you’re all the fucking same to me now

Tongue like a spike in my own mouth
drawing blood with words
the taste of cooper coins
seep through clenched teeth.
I’m so used to feeling empty that
I’m not sure I was every anything more
She always told me to love with
everything but everything’s never
good enough

I’m always left
with deep wounds left to be stitched
in the comfort of my own solitude
I honour each wound by
their hands by creating my own
so I’m not sure which one was yours
I thought it would be the deepest
but they all look the same to me now

you’re all the fucking same to me now



I’m not sure what happened,
but somewhere along the line our nothing became something to me.
the worst part about that is 
now every fibre of my being is screaming to run,
to ruin it.
it’s screaming that it’s one-sided.
that while 
my heart is bursting into flames,
yours is trying to pour cold water to douse me with pain.
that I’m preparing myself to run into a brick wall again,
and soon enough I’ll be covered in bruises.
I didn’t want this to be anything,
and the problem is that it isn’t anything.
my heart has tried to plant its roots in your garden
while yours is trying to pick me out like a weed.
and my mind is saying
to stop trying to grow with you because
I’m not a flower you’re willing to feed.
though I’m unsure if my mind is playing tricks again,
and I’m not sure if you’re just a friend.
the worst part?

I don’t want to ask,

because frankly.. I’m scared to be right.

the 5am texts before you left


Drunkly, you spilled out your thoughts;

“I’m sorry my actions have caused you pain. Please, never invest your beautiful self into unkind people again. At least now you have blunt me, telling you when you’re being naive. ”


I hadn’t heard from you in a while, initially I was in awe. I mustered the courage to respond;

“If I’m being honest, the hurt I’ve endured isn’t entirely your fault. It’s my own. I’ve always called myself a dreamer, as I keep my hopes up even when there’s no reason to be hopeful. Typically, ends painfully – but it’s who I am. A blunt you is better than ugly people who say the prettiest lies.


Silence – not long but unnerving.. you responded with words I’ve longed to hear:

“This here, the real you, the one that isn’t hiding anything, or covering things up with humour – the one that isn’t beating around the bush.. this is my girl.

Our inconsistency has become a constant variable in our lives. Something I’ve yet to understand, but have come to terms with.

We’ve found balance in our chaos within each other, not always there – but never, truly gone.