what is the reason to live?
you can tell me, you know.
is it to ruin how you feel about food and your body again and again?
is it to slowly drift apart from those you love?
is it to stare at what you've done at 5am sat in your bed?
is it to slice open your leg and stare as white turns to yellow turns to red?
is it to burst into silent sobbing tears after every interaction?


i don't think i want to live.
that's okay, you know?
i don't want to see the face of my best friend as the light through his curtains perfectly lights up his face.
i don't want to smell the back corner of the library where no one else goes but me.
i don't want to hear my sister's new baby laugh as she plays peek a boo with him.
i don't want to taste the fleeting bookend of the last week of the 6 week summer holidays.
i don't want to feel the ghosting grazes of the pebble dashed walls on my fingertips.


i don't think i've been happy in 4 years.
that's okay, you know?
i've not been happy since i cut my hair short and gave myself a fringe.
i've not been happy since i started wearing baggier and plainer clothes.
i've not been happy since i went back to school to see all my friends.
i've not been happy since i found out what the internet was through youtube nightcore mixes.
i've not been happy since i was 10.

phanes and thanatos, gaia and keres
perched in each four of my bedroom corners
they change shape and morph and bend
to suit my will
so serpents and faces and dragons and wings
and half worn and sharp sword and flowing floating things
and the plants and the thorns and the weeping girls face
now more wings and angry and naked and brash
i like that one the least
and serpents and foliage urge me to live
and sharp sword and nude urge me to die
i run my tounge over metallic on my teeth

i dont have much to say
but i still want to write
so i write and assign my own meaning
i stop dead in the middle of aisle 8
im shaking a bit but im not upset
becuase finally
while placing carrot onto bread onto yoghurt
the meaning comes before the poem
and i finally
feel like a writer

i dont want to exist
i just want to be
nothing corporeal
nothing tangible
i am the baby bird sleeping in the snow
i am the teeth you pull in self pity
i am the old school building
i am corporeal
i am tangible
i regret

ive always found the fish at the bottom of the ocean fascinating
as a sort of body horror
it takes me a minute to mark them down as alive i my head
the ones with needles for teeth and transparent skin
the red ones who are invisible to all but their own kind
then the divers dive dive dive down
and pull out my friend
they photograph him amorphous and disfigured
upset and in infinite pain
it hurts
they poke and prod and dissect and diagram
it hurts

how do i become?
i said.

the answer:
get out of bed and wash your hair strawberry shampoo.
brush your teeth with colgate mint toothpaste.
pour a cup of tap water in that my little pony mug. you know the one.
drink it as you finally read the first chapter of that book.
your own brand waffles pop out of the toaster.
eat them as you walk the familiar route to your best friends house.
knock on his door. you are uninvited. you have not seen eachother for months.
hug and kiss and smile.
thats how you become.

This is the first entry.

This is the first entry.

This is the first entry.