i wrote your name & burned it, to see the colour of the flame

Jumping out of your skin
is more fun than melting it off
take this as a blessing
take this to your grave
a sign that your time is leaving
in need of a new home
one not always mine
life is too material to be worn
i've learned enough words
now let's take the plane

i'm not depressed
and i don't want to pretend that i am
i am happy
i'm sorry it's boring to write about
maybe i'll soon be inspired...

i can't think straight anymore
it's screwing up everything
i fear it'll never be resolved.
maybe i'll keep myself busy enough to cloud my head from clearing too much to think
is this some kind of test?
if it is, i don't think i've studied enough to pass
not yet.
fuck poetry
i was never good at it anyway
don't even say it.

"Tossed is that cyprus boat,
Wave-tossed it floats.
My heart is in turmoil, I cannot sleep.
But secret is my grief.
Wine I have, all things needful
For play, for sport.

My heart is not a mirror,
To reflect what others will.
Brothers too I have;
I cannot be snatched away.
But lo, when I told them of my plight
I found that they were angry with me.

My heart is not a stone;
It cannot be rolled.
My heart is not a mat;
It cannot be folded away.
I have bourne myself correctly
In rites more than can be numbered.

My sad heart is consumed, I am harassed
By a host of small men.
I have bourne vexations very many,
Received insults not few.
In the still of the night I brood upon it;
In the waking hours I rend my breast.

O sun, ah, moon,
Why are you changed and dim?
Sorrow clings to me
Like an unwashed dress.
In the still of the night I brood upon it,
Long to take wing and fly away."

i hope this isn't my one mistake
one i'll regret when i'm 30
loveless and alone
the days bleed under this red sun
my head pounds with every word
i never fail to disappoint
i don't want him to forget me