Too Much

Homeless and sometimes broken,
Enough and sometimes way too much,
Spirits as high as kites
And steps as heavy as my heart,
Everything keeps knocking me down
And lifting me back up,
Trying me, making me confess
The tears and fears,
The times I tried,
The ones I couldn’t,
The more where I shouldn’t have
And above all
The all too much of living.

Bangs

All of the bangs I’ve had
They weren’t loud,
They weren’t tasty,
They weren’t mornings,
Nights and dreams,
They dissipated
Without disrupting,
They left a shadow
Without leaving marks,
They left a traces
Without leaving a scar.
All of the bangs
They didn’t give me power,
They didn’t give me pushes,
Love and gushes,
They gave me bitterness
And loneliness,
Without giving me a safe space.
They gave me wars
Without winning a battle,
They gave me sorrow
Without winning me a smile.
They gave me everything but me,
And everything but you.

Animal

I have a habit
where I love you so much,
I stare into your eyes
and they’re so deep,
and yet you never liked them,
and then I have another habit
of dreaming of you,
but loving me more,
and these two loves keep fighting each other,
and only one will win.

Wonderwall

Some time, all that will be left of me will be rain
and maybe wasted dreams,
wasted breaths,
but above all else
the smiles,
the tries,
the times it took for me to grow.
And some time, all that I am
will be enough,
and you’ll look at me and laugh,
because what else can you do
when I’m here with you?

Liquorice

More often than not I’m hurt,
suffering through broken toes,
biting my lips,
crippled spirit.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
is that my love tastes like liquorice
combined with nasty bile
and it smells like lilies in full bloom.
Is there something else you’d like to know?
Or is the thought of me enough
to poison you?

heroin hope

the strangest case of heroin hope
that runs through my veins
and makes my head foggy,
it makes me so blind,
so bitter, so hot, so yearning,
it makes me want to shoot the skies,
maybe drop dead sometimes.
it’s just the strangest case of heroin hope,
the only method i can use to cope
with all the world,
the mess,
the death.
if i would’ve been blessed,
it would’ve been easier.
instead, i’m only here less and less,
i guess.

threads

there are invisible threads from me to you,
connecting atoms, feelings, breaths of air.
there are invisible needs, or maybe wants from me to you,
and i don’t know how or when or if they’ll find their way back,
but it’s ok, because behind of all that threading, needing, and wanting
there is invisible scarring
just waiting to heal.