LemonNinjaa

You hold your silence until one day you find that you’ve lost the ability to ever explain what’s eating you whole. You’ve spent your entire life just trying to make the minimum impact on people around you but you then found out the less you push them the more they push back and then suddenly you’re falling and no one will catch you, you’re flipping over the fence and now it’s just freefall, baby, you grasp on to anything tangible but it’s not enough, it’s never enough, you’ve been drowning for life but you only just recently lost the ability to breathe, you’re seeking something you c

I keep having this dream where my worst fear keeps coming to life but when I try to wake up I find my eyes are already open. One day I looked around and realized I am sleeping with shadows and ghosts of people I loved. I loved them but they didn’t quite see the appeal in wrapping arms around intangible demons that I’ve been shouldering ever since the lights went out that time when I was 16. It’s been dark for most of the time since. I’ve been finding flashlights and candles as I go, some burning brighter than others, but batteries and flames always die on me, much like the way these people have to me. I’ve been

You're talking to the air now. It's the kind of silence after a funeral, after something has been taken that you can never get back. It's the kind of sorrow that feels like wet ashes, the kind that sticks under your nails and leaves behind heavy footprints when you run. It's the kind of pain you can get art out of, the only kind that creates but also destroys so well. It's the kind of bitterness you hate yourself for, the kind that grinds itself into your bones and sours everything you taste. It's the kind of thing you drain yourself worrying about, that makes everything black out on the inside. It's the kind of repetition that makes you wo

How long have you been loading those armour-piercing 0.30 caliber bullets of regret into your mouth? Do you fire them at will? Does the safety (of holding your tongue) sometimes get neglected (like you)? When will you learn that holding your fire protects not only uninvolved civilians but also the ones close to you? When will the war against yourself end? Do you think a ceasefire will highlight the blood that stains your hands, the lives you took with your bullets? The dead don't listen but the living make you wish you couldn't either.

Baby, you had so many dreams, You had so much hope and I watched it die I watched it die I watched you die You’re still alive. I’m being haunted by a soul that still has a vessel You changed somehow and I’ve Yet to write the eulogy for the lover You used to be. Baby, you caught me by surprise, You dragged me out to sea and showed me How to ride the waves and then you Turned around and dove into the water And you came back as a whirlpool and You made me drown You made me drown I’m still fucking drowning And you are so far gone it’s like You never existed, Like we never existed Maybe we never existed Maybe

This is how you know you've lost them. 1. They used to look at you like you were a sunny day after a week of rain. Now, it feels like they’ve always been a rain person, because when you stand in front of them they act like it hurts to look at you. Their eyes used to remind you of everything beautiful but now they are clouded by storms and fog. They don’t light up anymore unless it’s through the flat reflection of artificial lighting. Does it count as blindness if it’s only you they can’t see anymore? 2. They used to touch you like you were the richest silk, the softest thing to ever grace their fingertips. Now,

I felt so safe with you but I guess the thing about finding a home is that sometimes you have to move whether you want to or not. If our bodies are homes I wonder if there is room for one more or if we are always contenting ourselves with building bridges and hallways and ladders that sometimes break far too easily. I don’t think my body is my own home, though. I am afraid that my body is a battered shed, a dilapidated mess of a thing that even rats are too wary to take shelter in, I am afraid that the wind cuts right through my very bones because it is so cold here, I am so cold all the time and I’m not even sure if I’m ev

We are whispering to bedroom walls vampires of secrets that never cross the doorways. Why can’t we just talk the way we used to? Instead I find myself tiptoeing around hallways that echo far too loudly for me to hear myself, let alone reach out to you. For a house, this doesn’t feel like home. I know a blockade when I see one. You have built up your walls of silence and painted white wood. You are right there, tucked behind your barricade and I am out here, wondering if it takes a bloody sacrifice to lure you, the lion, out from the safety you built. For some reason it feels like there is a tangible chasm between us, like the floo

You were the shoreline and I was the battered ship being flooded with relief at the promise of safety after being flooded with dread and dark water and darkness. The twin lighthouses of your eyes set me aglow with hope and when I dropped anchor I was welcomed by you. Now I am the ocean and you are the departing ship. I will always be here, I ebb and flow and wait for those who deign to return. You will not return. I will recede into low tide knowing that if I search for you, I will only find a shipwreck of the glory that used to be. I will return to high tide one day. You will be buried in the sands of time; your watery remains will reside