No matter what you can chew, you can’t swallow yourself.

This is how we show
Graditude, from the outside:
Raise your weapon, rage

Watch and learn, alert
Terror breaks the pristine shape
Shatters the thin glass.

There, you understand.
She’s crying for you, monster.
Can’t eat sleep or learn

But you get to live
Outside, sky high with queer love
Gets lonely in crowds.

Phantom crowds now-days,
She throws her temper tantrum
I don’t have words or judgments

They are vibes I lack
Mounting my attack, raise my
Weapon, and leave, without.

selve:

I’ve always had a knack for deciphering insanity,
capturing the fly-thoughts
that buzz
in and out
your fitzing brain,
like ticket-tacker fission bombs
that detonate your face
into puzzle pieces

I don’t want to solve you

I’ve come to despise the way your hands
twist like frightened deer,
the…

okayartichoke:

Ritalin sunlight in my snowy soul.
I focus on the glare;
the sparkle of cloudless winters tingling
at my fingertips.

I long for forests in math class,
for beaches and knives in latin.

I toke to oblivion.

There are places I go and I don’t tell anyone.

I sit and I smoke and I think. 

Now, don’t think that I take the time to think alone, no. I think best under pressure. So I fill my curiousity and I go back. Venturing into dangerous places satisfies my unwavering need to live.

There are ghosts in Chelsea that try to speak but they don’t because they’re unsure. Always unsure and always curious. So they quietly whisper things I can’t quite hear but I can imagine.

There are comic- book monsters without the comic- book hilarity who venture out at night and follow me from certain ghettos and dark rooms where I suspect my father hides in shadows. As he has always done out of paranoia and a fear I wish I understood.

And now I’m sure there is a presence radiating from school. Three corners of a triangle, picturesque of my daily dose of horror, supplemented by distractions of books. Mr. King, it seems, shares the vivid details of terrible things that compliment my own. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only sick fuck out there.

It’s almost my birthday. Hell fucking yeah.