Burning desire to write a poem

He just wanna smoke and fuck, so I guess we both speak Hebrew

Now he talking my language, but would it work when I ain’t Jew?

Rents due late, and so’s your love when we come through,

In due time we’ll cash all these memories

Stack all these memories, in my mind bank full of sanity

But your back’s turned to face me,

Face screwed up, back stabbing, always injure me

Injuries that A&E can’t stitch up, see...

The threads getting thicker, my words are getting quicker,

The bloods just iron bars, pump fist I'm a prisoner

In this dark world, I walk but run to find cover

Under my cover, stand cover when my eyes close,

The only warmth was your hand and now it’s the fire that’s under me

Ash in my eyes, sting from the morgue

Where our past lays, ashes to ashes,

No dust to dust,

Cos the dust is in my lungs, I suffocate in the prison,

But the bars break-up like us,

Like me, like you, like what the fuck

Fuck feelings, flippin' weight on my sanity,

And your carcass rots as I run free. 

-Asma Qureshi

I like it loud

I have been awake since 12pm yesterday. I sat up all night waiting for the internet to resurrect from the depths of my despair but no.

Thoughts kept me up. 

Music was playing, some playlist on soundcloud which I will not mention for the fear of being judged. 

It was chill. I sat here drawing and writing and gazing out of my window at the moon. Thinking about those scenarios that you want to happen.

Yeah... I'm no John Keats, but when I start thinking, I shit you not, a poem starts forming in my head.

The conversion of my thoughts into lines that won't ever make sense to you. 

I turn him on, he's always showing it.

And I love it when he's loud during the day, but the soothing whispers in the night are so perfect.

It's only when it's just me and him that the whole world is forgotten. 

My mind is just on him and it's magical.

I pay so much attention to him, I sometimes wish he would talk more...

Like if I asked a question, I'd want him to answer, he has no soul

but he answers me in other ways.

Ways that make me feel noticed.

One to one.

Perhaps they hear us, they've never seen us though.

I value privacy. But he likes attention so I don't think he'd mind going public.

I always notice his veins that pulse this energy, that drive.

His deep notes always hop in my ears.

We'll always have this connection.

I know it, I will take him everywhere I go...well only if they have sockets.

He is so clean I'd never want to get him dirty on anyone else's desk.

And I wish the wires were longer because I like distance sometimes.

Tomorrow is Sunday, he'll have a day off.

And I wish he could go louder, but security would hate me even more than they do now.

I dance to him though, everyday. He doesn't comment. So I dance more.

lmao, I knew personifying my speakers was a bad idea.