That I Hate

You leave me to my own devices
Pushing me to march forward
Encouraging this madness
While I keep flailing,
Trying to grab onto
Hallucinated hands.

I keep writing about
How this pain is unceasing
How I can barely
Bear the thought of living
In a world where you don’t exist.
You say you hear me
But still you stay there
Stationary.

I see the value
I see the value
So I try to suppress this anger
But then I realise
That you’re just watching me falling.
Not caring
That hope is dying
That everyday that passes
The light inside me is fading.

What is it that you want me to do?
To chase you?
To find you?
I’ve been trying
I have been trying my hardest
I have been holding onto what could be nothing.

I keep pushing these thoughts away
Because I’ll think
Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough
Maybe my efforts haven’t been good enough
BUT WHAT EXACTLY IS IT THAT I’M CHASING?
IS IT SO RIDICULOUS OF ME TO ASK FOR REAL EVIDENCE?

MAYBE
I’M JUST CRAZY.

Please
Please speak to me.
Show me
That I haven’t lost it,
That this love
Is realer than imagined.

Your words
They keep ringing
With misleading directions
I blindly walk into the shadows
Following ambiguous notations.
While searching for you
In haystacks of millions,
While your divinations
Would ghastily reverberate,
I tried to play your game
With the pieces you left behind
But I just can’t seem to find
The right places to move them,
While you goad me with lines
From your poetry;
How wrong it would be
To turn a blind eye
From our truest love unfolding,
While you say
It pains you
More than it pains me,
Because you know the truth.
The only place
I see that happening
IS IN THE REALITY THAT YOU LEAVE ME.
As if it wasn’t your choice
To put yourself in that place
As if you weren’t given a chance
At redemption.
So you lied?
So it hurts because YOU CHOSE THIS?
FOR WHAT?
FOR POETRY?
TO KEEP THIS GOING ON AS LONG AS YOU CAN KEEP IT GOING?
LOL.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOUR POETRY.

But I fucking love it.

But why does it seem like
You’re giving our fate an ending,
While telling me to hold on.

Why do I love this
This piece of shit
That just watches
Weary souls get thrown
Into the depths of madness.

Atonement,
For not acting fast enough.

I’m sorry I strayed
I’m sorry I thought I saw you with a different face.

Jesus christ.
You piss me off
With your ridiculous cryptic riddles,
Hiding inside your filthy fucking rhymes,
WITH YOUR DISGUSTINGLY BEAUTIFUL MIND.

If it were imagined
Are you really that insensitive
THAT IN THE VERY NEXT SET OF POETRY
YOU’D WRITE ABOUT BELIEF, TRUTH, FATE
HOW YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS
THAT THIS ISN’T FANTASY?

Coming at me with BELIEVE?!
I SHOULD KNOW?
YOU BELIEVE I’LL SEE THE TRUTH?
LOL.
FUCK YOU.
WHY CAN’T YOU SEE
THAT I DON’T.
I DON’T FUCKING KNOW
If this is real or imagined.

NO IT’S NOT ENOUGH,
THAT ISN’T EVIDENCE.

Just stay with me
Please.

I don’t even care
If it’s the time I’ve invested
That keeps me here.

If there is anything
I am certain of
It’s how I feel.

That I love you.

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Parses in Particles

Samples of parses in particles
Leave me wanting, craving, desiring
More;
To devour your soul
In the encryptions these symbols hold.
Simply insufficent,
Atomically proportionate,
To your edificial existence.
Write for me your inner being
In a waste land of letters;
Delicately tracing
The gyri and sulci
Of your nauseatingly
Delectable
Mind.

His Words

Everytime he pushed me
Off the cliffs of sanity
He’d be there to catch me
Before I shattered.

This time
I’m lost in desperation
As stark realisations
Creep out of my esophagus,
They linger in my lungs,
As I feel pressure,
Build in my cheeks,
Behind my eye lids,
Then it burns.

Then I dream
Of that fantasy parallel
Where he would have had an opinion
On the things I’ve written.
What would he have thought
About my progress
As a writer.

Though
We had not personally
Exchanged a word
Prior

Still, his words
Live in my own.

A Poet

I listen
To the gentle susurrus
Of words trailing in streams
On surface tiles
Gathering at outlets
Dropping into conduits
Inside these walls.

I marvel at woven sheets
Made from threads
Of satin, silk, cotton,
Even wool.
They caress
They comfort
And for a brief moment
In reverence
I forget

The frigid motion
I am stuck in.

Then I think
A poet
Is whom
I’d like to die with.

But they didn’t have to be.