The Night The Sea Swallowed Me

I hurt so deeply 
And you were afraid of drowning 

I can’t blame you for this

I’ve been floating in it since I was 12

The hurt feels like home now

But fuck

You can’t run every time the water hits the shore 

All I needed was a lifeguard 

And you disappeared 

Shatter

I didn’t love him. 

But he loved the parts of me I couldn’t stand. 

So we played house 

Until I burt it to the ground. 

I Hope She Makes You Miserable 

Lipstick stained cigarettes and old bookshops will remind you of me even if you can’t remember what you’re remembering. 

Cry

She will cry,

She will cry over you like there is no tomorrow,

She will cry until her throat is raw,

And until her hair is a mess.

Her screams will echo through the walls,

And there will be nothing beautiful about it.

 

She will tear out the pages of her notebook that she dedicated to you,

And swear that your name will never again appear on the crisp pages that are so important to her,

But two days later the words won’t come,

And she’ll find herself sprawling your name over and over until the ink blurs and merges with her tears.

 

She will curse you,

And curse herself,

And curse the skies for everything,

And for nothing.

 

There will be days when the sun shines,

But all she can see is rain and clouds,

And days when she won’t see anything at all.

 

And fuck,

She will love you even though her heart is breaking,

Because she gave you a part of herself,

That you refuse to return.

 

But know this,

She will also learn to forget you.

 

So when she walks by you in two months time,

Laughing and smiling without a care in the world,

You will wonder how she slipped through your fingers,

And she won’t care.

 

Remember

  1. Don’t kill yourself. It will be messy and your sister will cry. It is not beautiful or brave and even if it was, you won’t be around to see it.
  2. Washing your hair is a chore but do it because you always feel better about yourself when you do.
  3. It’s okay to stay in some nights.
  4. He will break your heart, but he’s just another boy who finds it hard to deal with Mondays. so in a month you’ll wake up and not even remember that little scar on his chest.
  5. Don’t fight your demons. They’re trying to teach you lessons.

Seasons

Autumn is a time for the carefree

Autumn is a time where the damaged souls feel comfort in the trees and the wind,

Autumn is a time for chainsmokers and poets to reveal who they are,

Autumn is a time for lovers who do not know how to love,

The ones who find their emotions at the bottom of a bottle.

Autumn is the time where we can cover the scars and pretend,

Even just for a few months,

We are understood.

Different

I haven’t been writing like before,

The only thing that drives me to pick up a pen anymore are a few glasses of whiskey.

I haven’t been singing lately,

The way I did with you in the shower,

Maybe because I’m always on my own and things we used to do together makes me feel lonely.

I don’t sleep enough,

I only dream of you at my feet and waking up is too painful.

When you left you left your sent on my skin and I’ve scrubbed for three days straight but you just won’t disappear.

I don’t go to all my classes,

They feel too long and I’m not paying attention anyway.

I don’t paint,

I always find my way to the colour of your eyes and it’s not beautiful anymore,

It’s tragic.

I don’t spend much time at home,

The walls want to know where you went and I don’t have the answer.

I forgot to eat today,

I didn’t realize until I got ill and had nothing in my system but the vodka that goes down like water these days.

Damaged

Damaged isn’t the right word, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

She’s the girl at the bar who lets others push through her, she’s decided she’s not worthy of attention first. 

That’s why she sleeps with married men and doesn’t mind being the last resort when all your friends bailed on a night out. 

So I’ll sit with her as she waits for the train and give her cigarettes and gently graze her thigh. 

She believes she’s easily replaced but if you know anyone with eyes as sad as hers than that’s enough proof that this world is absolute shit. 

When I first met her, reading alone in some underrated coffeehouse in an area of town you don’t want to spend too much time in, I could have sworn she was well into her twenties. 

She’s just a kid who grew up too fast. 

Perhaps she could have been beautiful if this world hadn’t have been so cold. Now she spends her days only half alive and he nights so hazed with drugs and drinks and men so strange she won’t have many left. 

So she sits and reads novels about lives crueler than her own, smokes mint cigarettes so death can taste a little sweeter, and will pretend like she’s something special.