starting with my
chilling tingle that engulfed
and slithered over my skin
sinking deeper to
lick my bones
turn me to stone
chisel apart all
that I encompass
then eclipse final moments
whispering me back
ground I was
Please don't leave me alone with these thoughts in my head
The monsters are coming and they're telling me I should be dead
They force down the blade, they slice up my skin
They tell me I belong in hell, and I should pay for my sins
Humming sweet tunes of death, I can always hear them
No matter how hard I try to ignore their sounds of torment
These monsters in my head they're tearing me to shreds
I want them to stop, with every drop of red, the voices become softer
I can barely hear them now, but they'll be back full volume all too soon
As long as they're still here, my mind will only get darker
I just want the voices to stop, I don't want to hear what they have to say
I want to tear out my heart and cut off my ears, I want the pain to end
These voices in my head make me ashamed of who I am everyday
I'm thinking of ways I could silence them, maybe I'm better off dead
My soul and body are becoming vacant and empty
The only thing still inhabiting me are those voices in my mind
The quick stinging pain of a cut is dulling the screams, but just barely
I'm already empty inside so all that's left is finding a way to die
I bought a new razor, I have my pills and a tub of hot water
When suddenly I'm hit with a memory, a memory of you
That single thought saved me from the slaughter
You called me perfect, you made me feel beautiful
I remembered your smile, your eyes, how you looked at me
I know you're hurting too, I'm sorry, just know you're irreplaceable
I'm fighting my demons, I'm locking them up and you are the key
The man of life upright, whose guiltless heart is free
From all dishonest deeds and thoughts of vanity:
The man whose silent days in harmless joys are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude, nor fortune discontent;
That man needs neither towers nor armor for defense,
Nor secret vaults to fly from thunder's violence:
He only can behold with unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep and terrors of the skies;
Thus scorning all the care that fate or fortune brings,
He makes the heaven his book, his wisdom heavenly things;
Good thoughts his only friends, his wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober inn and quiet pilgrimage.
i felt like wearing red today
like a streak of lipstick
or a drop of blood
among the grey air
and the blue snow
i just wanted to make it known
that i was alive today
in my crimson cloud
in my scarlet shroud
in all these bright alliterations
each word becoming the next
the day just flowed like that
and with red around my neck
i was calm
this colour never fails
to bring me down to earth
to bring me round again
to bring the oxygen forth into my lungs
and red like fire, i breathe in
wrapping the maroon shadow closer
cinching it in at the waist
becoming compact, safe, indestructible
becoming real, tangible, solid and contained
red coursing through my veins, i am here again
and the white clouds beckon me upwards
but this pigment keeps me down on earth
and i felt like wearing red today
for fear of fading
back to grey
I once saw a butterfly, its left wing was broken,
and it fell over and over, its legs crushed with feeling.
What is beauty?
We ask ourselves as we pile powder on our face like cement over our flawed skin.
Most attribute "beauty" as a physical trait, something you are either born with
or must qualify as to achieve happiness.
I think beauty is in the scrawled message at the corner of a Post-It note shoved in your right pocket
and in the tears welling to your eyes that have not yet fallen.
I think beauty is the hair unstraightened with wide tired eyes
and collaped words stumbling over themselves.
All we know about beauty was bottle-fed to us.
As a society, we have set aside what is and isn't beautiful.
It is unattractive to have acne, obscene to have leg hair,
and a downright sin to spend less than twenty minutes on your hair each morning.
But I've counted the zits on your crumpled forehead
and wrote in the stars the strands of your hair.
Your beauty's unbroken and awesome and perfectly celestial.
I've touched a million dizzy tulips, their heads nod off to the storm and rain.
But you held me even when I was unforgiving and broke me through the icy winds.
To me, beauty is not just what encompasses us, what we are born into;
Beauty is the yet-to-come and what you've tranformed to
after moments of fading lights and sick feelings.
Beauty is weaved into our minds, where no one can touch.
It's not in our appearance, nor in our actions.
Holding yourself high isn't cutting it for me.
Beauty is intricate thoughts, what you desire and feel.
I can't see beauty until you tell me by the dying light of noon
how much you'd love to change the world with your fingertips.
I once saw a butterfly, its left wing was broken,
but I swore it was beautiful.
"Outside fat snowflakes are falling on slanted roofs"
an end of early times whiskey,
with a name that is too perfect,
is at its last shot,
my last cigarette in hand,
I take my time to enjoy both.
The sun is rising.
An endless darkness lies herein
this inner light corrupted by sin
I yearn solely for a chance to live
to unleash the madness that dances within
release it to the universe so it's taken with the wind;
transformed into an ageless melody
one that tells of time and eternal sorrow
for today is and always will be tomorrow
revealing how true insanity holds vast wisdom
In an unhinged mind rests a timeless soul
secrets of the universe mutated by the human condition
into science, philosophy, and flawed religion
incapable in its perception to grasp the divine
for in the end , most of us are truly blind
But as I lie prisoner to the corridors of my mind
surrounded by memories and colossal dreams
I see a glimpse of a universe destroyed
whose light is invisible to those truly devoid
and human reality becomes a gaping black hole
that imprisoned my mind and tainted my soul