Should I rant? I'll rant.

None of this is equal to what I deserve. Not the absolutely wonderful parts, and not the terrible ones either. I recognise that no one human is entitled to anything. Not love, health, home. No one human is entitled to lead a good life, with caring family and friends and someone who mirrors their soul, but...we all feel we deserve it, don't we? And while I feel opposite to this, that I deserve very little of anything, really...I still would like one or two things to work out, and while...some have, I... I am a wanter. I want things. I want a girl. I say a girl, as if any would do, but they wouldn't. I want a girl. I want a specific girl, who's name spikes and pricks my back and makes me hairs stand on edge, and when I see her it's... wrong. I don't deserve to be happy or have nice things. I don't. I don't deserve to be hugged when I desperately need a hug. I don't deserve to be fed when I desperately need food. I don't deserve shelter during a storm, or care over a wound I've received.
I want her. I...do not deserve her. I want her, but I don't think I'll ever get her, and that's...good. that's okay.

Is it?
I need to rant to stop myself from begging her to see me. I had the chance today. To see her. I turned her down because for once, I fucking have other plans and...now I'm complaining because I can feel it in the air aroound me...I need her. More than I need food, need water, need shelter. More than I need love I need HER. More than I need happiness and health, more than I need to feel needed.

I need her.
I need her and I won't say it.
I want her, and for every fucking cell worth
ANYTHING in my body I will definitely not say it.

I can wish.
I can hope.
I can pray.

But she's too far, and I accept this because I know, deep in my heart, I do not deserve her.
Entitlement deceives us, yet...                               this is the one thing I have wanted most in my heart.
Just her, and her self, and her for fucksake. But she's too far out.    She belongs to someone else,
if unknowing as to who yet, it will            never be me.


When I heard her name in the hospital, the first time I saw it...I was...I wanted.           And now I think it must have been months. Possibly. I met her in may, two days after my best friend's birthday. Oh, was it then?
But she's too far fucking out for me.                     She's too wonderful. We...there is no we.

Of course it falls to my grasp and slips right out within seconds.
You're starving and you get enough to feel the pang of needing more.
Of course.
I see this as endless.

Rip out my bones and paint them in blood.

Everyone leaves, there's no such thing as love. 

I wonder who fucking hates me apart from myself. 

I wonder if she'll see the me who's actually real. 

I wonder if she'll leave too. 

on systems

Imagine a world where the roads undertook
what the castles above on the edge overlooked
and in just your head you didn't get why
all the castles held power when up in the sky.
Imagine a world where the roads that have wound
drove your car past the rivers and the castles, around.
Where within your own mind, though of course it's all set
it's the thoughts you had come to beyond orders met.
Now question who chooses what goes where who says what
question the thoughts that they force on you muts.
To the rebels! the badlands! It's us who drive lives
within castles and stone walls we'll NEVER reside
Because if you look, it's us who steer wheels.
Past the castles who watch us, with such twisted ideals.
It's US who drive lives, remember this well.
If they catch you, they've caught you, but you're driving still.
Make choices that shape you because if you do not
the castles will crumble, and the roads too, with shock.

I do, (I do recall) mentioning that
oh but nevermind.
I mean I miss you but you've let me go
and that's where I'll be if you're out looking.

I'll be gone
and you won't find me
because now I'm positive
that you've moved on.

Gamble Everything for Love - Ben Lee


Even my sanity, Ben. Even my sanity.

ALMOST reason

On trying to admit how sad I am, I smile. It's pretending. That's how they get me. Catch me, trap me into their silly fucking games. Where I'm not the princess or the king. Where I am nothing but the people I have met. It isn't funny, it's a JOKE. How they change the walks and walls...
See this is a labyrinth of emotions and navigating through them is impossible for a child such as myself. and then I'm clearly in distress when you ask me to explain myself, but why?
I'm trying to see how sad I really am but I'm endlessly hoping I'm nothing at all. That I will not wake up tomorrow concious at all because I never really existed. That, of all things, would be the ultimate dream. To wake from your reverie state and realize
or actually I mean not to wake at all. Not because you're dying, or dead...no. Because you were never alive, and all these years, what they were proving was pointless
because you aren't actually
real.

