Sometimes at night I feel like I'm drowning.
The darkness that seeps into my body
Is comforting but cold
And it wraps around my lungs
In a empty imatation of a blanket
That makes getting out of bed in the mornings that much harder.
The inky black of the night holds my lungs captive
In a smoky cage as it urges me forward
And makes existing in the land of the living painful.
It becomes normal, the writhing mass of midnight
But the minute I relax into its hold
It squeezed the breath from my lungs
And the cycle starts again.

My fingers itch
My mind hurts
My heart is heavy.
I write poems to
Understand
And so others can understand
Me.
My bed is messy
My floor is littered
With clothes I never pick up
My walls have art
Taped on them
I hate them when theyre bare.
I feel like I am bare
Raw
Stripped of everything that made me me
And left a shredded shell.
I can't breathe
I can't think
I can't live.

She’s more fun when she is drunk
At least…until she’s not
Because she’s puking in the toilet
And regretting her last shot

She’s more confident when she’s drunk
Gorgeous and ready to score
Until she looks in a mirror
And feels even uglier than before

She likes herself more when she is drunk
Until that feeling goes away
When she is so far beyond gone
That her self-hatred comes out to play

She’s happier when she’s drunk
All her issues leave her brain
But they all come crashing back at once
And cause her so much pain

She likes the world more when drunk
It’s filled with so much good
Until one little thing sets her off
And she hates it all more than she should

She likes life more when she’s drunk
Her mind for once feels still
Terrified of losing that feeling
She soon wants to end things with a pill

But she can stop any time she wants
Or so she’d have you believe
Because alcohol makes her seem so happy
That is, until all her friends leave

HelloPoetry
Q: How do I enter death year?

A: Die on your laptop

Forward is a difficult direction to move towards.

Walking away from him is moving forward
But staying with him is moving backward
And ten steps towards the bottle is moving backward
And ten steps away from the bottle is moving forward.
So how do you know what way to point your compass when the direction you're told to go in  is completely arbitrary?

When I was younger moving forward meant success.
Getting A’s and B’s and staying out of trouble.
But as I grew up the little details that used to be irrelevant started twisting the path and what was once a straight shot is now a complicated maze of dead ends and trolls under bridges.

Moving forward was put on hold when puberty set in and the idea of body image made me obsessed with every mark and shape of my skin. When boys were no longer gross but objects of affection. When friends became more than friends and best friends was synonymous with jealousy.

Moving forward became more fuzzy when a new substance was introduced to me that made walking in a straight line more difficult than usual but when it got dark I wasn’t so scared of what lay on either side of me.

Moving forward became more interesting when you could inhale giggles and laziness or melt rainbows and dreams onto your tongue.

Moving forward was stopped completely the second time my best friend was ***** and I had to leave my path to hold her hand as she tried to move forward on her own.

Moving forward slowed once I made it back to my own road but checked behind my shoulder every few seconds because I now understood that there are really ****** people in this world.

Moving forward complicated itself when love became the ultimate distraction.
When I stopped mid journey to take the scenic route in another human being and thought I was still moving forward but actually was getting hopelessly lost.
Then he left me in the thickest part of the forest and I started to move backwards to retrace sunken steps in a ground I was too naïve to realize was muddy the first time I had walked it.

And I have to come to the realization that moving on and moving forwards  are not the same thing because my feet can place themselves one in front of the other all day long but it does not mean that my heart drags far behind in a state of helpless nostalgia that moving due north will not solve.

Soon enough distractions no longer sway me from my path.
My surroundings are a blur because everything that makes me full of light I have already passed and I am told over and over again to keep moving forward.

So I will no longer stray.

I will keep my eyes on the horizon and hope the soles of my shoes along with my spirit do not wear down before I arrive at my destination.
I have no idea of where I am going but maybe if I keep moving in the direction that is “forward” I will get there
And maybe one day arrive somewhere that makes me feel whole again.