Sanity.

Insanity.

Which to choose?
Why should we choose?
How should we choose?

Why...why do these things happen to us? They make us angry, fierce, crazy!
Borderline, bipolar psychotic.

Therefore, I believe. That someday.....someone will reach out there hand before me, and say.
"Let me show you this world of insanity"

No more colours flourish within beneath your skin, they all swirled deep and the darkness bubbled up, and when you cut your finger, ink drips.

Your heart seems dead, though the problem has passed.
The truth is still there, and it’s dark, oh so dark.
I’ve been choking back my tears, especially when you smile at her.
Talk with her, laugh with her, hold her, kiss her.
I do not want you to touch her.

Why did you try and leave?
I do not understand why you would do such a thing,
Such a disgusting thing.

This has made me feel sick to my core, and I’m too scared to go it alone, though I do not want another to dare come near my dreaded soul.

I Hate You.
I Had Forgiven You.
But I Shall Never Forget What You Did To Us.

*Why, Oh Why, Did You Ever Think It Was Okay To Cheat?

The days go on, leaping through another month, another year.
By dear oh dear, when does it end?
That’s the thing, we don’t know, we’re trapped in the darkness of the unknown and only some of us feel as though we are the flourishing ones.
Then the others crumble and shatter, because they are the ones that feel lost and are withering their petals slowlywith every scratch of that blade.

It’s almost sad really, why do we care if someone dies?
I mean, time goes on and on, and as far as we know it never stops, so no matter how long you may have lived or are going to live,
It’ll be nothing compared to the universe.

It’s Almost Sad.

If you have ever been with a writer, you don't know the extent of there passion.
Unless, you stay by their side. Then it's even better because you will know, you will eventually know..maybe not straight away or after a couple years, but it will come into the light of your eyes soon enough.

It's tough to get rid of the past sometimes when you're a writer, because people stay with you through text. Your work, and once you read it again, there they are once more, back in your mind as you watch your memories play through.

One and then two, and then there may be more, or maybe just a special one that you can't stop writing about, or you keep remembering.

This isn't bad, it could be a good or bad reason as to why and what you're writing about, it's good to get everything out.

You feel refreshed if you vent out the anger through intricate words, or you feel euphoric after writing about your joy.
It makes you feel better.

I like to link ideas in my head, and I like a bit of rhyme from time to time. Yeah. You saw what I did there, I'm a genius.

I like going back sometimes, because I can see my works, even if your name is imprinted into them, that's okay, it makes it work.
The Idea, The Memory, The Poem itself.

It's nice to be with a writer because you are always somewhere in their writing, even if you don't see it, you're in there, trust me. I wouldn't mind being with a writer, even though I'm one myself, I guess I would just like to see what they truly think of me.

Cause you will always see yourself behind their hidden meanings.

Hey.
It's that time again.
Once every year, some have people come and cheer, or go grab a beer.
Whatever you want, it's your special choice.
But I can not carry on, for I feel it is pointless. And not at all special, because it's the same for many others as well, new and old.
It's become sickening to me, to look back at those bad memories.

Congratulations to you, and you.
And ...me too..
Hip, hip, hurray...
Hip, hip...hurray
Hip. Hip. Hurray.
...
..Happy Birthday..

everyone that surrounds you, already knows who you are, but not all know your story and what has affected you in your past.
break
I want you to leave behind anyone I despise, or do not trust, but I can not control you for you do not wish to hear my intuition that is right, somewhere deep down.
break
Okay. I get it, you two become a happy couple, I'll question why I went through the trouble of trying to keep you away even though I admit it wasn't a brilliant attempt.
break
"Bid your *** adieu"
If you wouldn't mind, thanks
Sweetie how will you react when you realise that she is smitten, and you didn't accept another's, oh do tell me why?
Invite me to the wedding and after your vows where they double check, I'll have something to say!
break!
I'm trying to see the light by taking a break and avoid the sight
taking my time. Because the words that follow after anything I say about myself with follow on
And trust me they're not good ones
break!
I can't wait for the bad things to happen, is that bad? cause if they do happen, I'll be reminded why I never crossed the bridge, and I'll drink to that.

Drink to my guts, congrats again, you were ****** right once again!

"Cheers Boys!"

No matter how much you come to mind, you are not mine
and when I leave the feeling of muscle memory coats me in your toxins, your sweet toxins, an odor I'm already fond of
coaxed I am by you, for you and no matter how much I want or crave to be even near you and have you around, to laugh and cry with

you won't be there

Here we go again and I will not give into my own dreams and wishes, we were so close today, I felt your breath from a mile away and your lips on mine for that brief second before your head peered away and looked towards a sea of distraction

Who can touch me tonight and make my skin feel bare?
I feel the hands of the sun roaming my skin as my lower back is held in a warming embrace, but I will not loose my mind as my breathing and heart beats.

A sorry letter is what I meet when I return home and I view the handwriting, recognizing it's yours a little clarification point you recite to me every now and then, I've got it mate.

