Physical
Blood drips down pale cheek. Hate shines bright in angry red. A crime against love, life and lust. You have to feel pain, for others don’t understand. There they sit, oblivious to your trauma. For this attack is not the first. Not the last. But a constant. This time just happened to be physical.
‘Tyler’s Poem’
Blinding lights guide me to fabricated happiness, daylights trauma momentarily numbed. Years of broken memories await me, hours of fun a worthy exchange. It’s the nights of ecstasy that calms my nerves, troubled womb an uninhabitable cavern. It is to think what it means to breathe, the latter easier with the former subdued. I find…
He Wants to Die and He Should Fucking Try
Nothing beats driving country roads at 90MPH, blustering gusts beat to the sound of my trauma, thoughts of crashing an invigorating image. Infernal angel beckons me home, the words of Lana Del Rey, my eulogy. Lavender plays homage to my sober dwindling, purple flavoured pills brighten the headlights that face me. High and drunk, I…
Writings Of A Queer Mind 