The king

So now you have a nack for making people feel alone. With your selfishness and self righteousness and your dying need to sit upon your empty throne. While the booze fills your belly and the drugs fill your blood. While the sadness fills your soul and you keep wanting something more. You sit everyone down. A crowd to watch you fade away and fizzle out


When you know you know (lol)

So it was always her. And I was always right. Right in the worst way. When you want so badly to be wrong. Guess I was always a rebound or a stepping stone to lead you back home. And your home is her and my home is empty searching for peace within the mess of all this. the mess of the lies and the things we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night. And I still dream of you and play future movies in my head. What a fucking delusion thinking we were meant to be what a fictional story what ironic hypocrisy. Guess love really does make you blind. Guess tonight’s the night I leave you behind.

I see you now 

It’s not a coincidence that every time you come around I put myself in a box and keep everyone out 
I shut down and hide away. 

Take space 
But it’s only from you that I need to hide. 

You’re the monster who always makes me feel small. Makes me doubt myself and build my walls  

When I let you in. I keep everyone out. 

Start feeling like the monster myself 

You are the wickedest form

Disguising yourself as love when it’s only evils you create and fear that you instil 

You come near and I shrink 

I become small 

I become moldable. Allowing you to make me into whatever you see best. Or whatever you make me believe. Whatever you want me to see 
The monsters are always the ones you least suspect 

But I’ve let you climb into my sheets and into my head. One too many times now. Now I know your layout. I know the roads and paths that make up your map. I know who you are.

 I see behind your beautiful brown eyes and into your dark soul 


It’s hard to explain to people who don’t experience it themselves.

To feel a sense of accomplishment from going outside to walk the dog, or mustering up the courage get your nails done. The effort it takes some days to get out bed. How you get ready to go out but then can’t leave the house. Or how one day you wake up and you can’t go into work. And you can’t call cause you don’t know what to say. You lose jobs to it. You ignore the texts from everyone. They go from “Hey, where are you? to genuine concern and worry, until they turn to anger. And then you feel even worse. They say things like “Are you okay? this isn’t like you”.

But it is like me.

It’s just sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes I can contain it better and put it to the side; sometimes it eats me up whole and leaves behind a fragile body curled up in the bed staring at the wall.