Do you ever dream of never waking up?- or is that what they call the endless sleep.
Infinity.
No one wants death here, ah... but no one wants life.

FRESH

It is of course fresh inside. New snow lacking footprints. Lacking noise, inside...everything is white and clean and empty. With a rapid, fickle beat that's non-existent...oh, inside everything is marvellous and you'll never, ever know.

opening doors

Ivory lakes and florescent smiles--that's what I see. Millions of ants, moving in lines, marching to be free. No burning skin of wallpaper ghosts, no violets of blue who shall tear... But from my balcony sitting, I am trying to play the game fair.
So this is for the imaginative; the worrying warts who aren't free. This is for the damaged, the cupboard kids, and me. The ice cream walkways, the highways of net, the tightrope they're begging to cross... Welcome to just Outside here...welcome, outside the box.

Looking glass window

We go to open the labyrinth's door

where the hopeless and dreamers have tread. 

It's the window we're watching, 

the blooming outside, that we find ourselves

needing instead.

Knock on the wood and pray for the best

but what are you praying for?

Outside these walls there's a world of dreams--

if you'll only just open the door. 

24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24.

Waking hours

In monsters we trust
and I'll set them all free
rather than scaring
I'll let THEM fall asleep.

Swelling.

And that is the reality of my brain.

What rushes into the caves of my heart

to be swallowed by the darkness?

Humanity. 

The fall

"Shut up," he says, and I do. He looks behind us, eyes following the stairs all the way to the very tip-top. 

And I cannot stop the trembling of my hands, the concrete wavering feeling that we're not supposed to be here.

"Okay," he says. "Let's go."

We can go but for a moment we don't move. He's watching my reaction to nothing, because I'm scared when all we're doing isn't. Isn't anything at all apart from mundane. 

"Come on." He takes my wrist in his hand so I'll move, because I'm not moving at all. And up the stairs we go to the car park, to the edge of the building, to the fall---"back up," he says. "Back up" and I don't. 

LOCKET

I have lost your lockit
with your picture
with your middle parting
when you questioned
who you liked
if you could have liked me
I have lost your love
lost your touching
lost your love
like the loser
I am missing
it's my mind I cannot
trust.
I have lost the chain
on which it hung
around my heart
when your soul was not
a shadow
when our hands were not apart.
I have lost so many
long departed but I thought
that if I ever lose you
that'll be the last straw.

Alive from dead

Watch the birds in the sky

demons fly ing down the roads

we walk

behind us

who's behind us?

And what do we have to look forward to

backwards

death is

backwards

we're born

we died

and we spend our lives

trying to feel alive

from dead. 

Cynic

CYNIC

can't leave the comfort of your bed
you demon you

cynic
wake up.

on thinking and thoughts

"About other" people is my escape.
Their world is so much more interesting
with socks in colour, bones and skin
it's lovely when I hear them sing
those songs in which I'm listening
it's lives I live between the bars.
Of pain, of cups in tea, we're
wringing out the dishes see
past glass that's grey, oh glasses
green it's marked in hearts
we love, we gleam.
What stories told me to get out
which books I read not in my head
where bugs could talk and ghosts could cry
with stories pouring out their eyes-
I learned to think for other's thoughts
and people grew like coloured spots
I am not me not just this soul
these thoughts aren't mine but
Theirs, how drôle est ca.

wrong

There's so much I need to tell the world
but no one ever listens. And now I couldn't say it if I tried
who's fault is this? -not mine. 


How do I put it sweetly? that I'm going well insane...
if I told you what you'd lock me out
so I'll won't say anything.

Who Is It

He whispers, "come on, doll, one more breath." This lonely friend of mine...he isn't real. I'm crying on someone else's floor, with someone else's clothes scattered in the corners. I'm leaning against someone else's wall, and he whispers, "Just stand up and get the hell outta here."
I'm listening to someone else's voice from my mouth when I'm screaming that this isn't working anymore. I'm tangling someone else's fingers between blades, playing with someone else's blood.
This isn't my life on the line.
Quiet, quietly he whispers, "Now walk out of here like the king you are." Only I'm no king, and I give in, because that's who this is and what she does. She tells him, "Fuck off S." and drags her flattened worth along the stairs, down to the very basement of the building. Fading, fading, he whispers, "Don't."

