damaged

his love is
lying in my lap
hoping I will
never stand up

so many books I'd like you to read

the constant feeling
in the back of your mind
of being in the wrong place
at the wrong time

how on earth will you be free
if you doom the road
before you reach the end?
now shut up for a second
come here, kiss me
I know better ways to occupy your head

credence

call me a poet
or a lunatic
I prefer both

the war in your mind

do you wanna know the place cops don’t go?

where every colour can exist at the same time

the place where there's no limits, no rules, no laws, no moms, no dads
no censourship and no borderlines

no pointed fingers except the ones you point yourself

no complaining neighbours, no curfews, no outside help

your mind is the place no one can hold back

and as everything changes, your mind

is the only thing you truly have

fuck are we lonely

but in there we got so many friends
and the voices wake us every morning
reminding you to attend

now did you let that war happen

because you thought you deserved it?

that’s what happens to good people, isn’t it?

you let your men dress up as soldiers and stand up in line

you let the houses get bombed and the women cry

you let your thoughts fight and the war was so vivid

no one understood just yourself ‘cause you were in it

and as you tried to tell all the people on the outside

they told you it’s nothing ‘cause ‘its only your mind’

no, dear,

they are the ‘only’ here

make peace and let your thoughts be still

no one will hear you, love, only you will

so tell the soldiers to sit down and think

light them a spliff, give them something warm to drink

make them remember what the war was about

then tell them to sit there until they talk it out

little house in valongo

I've come to this place
where fear exists
to stare it in the face
to turn it into art

hours are short, very short
the storm hasn't stopped for two days
branches hit the windows
I write poetry to its scratching

twilight comes early, winds change with it
at seven I bring in all my things
my book, my smokes, my jacket
I bring in everything the night might eat
and I go inside

lock the door and look out
as the forest becomes black
I don't see a thing
it will stay that way until the morning
nights are longer here,
longer than anything

so when the light flickles (and it does)
there's a fear of being forgotten
a guilt of being lost
every little feeling
becomes a chord, a note
a melody to sing

this is a sort of happiness
turning myself into music

I am so lonely I could break

how many nights since me

how many nights since me?
how many sleeping pills?
how many memories blank?

how many texts in draft?
how many erotic dreams?
how many strangers in your bed?

how many secret fall-backs?
how many unmade phone calls?
how many suicide attempts?

how many insta-stalks,
how many profile-checks,
ending in log-outs instead

let him live with it

girl, don't tell him
of the things you did
he might beg in his sleep
but never admit

let him think the worst, thinking
there must be a twist
wishing he could tie
a chain 'round your wrist

let him lie awake,
struggling with fantasies
wondering if the truth
gets as bad as this

girl, don't tell him
of the things you did
just let him go mad
he'll learn to live with it