i dont know what clothes to wear,
that is what makes me/it raw.
If I could pick anyone to document my taste
as if anyone was interested in reading and exploring it,
i would have picked you.
if you were there at my birth and at my death
standing all along with a camera
to make a film to debut, an article to break, an art piece to display.
basically - ignore my cluttered words just there
im trying to say something meaningful .
If you’re entertainment relied on my actions ,
no matter how lazy i felt,
i would try my best to improve myself
if just to make you enriched for seconds
on your birthday.
sorry maja, that was crap
i mean carp.
I didnt exspect to see you here
at the burger joint in my mind, the joint being an actual hinge between breads.
perhaps another time you can scream for me
scream for me like winter screams for summer days
so someone somewhere can actually enjoy the ideal of the future winter
and not hating the present one.
have i lost my touch ?
havent you lost yours ?
oh wait a second
stop ? ok just stop for a second,
or a minute.
YOU NEVER HAD TOUCH
its still yours to experience
i have sharp pains at the back of my head
and you are not here
so fuck you
u r a sharp pain in many places
u put ice drops in my heart.
u throw away my honest callouts
and u treat my words with casualness
as if you will always hear them,
or have experienced not hearing them and do not care anymore.
i want it back
i want it back
i want my life back
i want it bk
i want my words bk
i want my mind bk
i want my love bk
my love bk
my mind bk
my everything bk.
I WANT TO BE ABLE TO TELL YOU WHAT MY EVERYTHING IS WITHOUT EMBARRASSMENT
i wanna shout and scream
and cry and kiss
i want to be honest again
but im afraid of your honesty.
now you dont care anymore.
to write a pop song right
u wanna f u c k
wanfa be ok
wanfa be ok with
fuck up - no
wise up - no
wise up - yes
WE ALL NEED DIFFERENT IMPROVEMENTS.
people pretend that they will be honest,
i guess to them it seems romantic,
but nothing fake is romantic
and a waste of time.
I scared someone away who i wasnt even trying to catch.
I wanted a body not a heart
I was called ‘my selina’
a thousand times before
both by different sorts of people.
is it too late to say it to myself?
For you i was clay,
for me you were earth.
you slipped through my fingers,
whilst I was embedded in your print.
leaving my hands empty - i roamed.
I am still in your hands,
i wanted to play with you like clay
but you are earth.
nothing sticks together
Imagine a sheet of fine fabric
levitating over the space above my head,
no string attached to it,no stains visible.
IT CAME CRASHING.
the silk snapped brittle
it made my face bleed
stained beyond repair
frayed at the sharp edges
sliding down the air
to plant and dig on to your face
cuts in the shapes of flowers
scars in the shape of bedsheets
cancer in the shape of silk
when you read about drinking blood,
you can taste blood.
it tastes salty like sweat,yet thick and hot,steaming like a hot chocolate in winter.
soothing your throat. choking on salt, like you have swallowed the sea.
drowning in sticky sauce that has no specific flavour.
you know you are drinking blood -
when you read about drinking blood.