I find myself falling in love with things out of my reach, like the sky or you. I find myself holding on to things that are desperately begging to be let go off. Things that don’t want to be held or touched. Things that love to run away. I’m not used to being in one place for a long time. I’m used to being temporary. I’m used to new places and new faces. I’m used to running away. I gave you my heart; bandaged and glued together, and you had the audacity to give it back with more cracks. I don’t believe in much but I believe in expiration dates. I find myself always looking for them on the back of milk cartons and on relationships. Things aren’t meant to last long. At least that’s what I’ve been shown. Until you drove past my darkest thoughts and stopped to listen.
Tie my hands against the dawn of the new day
and count the strands of brown hair that falls across my face.
Watch my eyes flutter open and memorise that moment.
Kiss all the bruises from my ex lovers
and my past away,
Carve your deepest secrets in to my spine,
I will use them to stand up straight when everything else is falling
I will use my string of words to pick you up
when all your broken bits are thrown out.
Re-read her love letters
Throw away his.
Untie the knots in my stomach
and use it as a noose instead.
We were never made to last
We were built with sand and lost hope in our bones
We are indestructible
We are the thunder growing at the pit of our hungry bellies
We are the bolts of lightning in their center of our throbbing chests
We are our own rainstorms.
A friend breaking your heart always hurts more than a lover doing so.
I wore black today. I thought wearing black would be appropriate as I was mourning the death of our friendship. Black dress, black ribbon, black shoes, even black underwear. I removed my sparkly earrings and wore a black necklace instead, with the word ‘Karma’ hanging from its center. It burned like a hot blade against my skin. I refilled the vodka flask that I spent the night before emptying, with black
coffee instead. I had to stay awake for the funeral. I had to “mourn my loss.” But that’s when it hit me. That’s when I realised that it wasn’t a loss. You see, death usually implies something that was taken from you unwillingly. Someone taking something from you without there being much of a choice.
You had a choice. You had a fucking choice. But you decided to kill our friendship anyway, because it meant nothing to you. It was a murder. Cold blooded, blue murder.
I should have worn red instead. I should have worn my set of white pearls and donned my darkest shade of red lipstick. I should have laughed and clawed at your corpse. I should have thanked you for showing me that we were never friends to begin with.Trust and loyalty meant nothing to you. You were right when you said “I’m not like the others”. You are far worse. The others never had the heart to do what you did. The others cared. The others were human. You were different. You were the worst. I only wish I had known sooner.
I hope one day, karma finds home in your arms. I hope one day, karma scratches its name in to your skin. And I hope you remember forever how it feels, to trust someone, only to find out that they threw everything away with just a snap of their fingers, without a care in the world. As if you meant nothing.
Dear you, this is the end. I would ask you to Rest in Peace, but I’d be lying.
I know it’s tempting and I know its exciting. I know it gives you goosebumps and I know it also makes you feel alive. But you can’t keep playing with fire and expect not to get burnt, every single time. You can’t keep cutting yourself and expect not to see blood, every single time and you can’t rip your heart out of it’s prison cell and toss it to the wind, hoping someone would bring it back. You’re not invincible. You’re not fire proof. You can’t keep doing this over and over again. At some point, you’re going to have to choose yourself.
Like a pendulum
I watched my sanity swing back and forth
Hitting the four corners of these hypnotic white walls.
With each thud and each bang,
I heard it echo through the crevices and dark alleys of my mind
Passing whispers and taunts
Egging me to take one step closer to the dark.
I felt the last strings that held bits of me together,
break off and snap, as easily as I pictured my own neck would
on the nights when I saw my 10-year-old self
holding a doll in the corner, humming a tune I was no longer familiar with.
I wish I could hold on and stay for a little while longer
I wish cradling the past didn’t become a habit
I wish you were there for me.
Falling in love with you was like skinny dipping in winter
Falling in love with you was like
standing in the pouring rain
holding the key high enough
hoping to feel some sort of spark
some sort of electricity.
It was reckless
It was a suicide attempt.
Falling in love with you
was the only thing I felt good at.
– excerpts from a book I’ll never write.
I’ll call her my very own ballerina
as she pirouettes in and out of my mind;
her feet barely touching the ground
passionate, yet seemingly detached
as if they weren’t real limbs at all.
I’ll call her my very own ballerina
as she turns and points and scurries through my thoughts
poised and graceful;
dancing her own performance in hypnotic circles
in the theater of my mind.
She finishes in a grande jeté,
She leaps forward from my hidden corners
and bows in front of me,
white knuckles clenching a beating heart
She was my muse,
and I, her biggest balletomane.