Celeste C

Celeste C Jul 2013

I still remember every detail.
The pit of fear in my stomach.
The grip you had on my wrists and arms.
The smell of Jaegar and tobacco pouring out of your disgusting mouth along with the slur of

"It's going to be fine, sweetheart"

My skin crawling as you forced me out of my clothes.
The acid tears burning my face as you took what wasn't yours to take.
The value of my already worthless body gone.
Forever.

And in the place of something once pure,
You left these haunting memories from which I cannot escape.

Celeste C Jul 2013

Trapped

I feel trapped inside of my own body.
If this where I’m supposed to be most comfortable,
Why am I itching to escape it?
If this is my Temple, why am I dying to destroy it?

Why am I craving to rip through my skin with a razor blade?
Why is my mind poisoning me?
Why can't I stop it?

Help.

Celeste C Jun 2013

And Every Morning I Think The Same Thing. (5W)

Another dream wasted on you.

Celeste C Jun 2013

How Could I Write Anything Worth Reading.

When I wrote before, it was because I needed an outlet for my emotions.
Whether they were morbid or buoyant.
But now, it seems that I have found that I cannot feel.

I suppose this is why I haven't wrote.

I can't talk about how infatuated I am with a mysterious man because I do not have that person to write about. And I could not feel infatuation even if I did have a lover.
I am unable to express the depressive ambiance coming from within because I am sure it has dissolved by now.

I'm no longer the pathetic being I was just months ago.
I've evolved into something lesser than a sadness-consumed commodity and I've concluded a robotic, cold substance was left after the despondency faded.

And if this is all that I am, than how could I write anything worth reading.

Celeste C Apr 2013

If I Had The Guts

If i had the guts,
A gun would be to my temple.
Or maybe the roof of my mouth.
A bullet could rip through my skull,
Blowing my mind.
Literally.

If i had the guts,
A noose would be tied,
13 coils,
A real hangman's fate.

If i had the guts,
A great big glass of cyanide
Might silence the demons.

If i had the guts,
I'd be falling,
From a high rise skyscraper.
Plunging to my death.

If i had the guts,
I wouldnt be writing this terribly morbid poem
Of ways to commit suicide.
Because i'd already be dead.

Celeste C Dec 2012

Downers

I can't help but fall.
deeper,
deeper,
deeper.
These little blue and white pills pull me so far down.
Into darkness.

After two, I feel my once tense muscles begin to relax.

Three more and my eyelids start to get heavy.

Four more, my mind eases; thoughts drain themselves away.

Five more, and consciousness escapes me.

A sea of medicated sleep engulfs me.
I float away, far deeper than my sober being could wallow.

Here, I can't hear the voices. Inside, or out.

No one to remind me what a disappointment I am.
No mirror to look into and think about how disgusting the thing is, staring back at me.
No overwhelming thoughts to motivate a razor across my body.
Nothing.
No one.
Just the comforting silence of sweet dreamless sleep.

It's been a while.

Celeste C Sep 2012

Nevertheless

My hollow bones and aching muscles have driven me to exhaustion.
These disgusting thoughts are overflowing my weary head.

I've become stuck in a daze.
My body has shifted gears into auto pilot.

I'm so tired I can not sleep,
and even when I can,
sleep forces it's nightmares upon me.
So famished I can no longer hold a meager meal
in my constantly shrinking stomach.
My rain cloud has come back,
and taken its place over me.

This burden of life has become too much for such a small person such as I to carry.

I don't know why the sickness has chosen me to victimize.
Why I've become subject to feelings of guilt and despondent thoughts.

A cry for help is not enough,
this theory has been tested and showed true each time.
Those pills won't help.
Shrinks don't help.
Not even my own medication,
a concoction of marijuana and a razor blade,
help.

There is nothing left to do.
Nothing else to try.
Nothing anyone can say.

No,
No rope you can cast is long enough
to pull me out of the pit of desperation and agony
I find myself in.

Nevertheless, I will smile.
I will act as though I am on your level of ground.
I'll push my food around my plate when I sit with you to eat
and I'll close my eyes when you check on me to see if i'm sleeping
because I would never forgive myself
for being the gravitational pull that lands you
in my pit.