People have plans and I wanna help others, as they try an encourage me to get through, oh if only they truly knew, I still smell you you're here, Ha!
Honestly I'm not gonna leave you behind, no matter what heat you might have had for me, you think you're better on your own, caress my thighs and grip my *** like it's completely fine, it doesn't mean anything to me.

Maybe I should leave, and react the normal way, but I can't because I just don't care, this is a Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby thing? Minus the money and on off love.
No this is a different version, filled with lust and lack of concern, it's like you have no emotions that reside in you, only hands and a **** that control you

others might say I should escape and hate you, cause I'll be better on my own without the venom of someone who's not even there.
You're not a Tom Buchanan, but you're certainly a Jay Gatsby my lord

Why should I escape though, I'm okay, I'm not dead and I haven't been stripped of everything even if I know not where his hands have been, its just an illusion
Not Real At All

He.
He is so kind to me,
but his heart is filled with sorrow.
Him.
For it is him who makes me smile everyday,
even though I see his eyes hide pain.
His.
A castle could be his, that's not even the least he could own,
but I wish there was something I could offer, to repay for my tow.

And, now.
Me, myself, and I.*
I, am not special.
Myself, am alone.
Me, I wish to be someone else.

I wish to leave.
This cruel, cruel world.
Because society is a tease.
But I do not want to twirl.

I wish to leave.
Oh, please, please, please.
Let me, be me.

She was quiet & sad.
As life dragged.
Nose filled with snot, and the tears wouldn't stop.
She didn't know where she was going.
As her ocean was flowing.
*Why not abide to suicide?

Early bird, early bird.
The sun comes out to play.
At 5:58.
In the morning rise, I can see my life change everyday.
Oh so cold, oh so cold.
The morning breeze.
Thank you air for helping me.

I’ve been untied from the train tracks, a duet of men came to my aid,
They cut the ropes and made me stand straight,
They held me when I cried, accepted my thanks through ale and bribes.
I missed this kind of excitement they live.
So we are now,
The Three Musketeers.

my eyes are drenched with the oceans tears, vast and never ending.
my throat is choked in a bile of desperate words that want to be free.
my wrists burning in this warming sensation, that I want to cut out.
my lungs filled with the reminiscing smoke that was your words, laughter and smile.

It's given me cancer.

The cigarette **** that I kept consuming even though everyone told me to quit. I tired too, I'm still trying but then I keep crawling back to this needle and inject my veins with a distraction.
I feel warm, and I'm breathing normally, but then it settles in, I'm empty, needing to calm myself down with the sound of your voice that I can't hear.

I stayed up all night again,
When I’m not supposed to be.
Sleeping isn’t that easy.
I toss.
And turn.
And my eyes they burn.
Bloodshot and heavy, like weights on my eyelids.
It’s not the bed, it’s just my head.
Thinking too much, and then making it all rush,
The comforting screen brightening my 2 AM morning that I never slept through.
And leaving me to dread throughout my afternoon.
One after another, day after day, I go through this pain.
I can not sleep, no matter how hard I try..
Because night after night,
I feel a little bit more of me die..

A lackluster perspective of us pessimists, we create the monsters inside our brains, but we only wish to be awaken from our nightmares.
And the introverts hide behind the music to avoid the lies of others, they fear attachment because the rest of them already left,
nightmares.
We all want to wake up.

It is not just the main things, it is also the others, the little things
that are not called for, even then neither is the rest...
She spits vile words and harsh poison into my eyes and it stings and burns as I cry in anguish

stop.
how do you think I feel? You don't, words fall from your mouth and spill onto the floor and flood it from the hurt, you tell me to ignore them and only think for myself and get myself set.
Set on what mother?
I have nothing to go off, no one I can turn to for this sort of thing.
You tell me not to feel for the others. Mum, if you really haven't noticed yet, I'm shocked.

You know I can't do this, but you say I don't try hard enough, I'm not putting in the effort...shut up.
I have no talents or skills, you should know this mother.
If I had something, you would've been proud by now, but you're not, so please just stop.

Yes my grades are a mess, and yes I like that boy and yes I'm trying.
"If you stop putting yourself down" you say, like you're trying to comfort me, you're not
You're one of the reasons I put myself down mother, it's you.
And dad, don't forget that man.

you want me to be. Perfect. I can't be that, you should ******* know that.
But you don't. You don't listen, you don't care, you don't understand anything you put me through, "It's not good enough"

leave me
...
no more
I'm done with this. You need to understand that I haven't the slightest ******* clue what i want to do, because I don't know what I can do, I'm not smart enough, I don't have money, I don't have a stupid job, I have nothing I can bring to the table that you like to spin around whenever I try to grab something off it.

Stop making me feel like I'm not good enough.

I’m constantly being thrown across, and dragged by my own thoughts, back and forth, back and forth.
I’m broken and tattered, my arms have imaginary scratches, and I’m bleeding out, bruises covering my body, blood dribbling from my head like a baby’s spit onto a bib.
My tears won’t stop, they ache and sting my eyes,
heavy, lifeless, sleepless.

