i want to kiss damien rice, drink with ernest hemingway and marry f scott fitzgerald

have a nice day

my gay self

my gay poetry

im sick of poetic bullshit. the best way 2 sum me up is that im so depressed everything is funny and i think im the best fuckers

i'm the biggest faggot

i think you could’ve
spent forever
never knowing a single
mark in my past

but i tormented you with
terrible headaches that
you always asked to
hear nothing about.

why didn’t i just
see it then?

i’m sorry,

i really am.
it’s not something
i ever processed to be a
defining heartache

i always supposed you were just
the break and make
in all our silly

why couldn’t i have
just let us been two

instead of living in a world
of everyone but


tides may
pull us

but i will
always be




to the
of the

We were just blank canvases for each other

Bits were ripped from yours.
Tangled and torn from the sea

Mine was a shell
Of childlike curiosity

You tried to tie in blues and greens
From the oceans you have sailed

But I sat there; pale faced,
Tangling and tearing
all of your efforts.

I glued newspaper prints
Onto the edges of my canvas
And ignored all of your artistic
Hints & tricks

Preferring everyone else’s.

Do you think if I had just listened,
Rather than painting over your work-piece,

I could’ve been your art-piece?
Or do you think we would’ve ended up
Exactly as we are:

just blank canvases for each other.

I wanted to spill paint all over you
And erupt you with my red and
Black oils

You just wanted me to be blue
And purple
And orange
And every colour in every sunset
And sunrise and
Surprise you had inside of you.

I just ignored your attempts of sticking me
Onto your canvas
With a bit of glue.

I wanted you to tear me and
Spoil me rotten;
Invade me into every inch of that
Blank map you called a home.

I could’ve just listened.

You never once tried to doubt me.

And now we’re stuck

with my painting
Falling off of the wall in a shitty
B & B

Your painting
Lamenting besides mine.

Just a simple title
Placed at the head of both:

"We woke up in a different city today
And now we’re not even together”

I lean against the wooden door frame,
You stand by the stairs;

You’ve played a game this time I don’t quite
understand, and I don’t understand
why you’d be so fucking crude as to
place all the blame onto

I pull myself away from you ,
You stand by your sisters bedroom.  

it’s amazing
how much life someone can experience
from a hospital bed.

6 years and
7 months and
8 days
before you met me you’d spent
8 years and
7 months and
6 days
tied to one 

you were brought into the world
from the same bed
you died twice in.

it’s odd to think i’ve spent
7 more minutes in this world
than you have. 

you pull the trigger and
i hold my breath.

there were three 
nights in a row. 

you pull the trigger and
three weeks after your death
they let me hold you
one last time. 

the floor by your bed
looks better than my
i just only ever want
to share my bed
with you , i would only
ever want to share my
head with you , i want
to absorb your head ,
sleep in your
bed , eat bread with you
by that window ,( the one
you smoke out of ), 
sleep in your bed ,
wake up to those beautiful
eyes , breathe in your
breath , inhale it
into my lungs , exhale
it out of the window by
your bed , i want to
wake up in that bed ,
see your head next to
my pillow , kiss those
moles on your chest ,
kiss the bread crumbs ,
in that bed ,
i love the floor by your
bed , all i can see is
red , i love the bread on
your bed , 
(red) , i love the bread
head , red , all i can see
is your head , red?, i can
smell bread , red ,
swelled head , help i love
the floor , there’s so
much left unread , your head ,
love , bed , i have left
so much



i trembled when i saw your
words fall down the showers
plug and disintegrate into

shallow shrugs-

it was painful to watch.

i couldn’t even hold onto you
because the water was soaking
the room up and i haven’t
swam in so long…

i watched you drown.

i’m going to kill the bastard
and his father for
tearing away your
beautiful skin so that
i could never meet
all of you.

i fucking hate this

please be okay 

i’m pretty sure i
don’t miss you

scratch that-      i’m certain.

i certainly don’t miss your
bitchy comments on every

and that stupid-fucking-lie
you told your entire college
class that time

i don’t miss being moaned
at for looking better than you
on your birthday

and everyone thinking we were gay

i don’t miss having no other friends
but you
while you sat at the top of the
social throne

 i don’t miss the sick jokes
about my boyfriend
and how, 
for 1.7 million,
you’d love to have your leg
cut off
(he doesn’t miss you, either)

and yeah, you may not be like
all my best friends before:
you didn’t
fall in love with me
            then stop talking to me
you didn’t make me
do all your homework 
            then stop talking to me
you didn’t move to
            then stop talking to me


you just stopped speaking
only keeping contact to find out
the gossip for all your

and yeah, maybe the sudden
corruption in communication 
may have been upsetting at
the time

but in hindsight

it may be the best thing

that has ever happened


me (and not to you for once) 

What do you regret?

My ten year old suicide
note consisted of my
sorries for cheating in
hide & seek, and the
truth to all my lies.

the devils most ugly
ideology was
convincing the world
he wasn’t really

why does no one
know the causes
for forgetting & for

I regret not taking
a picture for every-
day of my life.

and why will no
one ever look the
thing that kills them
in the eye?

When asked my biggest regret:

I answer:

My perfectly composed
but ultimately failed
childhood suicide note and

kissing you
The night I should’ve kissed Mary.