Dreams Dressed In White

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There are daydreams stuffed in my pockets, sparkling city lights under ashen pale skies and poetry painted along the street-lines. Continue reading

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Flames In The Sky

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These Metaphors seem to be the only things stitching us up into one, we have been burning up at the edges lately and I fear the flames leading up to me. My father told me to let go of my dreams, Continue reading

I Fear The Concept Of Non-existence

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I was listening to Shelly Kagan talk about death on a podcast. He said, “How can non-existence be a bad thing if I’m not there to experience it”.

I’ve always had a very complicated, entangled relationship with the idea of “non-existence” the whole general concept of it makes me shudder but at the same time it’s almost an anomaly in itself something that’s inviting, and seemingly decorated by the curiosity that lingers in my mind at the mention of this word. Continue reading

The Weight Of My Youth

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Wrap me up in polythene plastic. Saran wrap around my lungs, and I do this to myself too often.
Build cages of fractured bones and punctured skin, music to my ears the flattening of thoughts that burn up in my head. I could let my youth take the blame, the hollow timeframe of adolescence carrying the weight of every reckless choice I had made. From fifteen to eighteen, regret built a home inside my skull, a parasite I could not rid my body off. I’m still trying, trying to fight it.

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Reflections of Self-deception

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Prone to self-depreciation, the contours of your body glowing in fear, radiant sparks of colorless misery. Fingertips frozen blue, pins and needles pricking skin like never before.
And I wonder why your hands tremble the way they do. I know that we are burning out, slowly. You fail to control your thoughts as they dance against the fickle walls of chambers in your mind. Try to bring out amusement from all the self-loathing, try to bring out freedom in your footsteps pretend that you are not suffocating inside a bubble of clear glass agony. You wake up to be tortured mentally, before going to bed in sheer disbelief of having survived another day under the torment of the summer sun, skin blistering, gleaming ball of fire. You never liked the sun very much. -H

Mysteries Etched In Skin

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Hung on to the sleeves of your sweaters like they were asphalt concrete, dark and glittery leading me to the other side.
Your gaze pouring lightning into my lungs, lightning in my eyes and I could feel my veins shifting beneath my skin.
You speak in colors, your breath laced with refined sliver, rich caramel gold poetic, static to my ears.

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