Tearing into my skin as my nails scrape against my neck, trying to rip something out. So I no longer speak.
My eyes are too weak to stop my tears from leaking out, giving me no sleep.
My body is frail, and failing me, the wounds are just too deep, I can’t move, the lack of eating is revealing my paling skin and sickly broken bones, the pain.

I don’t want to feel it anymore,
I don’t want to feel anything anymore,
I just want to die.
Eternal slumber to envelop my being, taking away any form of feeling.

But my brain never seems to stop moving,
not for long anyways.
As my demented thoughts, pick me up and throw me all around a room, letting my dead eyes reveal something that might be fake for all I know.

My head, never, shuts up.
Make it stop!
Make it stop!
Overthinking everything ruins me, my thoughts have become like this because I can’t stop hoping, and then pulling myself down from the clouds of wishful thinking, and they rip and tear and destroy my wings that I once had.

To be in peace, is to feel a release.
A release of built up tension in any and all ways.
We can find this peace through the illustrious brushing,
which brings young men to *******.
But that is only one way, and isn’t what you think I’m trying to say!

Anything can envoke peace in ones mind, body and aching heart.
We can find this peace through the relaxation of sleep,
drifting quietly against the water of our dreams.

We can find peace through the steadiness of nothing,
not a soul to speak up, or a mouse to scatter along.
A peaceful day of nothingness.

We find this peace through different things, taking off the leash of what’s going on, and just sitting quietly in our own field, like a trusty dog.

Rumbling about, back and forth.
You, can never be taught.
Sleeping still, not with this beeping bill.

'Beep beep beep!' your alarm quacks
"Shut your mouth" you thaw from slumber.

Smashing it down, thrashing it to the ground, time to mell under your sheets.
"*******.."

Youth is what we hold, either in mind, body or both at one time.
But if you waste this precious holding, it may reveal a now unfortunate truth.
Claim and hold onto everything that it offers in that way.
Don't waste your precious youth.

How does one say “*******” politely?
Because personally I do not wish to offend, but I’m in need to defend.

To defend my actions and what I said, or did, to protest against the way you all want me to live.

I’m rude, I’m mean, I’m a bully. Call it what you will but I will always see it as honesty.

Why, must I be the one in trouble, when no one spoke to me
Why, must I be beaten down violently when I didn’t know what to do
Why, must I be tortured mentally that I want to break my own skin open and let everything out.

All the, emotions and pain, suffering and sleepless night that I spent crying.

I mean no offence, but seriously...
*******

For reality's sake, we can say
That Life Is Never Complete Until We Die
Because for reality's sake, we do not know, whether there is an afterlife,
So for reality's sake, why try to not die, when we do not know what lies on the other side...

You hold on so tight.
So, so tight.
I can't move, I can't talk, I can't breathe.
You need to release me.
From this hold, from this bond.
I'm no longer fond.
Release me into this world.
The real world.
Someone will be there, surely there must be!
They'll give me their hand, and show me.
. . . the world of insanity . . .

I feel trapped inside my mind, and my body.
As if it does not belong to me, it is not mine.
I am stuck in a human body, filled with dreams, hopes and desires.
All kinds, hopes filled with happiness, dreams that turn to dust without being touched, and sinful and twisted desires that seem they will never be brought to this humans reality.

I feel like I'm throwing up invisible flowers,
Hanahaki Disease.

But because they're invisible to others and possibly even me,
I do not know if it was truly there or to be.
I'm infected with my depressing and constantly moving and changing thoughts, do I need drugs to fix my brain?

I want everything to stop this growing disease, this infection that has leaked into my brain and corrupting my thoughts.

Purity is a lie.
Sin is truth.
Life is meant to be on the edge.
Death is a sweet embrace we should take.
Falling from my bed, I feel like I want to go deeper into the ocean under our human world, and drown in the true reality, and to no longer suffocate from breathing in the waves of falsification.

I wish to see, the real me.
What everyone else sees to be me,
but I do not even know myself?
I wish to be seduced into something true and beautiful,
I wish to not be fed lies that the world persist to be the truth.

I wish to go to my salvation.
*I'm A Sick Girl.

I’m scared, terrified even.
That I’ll break, I’ll break down and cry if I meet your eyes,
hopefully not for the last time.
I can’t get wishful things out of my head,
I can’t get these fake dreams and ideas to just leave me alone!
Whenever I think of them, I’m happy, I’m warm.
But then I remember that it’s all gone, and I’m upset and freezing.

I’m sick of my twisted fantasies and constant “Why can’t, this” And “Why can’t that!”
I’m sick of the ****** tears that seep from my eyes like a stab wound. My heart should be the one bleeding not my eyes. I’m sick and tired of that liquid drenching my face like rain, rain is better than the tears, at least rain eventually stops, because I feel a flood building up inside me.

I’m crying about this, and I’m crying about that.
Can’t just have you back.
I’m constantly having to slap,
Slap Myself Back.
Back into the reality that, what I thought was there, wasn’t really...

Maybe.