2

“in time you realize some things are synonymous. like in September, when I told you I loved you, I meant it wholly, reasonably, entirely. and in June, when I couldn’t bear the taste of those words on my tongue I remember telling my mother to make it stop. the pain of you was too real. the knife wound won’t heal, just yet. and in time you realize some things are synonymous. in September I loved you with a fire, and in June, it burnt me.” a.c.

You tell me you do not believe
That you are sprawling and strong,

When the earth has to double in size
For its girth to be as sprawling
As the blood vessels that your one body contains,

When the elements that ebbs and flows
With the towering waves of the sea
Are the same elements that ignites all your cells into life,

When there is a small galaxy’s worth of neurons
Moving your eyes beating your heart making you breathe letting you feel–
As you read these words,
Right here, 
Right now.

(60,000 miles of blood vessels)
(Sodium, magnesium, calcium, potassium)
(And 100 billion neurons scintillating beneath the crown of your head)

You were born into this world 
With one cell turning into 37 trillion–
Like the child of the big bang
After years of cosmic inflation.

And now I ask you:
Are you or are you not the universe?
Are you sprawling and strong?

—  Yes, you are. n.t.
I’d give anything to feel your fingertips on my cheek again. Your hands on my waist, while your lips drift slowly along my neck the way you always knew I liked. Your eyes forever burning into mine, because you were always trying to find your way to my heart. You found it, and I let you in. It’s a shame, and I guess you could say it’s my fault, that you had to tear me apart from the inside out.

What do you see in me?“

I see the vastness of oceans inside of you, a mind fashioned out of titanium; bulletproof and radiant. I see the beauty and the misery of a God etched upon the worry lines and craters on your face. I see a mosaic of stars in your smile, and a laugh that can control heartbeats. I see cold nights spent in your arms laughing about trivial things, I see spending mornings wrapped up in the covers with you and evenings spent staring up at the sun setting. I see passionate fights that lead to shouting and crying in the middle of the night, I see saltwater tears and puffy cheeks, eyes like ghosts; I see breaking down, falling to my knees. I see you holding my hands as you whisper soothing things and kisses like butterfly wings passed on behind tired eyelids. I see the world grow larger, ringing louder, moving faster than before when I’m with you. I see the universe in a simple sentence that falls out of your lips. Does that answer your question?

—  don’t ask me what I see in you. I could go on all day long
You knew from the start how fragile I was and yet you still broke my heart.
—  This is innocence that has been corrupted, I thought because since I’d never do that to someone they would never do that to me. But the world has taught me a valuable lesson the day you deystroyed me. Keep your heart in locks and chains. Don’t throw away the key the wrong person might find it. Hold on to it until you’re as sure as the way the sun knows to rise and set each day.
We are all broken. We all cannot find our missing pieces. Stop trying to live up to this immaculate vision you have. It doesn’t exist and you are killing yourself.
—  I wish I told you this before I left.
When I first started learning how to draw, my teacher always told me to draw what you see, and not what you think is there. Sure, you may perceive things differently than they are, but don’t get so lost in the clouds that you make things not what they seem, find the in between.
—  reality is an art in itself
SipsCo. Gothic

You’re in the middle of the forest, dark woods, accompanied by a friend. You come across the abandonment. You are alone again.

It’s cold and it’s raining and you’ve been left behind.

You ask of how it used to be. They laugh. They don’t remember.

It has fallen, it is alive, it is both. You do not know what to believe.

You find your rebirth from the demise of others.

Laughing, talking. How long has it been? It’s timeless. But how long have you been talking, wait, no-

“Everything can be rebuilt again,” you repeat over and over and over to yourself.

Is this a dream? Is it a mad, twisted, vain hallucination? Is it real? Please…

Your home is gone. It is no more.

Bright flashing lights catch your eye. Where did they come from? You did not build this.

Who has been here in your absence?

You laugh, but it seems hollow. You’re unsure of yourself. Something is missing.

All you can do is apologize, again and again and again…

You want to make them cough up blood. They have done nothing. Throw them away. Make them suffer.

It has been a month since you started. It will end now.

You say you love me?
Then love me enough to walk away.
Love me enough to let me go.
Love me enough to not answer those 2 AM texts
Love me enough to not come back
Love me enough to just walk away
if you love me, you will leave me
—  But we all know you only love yourself
Krypton Standard Time

Respiration, old windbag,
you are tug of war, dragging
us over the trip wire of an
unstable nuclear core we
named now; angler baiting
breath for schools of single-
file seconds. How they splash
from the flow in flashing
loops, gills aflutter like a
dying butterfly’s wings.
The bounty of time’s river
is measured in the weight
of juggled seconds hugging
the vaulted cathedral apex
of one’s heart. We lust over
moments that arrest wind:
when the canopy breaks,
revealing galactic black scaled
and gutted by starborn vectors,
telegrams from burning
worlds. Name them Lux
or Clark Kent; may they keep
the bicycle of your breath
well-tuned. May they carry you
far from home and harm.

But so that we may be eye to eye when you,
Who plays at having power,
Realise it was I all along who gripped and pulled
On arms like stone and ego like feather
And I alone have choreographed your demise.
—  A Small Slice Of A Poem, written on September 24th 2014, which I’m sure I intended to continue but instead have only just found in the notes on my phone

I feel like I’m treading through a mine field, but every mine is a time bomb. No matter which way I go, my time will run out and the fire will take me with sulfur in my throat and sparks in my eyes. I either drown in my own sweat or choke with nerves. There is no point in moving forward, no point in moving back. I could sit and wait for the inevitable boom, but still I stumble forward. I am bleeding and bent and I am too young to be this tired.

There are faces to some mines, ones that I’ve tried to forget. I want nothing more than to crush them beneath my feet, even at the cost of my own demise.

I move on.

I have not yet seen an end to the field. Voices ring through the air sometimes. They’re familiar. They call me home, but they come from all directions. I turn and search like a compass trapped between magnets. The voices have become ghosts. I like to think that I am still alive and that the voices are somewhere better.

My legs are burdened with my weight. There are times when I feel like the bombs have gone off—maybe went off a long time ago—and the fire travelled through my veins. My bones are charred and my skin is flaking and I can’t tell if I’m actually moving.

The only constant to this life is the tick tick tick that’s quiet and loud all at once. It dulls and intensifies in waves. It drives me mad and no one will ever hear my screams over the tick tick tick tick tick tick ti—

—  life at a low point