adieu

| Saturday, 30th November 2024

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
   As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
   Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
      Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep
         In the next valley-glades:
   Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
      Fled is that music: —Do I wake or sleep?

I don’t wanna be you anymore

| Tuesday, 5th November 2024

Wherever I go they’re always fucking there, like a suppurating wound or a cancer
and those who can talk without falling over their words are always received more warmly than the stumble-tongued
no matter the blood on the former’s hands

(I wasn’t thinking of you at all)

I can’t be human, I can’t even pretend to be human or real or worth anything anymore
I can’t do people
not even when I love them — in fact, when i love them it just makes everything a hundred thousand times worse

I’m silenced, but beyond that;
I’m just a broken fuckup, and I know it.

(oh she was right all along.
sing with me, this is)

I don’t think I want to die but maybe it would be better for everyone if I just…disappeared quietly. nothing of value would be lost, really. and I Don’t want hugs or platitudes or attention or anything; I’m not saying this for any of that, I’m saying this because it’s true. if I have no worth I have no one to blame but myself, like with every other thing. I’m a mess, but I’m not quite as fucking stupid as they all said (Say) I am.

nobody notices their silver missing while they’re polishing their gold. why woudl they?

With the sticks and stones I’m made ofI swear I tried the best I couldI still wanna be a winnerI want to be good

my time is a piece of wax falling on a termite that’s choking on the splinters

| Sunday, 3rd November 2024

I can’t write anything. It’s like trying to get water from the moon. I just stare and stare and stare at the empty page. I feel nothing at all.

It’s like how I sign up to make all these fanlistings, thinking that surely, surely by the time the form is processed, I’ll feel some kind of spark of inspiration to make something again, and it never happens. I just end up half-assing a layout in three hours on the day it’s due and throwing it online to keep the Internets HOA off my ass.

There’s nothing in me, nothing stirs. I’m just empty. I’m just pain and uselessness wrapped in a human shape.

It’s probably not surprising, given the last three years of my life being what they are, but it still sucks. One more shard of myself lost; there’s going to be nothing left eventually, I think. If that is indeed the case, I wish it would hurry up and take all of me.

Soy un perdedor. What can you do. What can I do. It is whatever it is. Everything is, everything was, everything is all, everything will be. Supposedly.

rise, rise, rise.

| Monday, 30th September 2024

Hidden failures, no one to save us
(Fractured moments — the gaps are growing)
The dying decades; the first refusal–

Total withdrawal, silence for all
(The last generation by polarisation)
Solitary youth, this laziness finds its truth:

I will be your weakness, I will help you make sense
I will be your battle ground; can I tie your blindfold?

Survive while you hold my fingers tight — sing a soundtrack to withdrawal tonight

ew, times two.

| Friday, 30th August 2024

“Oh no, I hope that post isn’t about me!”
and what are you going to do if it is?

bitch, I was born on the Ides of March — literally, I’m not just saying that to create a false bond with someone I can use like a stepping stone. you think I have to play nice with you? with anyone?

here’s the upside to being nobody: nobody gives a shit about what I say, so I can spit the truth out like blood. I hope it fucking burns you.