give me love

you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you

you’re buttercup curves and you’re polyester button-eyes

and if the people you love look away for one minute

you’re probably gonna cry

’cause there’s a hole in your heart

where portraits of strangers and thrift-store trinkets used to be

but now it’s all just

minimalist aesthetics

and the end of an era

sprawled out like a carcass on a suburban road

and now, please just say

you didn’t mean it

when you said i could improve i mean

i mean i failed you completely

i am a wretched, awful human being

and i don’t know what i did

but you hung up halfway through my sentence

probably just hit the button by accident;

doesn’t matter

you probably hate me

wanna bury me alive

and i’m spinning out onto the road

the breaks cut out

and the engine’s given up the ghost

i’m whispering promises i’ll never keep into my phone

i’m sorry i’m not perfect

i’m sorry i am sharp around the edges

i’m jealous, and selfish

i’m sorry, a million times

but please don’t hate me

please don’t crush my eggshell skull

’cause i don’t think i’ll survive

a short list of things that haunt me

  1. have you ever seen a diagram, of the brain during dissociation? how it all just flickers out to nothing, and you lie there, breathing in a house with no one home. how do you start to heal, when you’re barely there at all?
  2. and have you ever thought about the past? how it creaks and groans with the wind? have you traced the scars like photo albums, embossed into your skin, and maybe they’re all you have left, to remember the monster you’ve been.
  3. have you sat still, and imagined how you’ll fade into obsolescence like an old can of soda, collecting dust in the pantry? have you thought about the stars, and how they turn.
  4. have you thought about black holes? how they consume everything in their path without a minute of remorse.
  5. and have you curled into yourself like a daisy at night? and stared at the window, in a city you’ll never quite reach, and watched the cars like little wind-up toys, spinning circles around the highway.
  6. have you seen a dead cricket, on the side of the road, and wondered if there’s anything small enough to escape destruction? i don’t think there is. and that scares me most of all.
  7. last week, we learned about monsters in school. about people who hurt other people, who dug their claws into the dirt and left ugly, bleeding scars on the world. but at the start, they all seemed so normal. and you have to wonder, how many people could do what they did, under the right circumstances.
  8. today, i held a wounded rabbit in my hands, and let it rest in a box on the table. and i waited by the laundry machine, kept my voice down and tiptoed past. and a few hours later, i watched it go. i hope it’s all right.
  9. i hope the world is a fever dream, i hope it drifts and floats in lavender, and cinnamon, and bitter lime-skin, crawling down my throat. i hope my heart beats in my chest like an oath.
  10. i hope i survive to be haunted forever, in every blink of my eyes, each creak of toothpick-bones. i hope it echoes through me like a siren song, i hope the concrete swallows me whole. i hope i remember, and bleed. i hope i grow.

some fucked up kind of lullaby

hey. it’s ok. i’m not sleeping either. but can’t you remember? when they used to treat you like you could shatter? when your mom would make you lunch, or drive you to the bookstore, or sit outside your bedroom door and sing lullabies for hours.

you’re older now, of course. no one does that anymore. and i guess i’m really that easily manipulated, because i’ll do anything to feel that way. even just… for one moment more.

and i don’t… i don’t know who you are. but the sky is clear tonight. and as the moonlight streams through my window, it’s hard not to miss the stars.

and isn’t it so strange? how something that used to mean so much to you when you were little can seem so dumb and fucked up under the light of day? 

and don’t you remember? when you were six years old, and everything finally fucking shattered?

or the time you tried to run away, 2016, pouring rain. and your neighbour found you, and walked you home again. and don’t you remember? how embarrassed you felt. and how hard you cried, and how much you hated yourself…

it’s okay. you’re safe. it’s over now.


I really like this piece, I might turn it into a whole spoken word thing! I’ve been thinking I’ll probably start posting a lot more YouTube content soon. Um, I think I wrote it at, like….. probably midnight, after my light was off, on my phone, too wired to sleep. That’s how I imagine it anyway. I often get really emotional late at night, and for some reason it tends to bring back a lot of really… I don’t know, tender and pretty raw memories. When I was little, my mom really did do that. I couldn’t sleep, because of my anxiety, so she’d sing me lullabies at the doorway of my room until I nodded off.

I just… being a kid sucked–but I just miss those  little things. That somehow, for a moment, amidst an ocean of fucked-up-ness, made it okay.

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another silent monday night mostly just spent running from my mind

because as we previously established, live radio is the only known cure for the endless ache of my loneliness. and because if you clean your room for the first time in years, and try your hardest not to think about the future, and learn how to make a latte, and read the better half of harry potter and the goblet of fire, maybe that will somehow make this easier. and if you count to ten, maybe you’ll stop feeling what you feel. maybe nothing will be real. and is that really too much to ask? because sometimes, the weight of the memory slams into me, and i am collapsing under the weight of all… these… feelings. because i just keep tracing back my history, trying to find the one moment when all of this started. and i’ll try to plot it on a map and chart it. but… i never can figure it out. when the first fissure hit my skull. when everything kind of… fell apart. a little bit. or maybe i’m just being silly about this. just telling myself pretty stories to fill the void in my chest. and maybe the fairytales i made up in my head were only ever supposed to act as substitutes for real friends. and maybe i will always feel alone, even now i do have real friends. and so i will clean out my room, and schedule instagram posts, or some other relatively pointless task. as the wind whistles through my head. as the fault lines clatter through my head. as the night wears on. and i am one massive, eroding riverbed. and no matter how much i try to run from it… i don’t know if i’ll ever escape that.


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