iwanttobeundone

where this escapes from, i am quite unsure – grammar, regiment of another, strict structure, the demand of all feeling – but it is, certainly, an escape. there is surely nothing wrong with seeking asylum at some desperate point, especially since all other retreat is inconsiderate? today, my head was a boiling pot of meat…

oh no, he didn’t like what he saw! it filled him with every frustrated emotion he was capable of containing within his human head: anger, especially, of the intrusion; but mainly (and more importantly), of course, he felt fear. that fear, that is the essence of so much of our behaviour. and so, it was…

she said, with her usual smug smile. “apologies for the inconvenience; i was locked inside for fifteen away from an hour.” i replied with my sincerity: i have no poetry scattered within my head for you; many, many thoughts, but no binding coherency. the last thing i want to do is confuse and upset you.…

and when i sing, i sing in a small voice, a soothing voice, a light voice. a hurt voice. whispering versus from someone else’s past, and sobbing to the sound of their pain. glimpses, and nothing more, of the flesh beneath the shirt. i can’t hold you more. considering how to put this: staying away…

the abused, of course, are always the most precious, while the self abusing, always shunned. not worth my time, in her opinion. he says otherwise, but what does that matter? the continuous drill of hammered keys is comforting for me. you don’t care. and you don’t care for those brief pauses, the silences for the…

at night i sleep with a teddybear called feeling. upon my pillow the drug is there, plain to see, but the random ink blots remind us of our mistakes, and deter. that’s all they are, anyway: products of a job never finished, never forgotten. there’s a shard of steel rapping at my window. he’s come…

oh, how very kind of her! how just, how fair! how true. but, why shouldn’t she reach for the purple opium plant with a razorblade in one hand and her pills in the other, and root it from it’s humble mound? it will surely dismiss all frustrated pent-up anxieties; no hypocrisy in pleasure! it’s all…

and while the ashes lie scattered, cold and lifeless, i wonder if i ever felt anything at all. so sick of these symbols painted in that delicate haze across my body. but i know no better, so what do i do? my inner self is getting the better of me. i am being drowned. my…

yes, the river may be perhaps the most beautiful, tranquil thing you have ever, and will ever, lay fine eyes upon. however, below every deep, timid shining surface, there lies a bellowing undercurrent, ready to sweep a child off it’s feet. beneath the age old ocean, there lies human wreckage, ready to poison your earth.…

there’s a torn out piece of paper, from some lost old manuscript. it’s not from my head guv’, honestly it ain’t. there’s a barely legible passage fading in your sunlight, and this is what it says: the death of a boy, in just one easy payment. beauty? thank you, you really are too kind. i…

and i make a wish, as i lie my head upon this pillow to fall alone with my empty, naked beloved. let me grow: unfold these petals, if for a moment, so that i may gaze for a second at that which lies inside. to know that inner boy is all i ask; this one…

the tale of a boy who wished to meet his potential continues. drained of hope, he lies at night with nothing more left than a cold, desperate mixture of memory and comfort lust. yet, still, he wishes: at least to know – to glimpse, to remember – what’s kept so restrained. a face stays in…