[my datemate listens to too much twenty one pilots, and i am suffering from the feelings.]
[00h30 sunday 13aug2015]
o1.
i listen to music that reminds me of you because the warmth reminds me of your body heat.
o2.
i’ll be red and you’ll be my blue. violet is violent when put between me and you.
o3.
kill me softly gentle death.
o4.
i always wake up feeling the best at other people’s houses and other people’s beds. is it the person or is it the meds?
feed me sertraline and caffeine, inject me with all those pills and potions. give me a reason to keep living by my struggling means, give me a reason to keep believing in notions
like love and happiness and all that shit that rest inbetween. in daydreams and nightmares and my struggling reality.
i question the meaning of my existence, wondering why i feel infinitesimal, abysmal. in this whole big vast universe of stars lost in constellations and in magazines, i just feel so small.i decorate myself in colours as if by wearing them i will feel them. i dress myself in flowers like chrysanthemums
i hold them to my chest, and i wish for them to be a part of me. i want flowers to come out of my mouth as pretty words of poetry
but my poetry is violent, toxic, a heroin. i inject brutal truth into paper with my ink and pen.and in the end i’m still waking up in other people’s houses searching for a place to rest my homeless heart only to realise at some point we all have to part.
no matter the medicines and how strong the tea i drink, i never can escape my mind and the ability to think.
i’m cursed by verse and bestowed a gift i cannot rid, to feel and express everything i rather keep hid.
thenameisnathan 