little victories

little victories are
milk swirling in a cup of tea
beds and blankets and the breeze from an open window
cheering with cheap wine in a paper cup
dreaming of paris, skipping school, kissing boys, petting cats on the street.

insomnia

insomnia has been a part of me for over a year.
self-inflicted, never-ending, darling insomnia.
what happened to you? what happened?
are you leaving me too, old friend?
who am i, without you?

i miss having to only smoke one cigarette before it made me dizzy.
i've thought of putting them out on the soft, peach-skin of my forearm.
on the soft peach-skin of my thigh.

i sit on the roof overlooking my mother's window and tremble.

after-party

you're my best friends at parties.

you're my soulmates when whiskey or gin blurs my speech.

you swear you'll marry me as we exhale green smoke into the night sky.

you kiss my cheeks and hold my hands and we dance dance dance to elvis together.

but you're all subjective.

all of you will be gone next year, or the one after.

you'll be gone and i won't remember you and you won't remember me.

your promises were made as you drowned in vodka.

will any of you think of us running down the dock at the crack of dawn?

of us sleeping between flights of stairs on new year's eve?

m e r g u n t

i've been finding myself in a peculiar state of mind.
it's a numbness beyond feeling numb, an utter nothingness.
i feel as if i'm drowning in it, my lungs are filling up with nothingness.

i've been taking breaks from everything.
i don't know how to explain but i haven't been in the proper state of mind for
reading, writing, or watching films.
drawing, painting, creating are different stories altogether.

i feel elated at every little moment of clarity.
every film i'm able to sit through till the end.
every word read (i was able to finish the life of Pi after two months of labor, and i hated it)
at every page in my journal that had the fortune of not being thrown away like garbage.

i won't be around for a long, long time.

sad little girl

black stains your jacket, stains the pillow.

little fingers, tiny claws gripping to your sleeve.

you're holding a sad little girl in your arms, can't you see?
you're kissing a sad little girl's tears.

drowning

i tried to save a bit of winter for the coming months.
i tried to press snowflakes between the pages of my journal.
they only made my thoughts run down the page.
they only made them cry.
my mind has been a little leaky ever since.
forgive me.

i'm sorry

i once loved somebody i didn't know.
she tasted like winter and smelled of clean sheets, clean air.
she walked me to the bus, kissed me with her eyes (green, framed by the loveliest set of eyelashes) and under the street lights, promised me a Leonard Cohen song.

we knew each other for a little while after.
we sat under a tree, the grey air was too heavy.
i went home that day and cried myself dry.