tired, and mildly wrecked.
with dissapointment, and of hopes
built on the wrong foundations.
it's so hard to trust,
and trust again.

never entrust your heart,
with anyone.

lilting voices,
flitting away.

relinquish, reliquishing control

to break your heart into piece,trying to trust,
to hand it over, my fragile paper heart.

not glass or crystaline figurines,
because they would otherwise be treasured;

too easily crumpled, left forgotten
under the pile,
waiting, collecting
                                                  dust

trace, over the lines,
the shape of my heart.

too easily soild, (re) written over,
by yesterday's to do list,
scribbles of the ever present
loomings of tomorrow

it's okay, just another coffee stain,
and the odd muffin crumb
from when i forgot

left it sitting by the recyling bin


must have missed those words
from your heart.

trust is when you give up control, when you pull down your own defences, and let someone else entirely foreign in, when you entrust them with the key to yourself, and place in them your whole hearted belief that they will not let you down.

when you tear yourself to pieces, and let them in,
in your most vulnerable position
and give them the power over you,
and the power to judge.

the power and the choice to love you back,


and that perhaps is the reason why you should never trust,
and never put your trust or love in one person.

keep everyone distant so that they won't matter
amass and hoard, tangibles that reassure
you of your presence

bitter. i guess.
i just want to be real.


on the other side of the glass, peering in, trying to feel
getting ourselves let down everytime we try.

why are we still trying to fight this?

i miss all you people that i used be comfortable with, why must you prove me wrong?
why did you have to forget?

just a smile and a oh hai there, happy birthday would have sufficed.
not a oh yeah. you seem moody. a whole shit of people that i don't even consider close seem to have commented and wished my happy birthday. and oh look this random person has gone all the way to travel all the way across campus just so that she' be there at the RIGHT time amidst all our crazy traveling/non fixed class schedules to wish me happy birthday, and you can't even god damned be bothered to wish me a proper birthday?

and you seem to have remembered everyone elses' birthday too,
all the ones before and after mine.

or maybe partially cause i remind everyone else about everyone else's birthdays
except for my own.

comments

requiem.

save us from our train wreck of disaster.
We're not dead yet.
a silver of chance, a glimmer of hope
yes, please/

comments

i want to own it.
i want to own you.
just the whims of my little hollow heart.
trying to fill it up with materialism
i think i lost something as i stumbled down the darker alleys of life
still trying to fill up that empty hole

sort of addictive. transfixing.
a double dosage of endorphins

we'll prance around, stamps in hand
mine! mine! mine!
proclaiming our ownership of nothingness
colonisers, planting stark flags
against the lush greenery of majestic forsets,
vast plains of a lazy sunny afternoon

we pulled out our labelling guns,
pointed, aimed and fired away.

cards a ready , a cold breeze rushes past
we inhale the only 9% cancerous fumes of newly manufactured plastic
that covers a brand new all natural, organic leather bag

the grasslands let out another call
for the dead carcasses we have stripped of the land.
when have we lost ourselves?

spring turns it's back,
i want to run through empty fields of dandelions
and feel the wind whipping through our hair...
sniffle and cough together,
upturned noses, wide eyed in fascination
of the passing horse drawn wagons on a dusty road

inhale. and feel the soft beckoning of silk,
cashmere scarves that nestle wrap themselves around
our necks on a cold winter day.


suffocating.

deep breaths, the icy coldness chills our bones from inside.

hollow from our carbonic diets.
coke zero. nought.

i need you by my side.
just another soft toy by my bed,
to keep the monsters away at night.
maybe i could really love you.

fend them away.

i would craft myself,
the sharp blades of a sculptor's knife
with the perfectionist streak of an artist


just hold me tight



on the possessive nature/tendencies that i seem to have honed. i'm slightly repulsed. maybe this is why i've never really had successful relationships, maybe all i was trying to do was to assuage my insecurities.

comments