maybe it’s not about
what i’m trying to find
and it’s not about where i’m searching
i might just be a square peg
trying to fit myself
into a round hole

i’m not made for this world
the rotting brain in my head
whispers secrets to me daily
about how i’d be better off dead
and i don’t even hang on
because i want to
i do it because i am too afraid
that if i let go
i’ll be remembered for all the things
people think i am
when in reality,
no one should cry when i’m gone

the days keep getting harder
i try to laugh
because it’s the medicine
i have the easiest access to
but the fake smiles i paste to my face
can’t replace everything i’ve lost
and all that i’ve thrown away

my potential fades more and more
each day
and i keep getting wasted
so the feelings all fade
until the sun rises again
and the past is replaced
with more of the same

it’s
not
real

it can’t be
can it?

this

stupid

pathetic

adoration

that
i
feel

it picks away
at my head
trying to
get through
my thick skull
and
attempting
to leave me in
a puddle
of
my own
disgusting goo

but i can only fight
so hard
i don’t know what to do

i feel sick to my stomach
over how
badly i want you

this stupid ****** brain
and repulsive ******* heart
keep trying to **** me
but instead i remain
repeating the same
actions
that have
been leading me
to the same place
where every time i wake up here
i don’t recognize my own face
and it gets harder and harder
not to blow out my brains
when it’s like
my entire existence
is a joke
just a mean-spirited prank
like maybe this could have been funny
but it’s gone too far
and i don’t know why
i ever pretended to laugh
it would be
much funnier
to take my toaster
in the bath

Can't sleep.
Bathroom.
Fill it up.
Bubble it up.
Get in.
Intrusive thought.

*

You'd be surprised.
Used to the purpose of cleaning
And pleasured times.

And I fantasize about suicide.
The sense of quietness and structure,
What most of us ambitions in life.

...

I am from

Moments that felt like holding on to something that is slipping away

I am from Christmas mornings
Heart leaping
A child’s excitement
Pulling my father down the stairs
He is all scattered gray hair
Pointing every which a way
And a soft Scottish accent,
Chuckling,
And my mother is all smiles,
Eyes bright and laughing

But always, the smile is pulled tight
And behind it all,
Pain,
Pain resting upon her
Like an invisible cloak

And I am cross legged on the floor
Eyes bright with the reflection of Christmas lights
Pushing away the too-old-for-my-age knowledge that
One day
One day
my mother is going to break

And I am going to lose her.

i enter the river
later the woods
tour natures suicide spots
snub them for a man made bridge
snub the bridge
    because i find life pretty today
    too pretty to bend deaths ear
                             and suspend

if I told you I died 5 times today,
would you believe me?

now,
in the horizon there,
my passion hangs on
a weak branch
stained of copper.

oh,
so timeless is the upset of ruin...
feeding the crows who leave
their feathers upon me,
making me black...

every single line on my body holds a memory
i’m usually embarrassed
the weird stares i get or the occasional questions from elders who don’t understand
sometimes people will even joke about it
or this one time a girl from my class told everyone i do it for attention
and at one point it might have been for attention, because i wanted someone to notice, to save me from my anguish
i always did have this obsession of being able to turn my mental pain into visible hurt
now i simply try to put it into words
and so when the sun comes out and the heat strokes start i try to cover them up
but at one point it got too hard to hide
and even though i’m better now, i’ll always be marked for life
i’m branded by my nightmares
but the monstrous marks tell a story
i’m alive and i’m full of memories
and even though most are bad, there’s a reason i’m here to show them

i burned out like a fire
can anyone reignite my last spark
i think im turning to ash

Virginia,
bathed in the misty Ouse
overcoat pockets filled with the hard grey stones of life
dark rocks to match the shadows
of the mountain heaped upon her back
until she could not bear the load
so she swam, and did not leave a forwarding address
or bring a towel and sandwiches for a picnic