I’m swimming then I’m drowning
I’m flying then I’m falling
you’re laughing then you’re not
I wish there was a reason;
something to touch and punch
but there’s only me and gray
And there’s you, a statue made of clay

The resources at my disposal
are just barely out of reach
my mind provides solutions
my body refuses motions
until I drown and
drown and

I wish there was an answer
A solid way of thought
but my mind is spinning
and so is yours
obscurity instead of


If time really heals wounds
Then sand runs slowly
And turns out
to be salt

Dead Gifts

I brought you some flowers
I’ve been here for hours
If you ever did return
Know I rarely stop to mourn

Maybe you’re watching from the shadows
It’s ironic because you were the brightest light for me
Now it’s all a distant fantasy
I’m writing bad rhymes because I don’t know how else to express
that I’m a motherfucking mess

Club of Strangers

When I look at you my mouth goes dry; you’re gonna quench my thirst better than water. You spin ‘round and ‘round, and I wait ‘till you drop into my lap to take a sip. Cool satisfaction washes through me ‘cause while you ain’t water, you sure are wet for me.

I say let’s keep it on the down low, ‘cause I’m afraid of heights and you’re the scariest fall there is. You’re my ecstasy that lasts for weeks, but we all know what happens after.

Are you gonna be my girl? For a while I wait for an answer other than the echo of my words, but the only thing loud enough to get my attention is your endless silence.

If you ever existed at all, it was on another plane, so distant were you to what reality feels like.

Graffiti of Myself

I am naked.

I am invisible.

I am gone.


My skin has been peeled

my flesh ripped off, strip by strip

even my bones – skeleton of what makes me me –  are starting to crumble.


I’m not a phoenix.


How can I rebuild myself,

When all that is left of me is ashes?

They scatter in the wind and, as they mix with the rain, they make something new.


I paint myself on the grey walls of my city and suddenly I am something again.

I’m not pretty and I don’t make sense yet, but I am there.


That is all that matters.


If I go.

It won’t be bad at all 

I’ll be better off


If I go.

My life will start

And I’ll forget about you


If I go

I’ll feel guilty.

So I stay.


I stay until nothing’s left of me and then

when I finally do Leave,

I’m wandering around aimlessly.

Trying to find myself…