.

that i can make it better than it has
always been. that i can sew
your flesh and soul, and not just
your patchwork clothing.


there are three books, i have
in pairs. three belong to me.

one, belongs to a dead boy.
maybe he loved me, maybe
i was a reason of his death.

the second, belongs to a dead girl.
she did not learn to love from her parents.
i killed her.

The third, belongs to a fool.
She loved it. So much she forgot
she owned it.

It collects dust now.

Icarian Loves

4 Aug

I do not want to keep you
from the waters and the wilds
put you in chains, and train
you in obedience.

that is not what I ask,
but if you see it as such
I would rather let you go,
watch you fly.

From down below, lost in the grass
when it is wet with due; rescue
your children when they fall
from their nests.

But I did not grow wings,
when I was young, and I do
not have the knowledge or
the foolhardyness to fashion

them from wax,
and your leftovers.


1 Aug

she laughed, having read
all of my stories.

“it’s a romance,
you don’t put in
the messy-unromantic bits.

Cut- to the laughter. After all,
poetry doesn’t need
to run in lines. Fiction
isn’t about truth.

Besides, truth is a fiction.”

But I know, living like that.
And nowadays I write to make myself
real, and the truth is the closest
I can come.

You deserve that.

Sticky Shadows

1 Aug

I wonder, if words,
once uttered, or written
down, ever stop being true.

because you still can’t make
me promises, and I am
still leaving.

maybe, we are more aware
of the universe
than we think.

maybe, prophecy is just
the leftovers- the inevitabilities
we do not want to witness as certain.

the hope, that is easier to fear
than trust.


30 Jul

And I miss them because they
Can hold me together
When all that’s left is the physical

And I am not paper, because
The paper has been soaked through
And torn, and my limbs

Are coming apart in sticky, meaty


30 Jul

I want a key to your apartment,
all the memories from before you were

I want to know what drove you to carve runes,
where your teenage idealisms came from
-what they were.

I want to smooth your corners, or maybe
you can tell me why you love them
so I can learn to also.

And some days I want to know
All of the whys in the universe
but first, I want to know yours.

Not eating, but devouring

30 Jul

The ouroboros was now made
Entirely of knives

It wrapped itself around a world
Where parents broke, and starved their children

And added to itself when in return,
The children continued to listen to their elders.


24 Jul

it is uncertainties catching on fingertips
with their own sort of roughness

it is the owls that want to be flowers
and the girls who want to princesses
and middle-aged men who want to be

anything other than what they turned out as.

it is nooses snagging around necks that think
in dual arguments, unsure what they
are supposed to be talking themselves into

because it feels like a fight both ways.


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