12 BOTTLES OF PISS AND I LOVE YOU FEROCIOUSLY DEEPLY

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

12 bottles of piss,
And a ferocious love felt deeply.
Heavenly hell swims through the void. Creeps through cracks, confounds melancholic magic with memory’s mystery.

Mingling minutes merge with knowing.
We’re beams of a bigger brilliance; big bollocks and braggadocio.
Big battles. Bigger bullshit.

I know you without words.
We’re from a place intact humans can’t comprehend.
The way I feel you in my atoms is inexplicably unearthly.

we shoot the shit for hours. Sometimes three but mostly five.
You don’t force my tongue to die, your patience allows me my sarcasm.
You’re my safety.
You feel like my soul’s home.

We watch you draw and colour forever.
Our wordless moments are a serene peace,
my soul melts into your hiding light.

Time hangs itself. Nothing matters.

12 bottles of piss,
which are more accurately 14 or more.
Golden sadness smells like popcorn.
A cocooning away; it’s depression in tangible form.

12 bottles of piss,
which on better days equals 2 or none.
On these days you are my flowers,
with aphids resting at your stems.

12 bottles of piss,
my daughter says, are perfect evidence of my compulsion to romanticize filth.
That I make disgusting things a pretty place to dwell.
But isn’t that the point?

12 bottles of piss,
and I don’t give a fuck about your flaws.
I’m flawed too; our skies hold the same dark and silver clouds.

12 bottles of piss,
And nothing much really matters.

Thank you for existing.
I love you and adore all that you are.
Ferociously. Deeply. Forevermore.

(Thanks for reading. It’s clunky and disjointed because it accidentally became a group project written by different alters. Every alter in my body (there are so many) feels safe with every alter residing within the person this poem’s about. This is what unmasked DID looks like.
lots of love from Holiday x)

I love you to insanity.