That's where the furnace is. Who's life is on the line again?

Anxiety

You feel like the world is having too many fits
Screaming and throwing things that kill people.
You feel like too many fits will break everything
the power going out
the snow cutting us off
the ice bergs melting.
It's that crushing noise of a frozen tidal wave
moments before it consumes you
and you're thinking maybe you should have recycled that plastic bottle of water you drank this morning.
like it was one small thing you could have done,
maybe you wouldn't be dying now.
Freeze their death frame,
look over to the next screen;
the roofs of houses like floating cereal in your breakfast. those last few survivors, soaking up milk before you eat them too. left for dead, some mornings you toss them in the food garbage;
SOME mornings you don't even care, you leave them.
Look alive, kids.

The time in between the apocalypse is what's waiting from now to then.
You can't help but notice these natural disasters are getting closer and closer together
maybe until it's one after another
maybe until there isn't a pause to collect yourself.
Maybe one day soon everything is going to end, but the ending where nothing gets cleaned up.
We won't be wiped out instantaneously.
But over the next few years
the struggle to survive might not be worth it.

Over the next few months we're going to
over the next few weeks we're about
over the next few days I'm still breathing
switching back and fourth the struggle to breathe is harder.

I think, "It's happening."

right before the wave crushes me.

in kingdom

from being haunted
only my darling knows
who's cheating on ( I'm sorry
's will not cut it( because
we have to run.
My darling does not know knot
who I am chasing after (see
I'm running from this notion
(that just because we're married
does not make me
too much old

my darling he's a 5 year'd boy
and sweety we're just 3.

About growing into Santa lies

Prescott told me "it wasn't okay to lie when you were little because back then our parents fixed our mistakes." And I looked in his eyes, for once, to hear him say, "But since it's on our hides now, since we're looking out for our own skin...we only gotta tell 'em what they need to know."
It's true. It's true, so much that I need to repeat it twice. I need to repeat it twice because that's how I believe things. Once it's instilled in you you never question why anyone grows up at all, why people abandon you when you really need their help.
"But isn't it..." I took the moment to think. "Isn't it that, when you're older, you..." Because I've never been good with words outside, I didn't finish that line. Instead I placed my head on his head, my arm on his arm, and waited for the stars to fade.
Of course we fix our own mistakes, but some of those mistakes were- "It isn't true, what they say about growing older." He interrupts but it's all right because my thoughts never lead anywhere anyway.
And I wonder, "What do they say about growing older?" until he lays back in the snow and laughs.
Laughing like it's funny, how we all crash and burn.
Like the gutter is the biggest joke, and all you can do is laugh.
"Whatever they fucking feel like, princess." And I guess that makes nonsense.

None of it's even real.

Road trip

Acoustic song on the radio, playing behind her words she says, "On day one we had coffee. We drove out of the city in the sun, and past the shiny buildings. I remember singing to the radio and driving over endless roads. At the fall of night we'd pulled into a motel, showered, and slept, waiting because that was only the first day."
The camera shakes as the car goes over a bump, and the girl holding the gear giggles. You hear, "Oops," and "shhhh."
It's only the beginning.

Aware

There aren't words that
look farther.

Past the surface
you really aren't aware what's waiting.
Past the next bend,
we're blind.

The first kiss she ever really got was from the sweetest heart on earth.
He said, "But I hope that was special, because it was one of a thousand more to come." For an almost second of  grief, she worried. But he had his hand on her neck. "Darling," he told her. "I want them all to come from me."

She never expected that chance to be stolen
by the only constant in life.

Everyday

If I could spend forever listening to Buddy Holly
writing something focused
and humming
then I think
it would be so much easier to feel the bones in my body
rather than the skin.

New socks day

Here is silver rumble
we tremorr in our socks
we've eaten something bitter
among the tiger fluffs
Here is something poisoned
to kill our very feet
the mould we grow amongst our thoughts
as grey as city sleep.

Who said we'd get
the newest or the best?
Nothing stretched our future see
we get black or white tv.

The dream with the girl in the dress and the tights.