Trees are shedding leaves, days are running away and I’m having nightmares again. A thought has planted its seed in my brain and I’ve never felt a stronger urge to kill.

I don’t get to see you often enough.

When I do, I can’t help but notice it’s getting harder for you to breathe. There’s really nothing I wouldn’t give to hear you tell me your story right now. Far too many regrets and not enough time. I should be prepared. Still, I shove that thought to the back of my mind. For how long? One day, the seed will grow into something I don’t want to believe. One day, there will exist a world








The air is colder now and I think back to November last year. It rained and rained and I wouldn’t leave my room. I couldn’t explain why. Then I screamed in your arms and through tears I begged you not to hate me, while you held me so tight I thought you’d break my bones.

I think back to getting up in the middle of the night to catch an early flight, and how I almost didn’t leave because I couldn’t fit my stuff into a plastic bag. I was sure I would die. But I didn’t.

I think back to cheap hostel breakfasts and days spent walking. The air wasn’t as cold. The rain, it had a different taste far away from home.

For those three short days in November, I was me again.

We’re an Illusion


I’m tired of me and I’m tired of everyone else. Empty talks and names that don’t mean anything. Things that pass for entertainment. Noise and lights and glaring screens that dull my brain.

Things change, the world spins, and I feel stuck. I desperately want us to be the people who would walk aimlessly for hours until we walked out of town and into the fields of green. We wouldn’t worry about food or sleep or how we’d get back. We would just be. Or maybe we’re exactly who we were. Maybe I’m still the same me and you’re still the same you. Maybe for all these years, I’ve been trying too hard to make our stories click.

I’m writing this while you’re sitting across the room from me, and it hurts to admit that I’d rather write about this moment than live in it. When you’re not here, I paint your picture in my head and I put all these wonderful words in our mouths. Maybe I like you better when you’re an illusion.

Maybe I like us better when we’re an illusion.




photo-1477160842278-0609ba502d58Leaves crunch beneath my feet. There’s laughter in the distance, but I’m somewhere else again. It’s always me and them. And then there’s your voice in my head, but I choose not to listen.

It’s another Friday and I don’t know where the other days went. My weeks consist of Mondays and weekends, and nothing in between.

On Monday, the sun came out and the air smelled of freshly cut grass. Almost as if summer decided to pop back for a day. I read a book on a bench in a park and some guy was reading on the bench next to mine. We were two human beings putting the reality on hold just to plunge into their own different worlds and be lost in them. For a while, it felt nice to pretend I was connected to someone. But soon the sun was gone and it got colder. He got up and left.

Today’s foggy and grey. I watch you fall asleep at your desk in class. Then I get mad at myself for watching.

On my way home, there’s this one moment, right before the traffic lights change. The busy street is almost completely quiet. It must last for a split second, but it feels like everything has stopped and it’s only me that’s still moving. Too soon, the moment is gone and the world races forward, and I’m left behind again.

It’s always me and them. And your voice in my head.



I’m tired of chasing you in my thoughts. Night after night you escape, melting into the shadows, and I’m left gasping for oxygen. The faint breath that keeps me here keeps me from finding you. If I could reach through the fog and grab onto something, the barriers would fall and I would stand strong.

I’d be the one you run to.

We’re always running from, or after, something. We find comfort in nothing. Do you ever get tired of that? Last night, I watched you dance in the fire and some part of me wanted to save you; some other part itched to join.

In my dreams, I am saving the world.

In reality, maybe I am the one who needs saving.

I Never Promised Things Would Make Sense Here, So What Did You Expect?

I don’t know where my voice is,
but I need it to scream.

There’s gotta be a way,
but my words disobey
and my head starts to spin,

and the dark thoughts,
they grin.

in the corners of my mind,
at the borders of my soul–


The cereal in my bowl
has gone cold.
I think I’m getting old.

Well, aren’t we all
Heading towards a fall
of some kind?

So how do I find
that voice?

You keep saying it’s a choice
to live in silence.

Meanwhile, all this violence
calls for something louder
and I’d try harder,

but what’s the point of losing sleep
and wasting time to weep
over things I can’t change?

There’s so much rage
in me… See?

I could rage about the rage
for the sake of filling the page,

but silence can’t fill pages
and it’ll be ages
until I cease–

Stop with the excuses now.
Maybe I’ll sleep in peace.
For once.







I lie flat on the ground, focusing on the sensation of my back supported by the universe,

and I think about how no one ever teaches you to listen to the sound

of the earth turning beneath you, the stars burning, the trees

whispering stories of many thousands of years;

their infinite voices and my finite being;

I join the song – limitless

for the night.


Photo by Aidan Meyer on Unsplash

I remember last night
you touched my hair
and I tried to lie still
pretend to be asleep

I would not stir
for the fear that
you might disappear
the moment wouldn’t last

the next day
the air is sharp
we are best friends
walking side by side

we don’t talk
but my head is loud
you know my words
before I make a sound

I can never quite read you
should have listened to the voice
telling me not to get close
but now it’s too late

I’m scared to leave
for the fear that
you might not be here
when I come back

I wish I could get in your head
and paint over your thoughts
on the outside you laugh
your inside is full of ghosts