Poetry The memoirs of a former delinquent

GreedyBoy

Mind the gap.
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A few mindless babbles.
A vent, if you will.

Overly edgy, pretentious
I may as well criticize myself now before anyone else does.
It's defense mechanism.
Childish, artless
Lacking in structure or reason.

There.

Now, trigger warning.
It is a vent in every sense of the word.
I'll just type before I regret.
 
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Ghosts.

It's fun.
To look back on things.
Sitting in the multi-story carpark sharing a bottle.
Taking off our boots and running away from security.
Exploring abandoned places.
The smoke trailing behind us as we shove each other and laugh.

Those ghosts of us still run around that carpark.
I can see them now.
Our laughs turn to my sobs as I realise I'll never get that back.
Ever.
 
Imposter syndrome

My, my,
So you think I am worthy of anything I have accomplished?
I'm not.
I haven't earned anything.
I don't deserve anything.
 
Untitled.

I am aware of it.
And I hate that.

I wish I was delusional.
That I didn't know how badly I'm spiralling.

I know those things aren't real.
I know my mind is fighting against me.
I know it's all inside my head.

So why is it still there?
 
Untitled.

"Y'know, maybe if you stop smoking, you'd be happier!"

Ah yes, I know that, do you have a lighter? I left mine at home.

 
The smoke.

It's not something I'm proud of.
I see you wrinkle your nose when you kiss me.
You don't tell me when the ashes get in your eyes you just tear up and suffer in silence.
I wish I could stop.
For you.
It's bleeding me dry.
My fingers are burnt.
I smoke to the filter.
Every time I cough I see your eyes light up in fear.
I can feel our love going up with the smoke and yet
I still
Keep
Puffing.
 
Stop.

The sting is like an old friend.
I dig deeper.
Harder.
Yes there it is.
I feel better already
Why did I ever stop?

Timotheé stop! Please stop! You'd promised you'd stop!

Your sobs fill my ears.
The smell of blood overwhelms it all.
Ah.
That's why.
 
Untitled.

Your fingers press into my shoulder
I can feel it
Nirvana.
My name sounds so much sweet coming from your lips.
How is that so?
 
My boy.

You fit against my chest as if we were made for each other.
My eyes are fixed ahead and I feel slim fingers intertwine with mine and I smile.
Your voice rings out from behind me.
Your laugh fills my empty dark house as you throw open the curtains.
You're my light.
My world.
My everything.

And when you leave, I grasp out for one last touch.
 
Timotheé.

"Hey you share a name with that actor guy-"

Yeah I know.
And I share striking similarities with his character, Elio, right?
Just because I'm gay, a brunet and a mess doesn't mean I'm the same goddamn-

Ohhhhhh...
 
Boys don't cry
So shut up
Shut. Up.

You're not a man.
You're fifteen again.

Quivering under the glaring lights.
Trying to call for help but you only sob.

Look around the corner, it's empty.
He's not here.
Not yet.

A door opens.
You hear his voice.
He comes and greets you, asks if you're okay.
You say no.

And he...he walks away again, rolling his eyes.

I...

Oh.

Boys don't cry.
 
Untitled.

Lord knows I wish I didn't speak
To be outspoken is a gift, my mother told me
But with my playful jabs and quips
My passionate interjections
I've ruined everything
Everything.
 
Untitled.

You conciously wish to be different, to subvert
When those who are and those who do never wished for it in the first place.
 
Untitled.

The spitting anger
The blank mind
I turn around from my retreat
And spit out more vitriol
I'm not done yet.
 

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