romantic poetry / halsey

1.1

 I think I hate myself. I think I’m obnoxiously in love with myself. I think I feed off paradox and call it duality. I think I like to pretend I’m well rounded when in actuality I have a select few obsessions that chew and gnaw and bite at my brain till I smack myself with the flat side of my palm. I think I’m scared of the thing thats growing inside me and climbing up the walls of my belly and throat like weeds growing in a garden. My ears are ringing constantly like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. I feel like bad luck is radiation spreading through my life and infecting everything with a metaphoric cancer and my children and their children and their children’s children will continue to be plagued by the garbage that fills my mind for generations to come like that town in Japan where the kids are still born with disfigurations only mine will have perfect little beautiful faces and just be fucking insane, like me. I’m scared to pet my cat because it’s alive and anything with life is disgusting to me and I’m walking, talking, warfare and everything I touch dies. (I love you and I’m so sorry) My chest and my hands are shaking and I can’t sleep. I hate the news. I hate America. I hate self inflicted, self loathing citizens who bitch and cry when they don’t get their way. I hate tragedy. I hate misery. But I feed off it. I need terrible things to happen because I can’t write music about happy things. If I can’t write music I don’t exist. I die when my body does. I want to be immortal. That’s what music does. It immortalizes you. It carries out your existence even when you’re decaying in a rotting hole. I’m so nauseous and I want to throw up but I haven’t eaten anything today so I can’t and I’m frustrated but also sick. I feel like there are small crabs crawling all over my body and covering me like a carpet getting their tiny feet stuck in the Vaseline-like film that covers my entire body. The sludge that sticks to me from this life spent swimming through slime. I miss your skin. I’m sorry you’re so nice. Everyday I get sad because I think about how one day I have to stop pretending and you’ll find out how my mind creaks and rusts like a broken clock that’s still trying to turn and you’ll leave me. You’re surely going to leave me. I would leave me if I could. But I can’t. I’m stuck here. I love you. 

i'm back and ready to post more poems! sorry haha x