feel

my mind has bloomed like a lotus flower.
it feels good to feel it unfold.
it feels good to be touched and to touch.
it feels good to drink cheap booze and it feels good to kiss a beautiful girl
it feels good to sit in the hazy waves of a bath with a delicate boy.

deep sleeper

i haven't written anything in a long time.

my whole body has been on a cloud. my mind filled with fog for days.

i fell into the bed the other day and was greeted by whiskey breath 

warm, warm skin, feverish.

your hands searching for something you've never found before

my hands searching for something that slipped away long ago

and we're both sick people

because you have to be, to be in so deep

and i don't mean to be melancholic

ten thousand

it's the way the light hits
it's the softness
when you and i both know it's all in the angles

it's the hollow feeling
it's the worries
the fainting spells

and

well, it isn't pretty


i've got it dripping off my bones.
it isn't purity
it's filth
i'm fucking filthy and
this is the only way i'm going to get clean

wild

i've chosen to no longer fight any battles
all i want to do now, is to melt into the open air
give myself to the wilderness and
lie with my cheeks pressed into the warm soft earth
maybe one day i'll be lucky enough to have wildflowers grow
out of the spaces between my ribs
and have birds and feral winds play with my hair
perhaps, the moon would grace my forehead in the nighttime
and my thoughts and my mind would be warm

i want to be still, now.

wine/whine

i long for feelings i've never felt
all i can fucking feel is salt drying on my eyelashes, the push, the pull, and the light. a warm pink tongue, but nothing on the other side. nothing in my head but the sempiternal silence. i want to lose it all in the hazy, the surreal and the vague.

i'm going to hell
i'm high, i'm drunk and your eyes
your eyes say what your hands can't

fuck this, i can't write anymore.

soft

a lucid soul writes poetry by the ocean
thinking of a girl that he met when he was eighteen
and when thunder shakes his bed in the nighttime
he grips to its metal frame


well, you're on my mind, gentle being
i hope the water lulls you to sleep
some day soon you'll kiss the hands of your lover
and dissolve into a blue-coloured dream

paris

i try to guess the waitress' perfume as she bends down,
sets a cup of strong coffee in front of me
i'm dripping wet from walking fourty minutes

i sleep with the windows of the motel wide open
it's still raining, and the cars never stop flying by
i'm trembling under the blankets on the cot

i'm in paris, in paris, in paris.
i wake and take a drag off a gauloise
i'm letting my bones absorb it all

 

p.s i took this photograph