wondering

I’m attracted 
to your brokenness. 

Is that a compliment
or an insult?

To you, 

or to me?

untitled

You know that feeling right before you're about to vomit?
That's what poetry is.

A nauseous, inexplicable feeling
and then suddenly
an expulsion of unrecognizable material
that resembles something you use to know.

God.

Why do I have to be drunk
to hear you?

The breeze isn't an answer.

I need concrete proof—
do you blame me?

Look at the billboards that shout smaller things than you!
What's a little fairy dust to prove you're not bogus?

Maybe you are.

Maybe I am.

Cheque please.

Jan 1

I have to stop loving you now, don't I?

There is never room for two.

Even when we like to pretend there is.

Batman and Bruce Wayne cannot truly co-exist.

Batman fades into the shadows.

Batman doesn't get the girl in the end.

Batman has to be alone.

One night stand.

The need for human connection
despite ourselves
Watching patterns happen–letting them happen.

Abandonment of sound judgment.
Pursuit of that feeling.

A cure for cancer.

It's the edge of living

dancing 

with a dirty cigarette in your mouth

hanging from a cliff

The edge 

That's where you feel alive

and the damaged self finds a way to speak 

When it's getting close to too late

How sad.

And beautiful.

Cigarettes change the way I let myself think 

We always find ways around
the things we're not suppose to be doing 
We'll find a cure for cancer 
just so we can go on smoking cigarettes
pretending to be alive