Some poems

I'd rather be not me . Witness me run. I love you all.

[writinginthenight]

sleepytime sugar

when I'm with her, I take sugar in my tea

she stirs me up and I desolve into her arms

giving us a velvet texture

she breathes softly next to me,

Letting the melatonin tuck her in.

I might just join her,

in the warmth of sleep.

[writinginthenight]

The humble piece of toast

though depression or illness or drunkenness I know,

The peice of toast has got me.

At six in the morning or three at night,

The peice of toast has got me.

Rain or shine no matter the day or time,

One peice or half a loaf, I know all I need is a peice of toast

[writinginthenight]

scrathe and swell

i want somthing else to feel shitty about

whats another sin on my skin?

the ice brings about inflamation just the same.

it just doesnt help

the closest ive been in 165 days

i scathe metal along myself craving,

maybe the hives convince me

to put it away

[writinginthenight]

Don't gag

Don't gag

Don't gag

And then

Dinner reaches the back of your throat

And you try to

Swallow it

Down

[writinginthenight]

I can't even fucking write about it it's so fucking over

[writinginthenight]

I get these horrible flashes of passion.

They tell me exactly who I am.

They tell me I'm going exactly where I need to.

But they fill me with dread.

Became I know I have to flow with them.

The Bursts come over me Less and less.

The burn in my neck and hands whisper assurances to me.

This is what I was made to do.

And a million years ago I'd be doing the same things.

[writinginthenight]

Metaphor of the night

I am one of those people who buys a fish in a bag and gives it food and cleans the tank but it's still just in a fishbowl and nothing else and I'm a shitty person for that

[writinginthenight]

Hey so I forgot I wrote this completely

[writinginthenight]

Metaphor of the night

I am one of those people who buys a fish in a bag and gives it food and cleans the tank but it's still just in a fishbowl and nothing else and I'm a shitty person for that

[writinginthenight]

past the blur of items and events around me, i am not of myself

i am blurry and confused

i meet a seemingly kind woman, the vendor of this unseemly thrift

in my hand i have three white and yellow marbles, cool to the touch.

i spy a fourth on the shelf, but its transparent and covered in dust.

she asks for my marbles jovially, and holds out her hand.

"just let me hold them, ill tell you what they mean"

she is of the devil.

i am certain of it, i have never been more sure of anything before.

i back away and gather my posse to the doorway.

we flee with the cold white and yellow marbles close to my heart.

[writinginthenight]

I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't breathe

[writinginthenight]

Reading misufersatnign the fanfic and ts decesating

[writinginthenight]

I had this dream

Where I was taken in

And maybe now my sleep addled brain can remember what a kiss feels like.

And yet it's never been what it was.

And maybe with everything,

I'm faced with a conclusion that I'd denied year after year.

Had and been.

The only peice I can remember

Are their closed lips on mine.

I had never let myself think of them like that.

And she was happy to see me.

And I think now she belongs in my dreams.

I think that's how it was supposed to be for you,

Only ever acknowledged in my dreams.

[writinginthenight]

It keeps getting worse

[writinginthenight]

Every day I dodge being like the worst person I've ever known.

I can't be like her,

I can't be like Her.

I can't be like them,

I can't be like Him.

I can't tell you everything you want to hear.

I can't tell you I regret it all.

I can't let you fade away, because we clung to eachother, in our own. desperation.

And I can't find the words to say anything at all.

To be myself is to do nothing.

I've never sought out anyone who has touched me.

And I've never made the choice to be of anyone who's had me.

I have never chosen to be loved, because a man has never wanted me.

Love isn't real, but dedication is.

And I m just weak enough to dedicate myself to anything that shows me kindness

I just let things happen to me, I come to realize.

Life happenes to me and I have learned to simply take what I am handed.

Good, bad, or messy, I take and I take.

I have never done anything in my life.

[writinginthenight]

I wish I could stay here.

Away from everything I've done.

And listen to the crickets

And feel the wind cool my wet face.

I wish I could stay here.

This place I've always known.

This place a million miles away.

I wish I could stay here.

[writinginthenight]

I know that god is afflicting me with the trials(tm) because I have never passed them.

I wish I was more like him.

Strong willed and articulate.

One day I will choose blood over the water.

But I am weak.

He worries for me.

He worries the pain in my heart will weigh me down until I am no more

He both knows nothing about me, and more than any other person ever will.

And he can never know about this terrible weight.

I feel so alone.

He's like a mirror into a life I could never have.

He fits into the spaces that I never could.

He's me if I was better.

He's me if I found belonging in the places I wanted to be.

They never wanted me.

I never clicked the way everyone else did.

And now I crawl around in the slums

With the temptations and the debauchery.

Looking up and wishing it was me in his place.

he could never understand what it's like to be accepted by the people you were taught were poison.

And you tell yourself you're there to be a becon of light.

And slowly you lose the person you thought you were.

You've seen so many facets of the world that you were never supposed to see.

And you've done things that would taint the way he looks at you forever.

We both were born of the same blood.

And yet he is everything I am not.

I wonder if he understands what it's like to have such a severe weight on the heart.

To understand what it's like to drown

Does he know what it's like to dampen his voice?

He was given the gift of prose

And I poetry.

He's words are smooth and deafening.

Clear and direct and full of intent.

I speak In riddles and song and color.

Unable to clarify.

Unable to speak.

He draws out my worst fears in just a few sentences.

He is the voice that tells me of the condemnation that awaits me.

I'm being sanded down on both sides of who I feel I exist as.

I can feel him wearing me down

Preaching directly to the terror in my soul,

And I asphyxiate.

[writinginthenight]

Who am I ?