I can't sleep because of the burning feel of failure.
The lack of control I have shown myself.
It chokes me.
It devours me.


I am so weak.

The numbers are sinking in again.
Sometimes the pangs are enjoyable.
I can’t stop looking at fragility, and the punishments have returned.
It’s hated, it’s welcomed; it’s taking over, and I can’t help but love it.
The total is all-important.
I know what it feels like to be wrecked by it, and I want it. I want to be consumed by it, and I guess that shows that I already am.
The sun lights up the leaves like fire: it’s so beautiful to be burning. 

Not quite all right,
I wanted it so much,
but then unwanted actions,
and it wouldn't stop,
only moving from where it wasn't wanted to shut me up,
dirty fingers covering my mouth,
an undesirable request,
and an inbuilt urge to continue to the end.

Gah.

Softly softly,
burning from the inside,
choking on the ash that is filling up my airways,
cracking,
spilling,
blood onto the carpet,
I'll open up my insides,
clawing for my heartbeat.


Tearing, wearing,
smiles instead dark clouds,
nightmares and ideas eating up my sunshine,
pressure,
fire,
fraying at the edges,
I'll scream into the darkness,
but it won't get any brighter.

Heart Burst.

The sound of your voice,
filling up my mouth with words that I can savour;
your bright eyes shining with sincerity,
sometimes I forget,
I let it blaze through me,
sometimes the words get stuck over your tongue and come out all wrong,
uncomfortable fires set alight for a second,
exhale them more clearly and I should have already known.
You're soft like the earth, 
invaluable,
all-encompassing warmth.
Things get misinterpreted,
and feelings burn, tangle, are misunderstood.
You take a piece of me and carry it with you.
Do you feel it circulating in your veins,
almost making your heart burst, like I do?

Wrong.

Everything feels wrong today.


I guess it's that low mood I get in when I've been drinking the night before.
I feel like I'm doing the wrong things;
that I should just go ahead and DO it, even if I'm not sure yet,
that I'm saying the wrong words,
that I'm not good enough,
that I don't try hard enough,
that I should be alone,
that I want to hide away and just sleep.
Do I disappoint you?
My feelings are all askew and I can't seem to direct them the right way; the good ones I know to be there the rest of the time won't stick.
And I feel bad about EVERYTHING.


It's like every inch of me is tingling with this feeling of wrong.

Perfect.

Warm sun seeping though the window
Creases in the bedsheets
and the soft sound of breathing.
You sleepily reach for me
and we lie
skin on skin
arising from dreams.


Steaming tea
and the sound of sizzling
and I'm always in my slippers
and it's fun to always eat the same thing
because it becomes something 
we just do.


Under covers
touching me
I just want to be as 
close as we can be
with you looking down at me
and our bodies pressed together
and I feel perfect.