La musique hurle comme une mauvaise blague.
Le travail est longuement lent.
Je supprime autant que je peux, je tri partout où est le virtuel.
Cinq fois s'il le faut.
C'est inutile, ça ne m'avance pas, c'est juste un moyen de ne penser à rien.

J'ai oublié la place que je n'avais pas dans ton monde.

J'ai longtemps eu envie de mourir sans le savoir et, c'est quand je l'ai su, je crois, que j'ai commencé à guérir.

Je tiens le couteau dans la main. Et l'anxiété m'envahit.

Je regarde le couteau dans la main.

Je pense au couteau dans la main.

Je pose le couteau hors de ma main.

L'anxiété est là.

Le couteau aussi.

Résister.

Je ne veux plus être à la maison.

J'ai envie de pleurer.

The white object

For you, I was just a white blanket
where you wanted to paint all your fantasies

Red house

there is a house
painted by old-blood
it stink
make me wanna puke
I can't remember the original color if there were one.
Inside it's almost dark
the floor is some organic meat
that sweat blood when you walk on it
I can hear a heartbeat
Everything looks the same, smelling the loneliness
This emptiness is a disgusting mess
I want to clean it up but I can't!
My body is on the floor I'm just the mind
Visiting the horror house from who I run away
I'm confused now, I don't know how to repair it
I was supposed to be a safe place
Now I'm just haunted by myself
I'm the ghost of my body

When sadness is a funny thing

A poem for your death

you, you, you, you,
you, you, you, you,
you, you, you, you,
you, you, you, you,
you, you, you, you,
                        die.



A poem for your death, part 2

die, die, die, die,
die, die, die, die,
die, die, die, die,
die, die, die, die,
die, die, die, die,
                    you.

//////

The reality about the death I wish, sometimes, you meet

tbh I don't hate you,
I don't really care about you
Ofc I'm sad when I see how nicely you seems to succeed when I still struggle
but I don't hate your "present" you
I hate the past, what you have done, what I have lived
I hate the fact that it happened
I hate that sometimes I'm blocked by your memory
You are my worst souvenir
I hate still having trouble to figure it out
I hate the tumor you put in me
I don't wan't to deal with you anymore
When will it stop ?

---

All my body was expressing pain, my mouth was screaming, my look was devasted, but the only thing you could see was the reflection of yourself.

When my body bend in horror yours bend in honor.

I don’t remember well, it was so long ago. 
I think my brain tried to erase everything day to day.
Everytime a memory shows up it’s worse than the precedent, I guess part of the healing is knowing what you have done to me but I already want to punch you for the less I know.

When I confronted you, will all my rage with all my vulnerability, you told me that everything was about your masculinity. The rapes, the abuses, the hits, the slurs.

You told me I was worthless than your masculinity.