unfinished

viii. disjointed

a.n. these are a pile of disjointed thoughts in the form of poetry that i write as little notes sometimes. it's really interesting to look back on as these are usually written in the heat of the moment and after that i feel super guilty for overthinking everything (i am very prone to exaggeration). 

---

one. stop playing with me  

you take me in and encourage me with your trusting eyes but

i know you're shrewd enough to manipulate me

with thoughts of inclusion paradise or notions of success

"you're hardworking, valued, such a dear friend,"

what utter lies you like to tell. 

otherwise you would probably be ostracised.

days and weeks and months of being by your side exhausts me

like no other; i know you heard my cries in the

toilet stall but i tried to be silent and you pretended that i

was just emotional and i let that slide. 

but you like being by me because i elevate

your status, probably, with studying my demise you feel

quite superior with your books and attitude and sharp-tongued spies.

everyone's your ally, but you'll never be mine. maybe one day

i'll grow strong enough to take you on for size, 

you're just another planet

orbiting in my solar system, for miles and miles.

---

two. i could fall in love with you (but i don't want to)

and sometimes i

allow myself to think about you more and more,

your laugh. playful, eyes crinkled and soulful and

spilling with boyish happiness. please -

you know i'm vulnerable to teasing, offhand jokes

of yours give me a tidbit of hope to

how differently your gaze on me seems compared

to your serious nod at my friends. or

maybe it's just a hallucination of mine, like the

tidal wave of impending affection i

feel beating in the slumbering recesses of my

chest. something is awakening,

quick, fast paced, and i have to stop the supernova

before it explodes; stop the sunlight from

emblazoning my mind with a little bit of emotion bordering

on the word named love. it

is always futile, my crushes never end in

happiness. help me stop the flames rushing crimson

across my eyes. i am a moth drawn to your fire

and i want nothing more than for it

to cease.

---

three. all my friends are dead

your eyes bloodshot, you stumble

out of your room and the first light of dawn

pierces your outstretched arms (nausea, nausea

comes in waves like the incessant

rocking of a rowboat on

the whirls and leaps of the sea)

you wonder when the sky swallows up the cityscape

and red-glass clouds fade away

would (this emptiness) still live in your chest like

a small skittish animal, squeaking its way

into form and existence

it hits you, a trainwreck,

you are alone in the world with the finality of a

thousand white lilies burying your

dead friendships

and gravestones etched with your own naivety

---

a.n. that's it. when you put these three poems together they form something quite curious. almost as if they're meant to tell a story. but i assure you, they are definitely about separate events and people in my life.