Once again

I hate you.

I wish you didn’t exist.

But then I wouldn’t be here.

Actually, that thought seems pretty pleasant.

I’ll forever hate you and then maybe one day, I’ll disappear.

A gun with a fan

Burnt by the cigarette butts,

She just lay there.

Underneath.

Ignorant of what was going on.

On top of her.

I tasted bitterness.

I smelt betrayal.

I spoke angry things.

And once I spoke them, I retreated.

Back to you.

Regrets

Shackles

“kiss, kiss.”

It drags on and on.

There will be worse days.

Says the wide hypowackerlucidify.

Everyone cares.

But I try not to.

That’s the consequences of being the Unconvential.

You spit at me.

It feels like paradise.

Leave me alone is the most childish sentence I make.

This is not my armchair.

This is surely not my home.

I hesitate.

Hold onto you

What do you do

When you’re no longer content?

When you thought after all this, everything will be fine and it’s not?

When you’ve changed?

When your friends have changed?

When it’s normal to cry at least three times a week?

What do you do?