last color

I’m resigning from
my position as mud
I remember the greener
grass and warmer
sunny day fondly

walking through the old
brick paved
paths that no longer
exist
be a summer that
no one enjoys

I don’t feel like I’m living
the whole day
it’s sunset now

but i want to feel it all
I want to remember every chirp
and color
but i’m staring at a bruise on
my hand
making sure that my resentment
doesn’t show through
I’m waking up late
and making pancakes for myself

I’m thinking of the next thing
I’m thinking of being here
I need to be here
I’m tugging my new dogs
collar to train him to walk
politely by my side

I’m pretending to not
be overwhelmed by the
lack of intimacy
with my partner
pretending to be ok with
being so close to someone
but also farther away then
most people see me

it’s a balancing act of staring
at the warm orange
end of the sunset
while walking off
the edge of the street

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everything is fine

there is a fisherman
holding flowers over there
by the landscape painting
he’s promising the
lie that you want to believe
he’ll tell you everything
that you want to hear
convince yourself that the
parallel universe is existing only
the one where nothing hurts
the grass couldn’t be greener
the sky couldn’t be bluer

California Stars

you liked the contrast
of the bruises on my neck
against the grey skies
green rolling hills
it says sex and violence
I will always be the
victim of our situations
oh poor me
a beggar
I do know
how to add a bigger
flame to
the fire
if that makes a difference
and I’m good at pretending
not to notice

I hope you get enough sunlight

bailing out when it gets too hard
I stare at the doorway
step outside
look up at the pines
I’m not apart of it
never will be
he told me
he would
do anything to spend
another night with her
made me feel
stronger there
is no breaking
another night
with her
the only place to ask
if they’re
falling out
become accustomed to
hearing these placeholder
digs lifting
me
hovering over
the cerulean blue couch

vivid dream activity

not even death has to be a disaster
death can just be an illusory smell
that stays in the nostrils weeks after
something traumatic happens to your body
an unexplainable wrench
no one will understand when
you ask ‘do you smell that decay’
but then you remember a time that
where you had your face pressed
up to death
non happenings stick
quarantine has dismantled time
the space between life and death
has now become the
infinite version of it still
we all feel it
we’ve all been bashed inside

a voice heard in an instagram post/am i too old for this

good things have happened to me before
and they will happen again i keep looking for
the thing that hurt me because
I want to sit in front of it
for whatever time I have left
I want to let it leave tiny orange
spots all over my body
I want it to leave me not knowing
my name how i got here
why i’m left alone again
it’s a cycle of gaslighting that I could
swear that I’m doing it to myself voluntarily
I could have sworn that being there
could Mean something
karma, good things happen
right but why is that everytime
you decide to come back into my life
all of the patches i’ve covered
on myself disappear
happy is again something
I need to strive for and will never
reach because you want
to make sure i’m left
with another heartbreak some
may say that I shouldn’t
let you disrespect me like that
so I’m erasing you from my
existence every word in writing
here is leaving a bit of you behind
until you’re completely out
of my mind just in time

one story

I’m unworthy of love
too complicated
yet also boring
cheap
not worth a thing

he points the camera
at the mountains and
then back at her
there she is
the definition of beauty
the only one who I will
ever love

33333

have been driving around
to see the dark, bare
blue mountains
with the orange sky behind
them
I’m also trying to cry
but the act is left alone
separate from any sense
of emotion or spirit
a melodramatic welling
of tears, residing
back into the subconscious
remaining untouched
think of the ocean
and the waves crashing
returning back home

watch me shower

how many ways can I show
you that I don’t care
I reappear and tell you
you mean nothing to me
all of the people that I meet along
the way
are better than you
how many disappearing acts
do you have to manifest
to show you
once and for all
that I only
need you for shelter
food
an old iphone
this oily hair and hands
casted with paint only
want to use you
do not wait around for
a love letter
or an apology
I will reappear
holding my shoulders
and a new scar
carrying all of the chaos
mind if I unload here for a while

22222

h e
likes to talk to his plants
with the fumes of sweet nothings
and the ticking hand on his watch
that’s the way he likes to
gaze at me too
at least but we’re only mid date
I only just settled into my
seat and took off my jacket
I tried to find the hook for my jacket
somewhere under the waning crescent
lit on the bottom
The only source of light
an upside down moon
it turned into nothing in
turned into nothing
I won nothing and lost nothing