In a world where paranoia
doesn't kiss incessantly at my neck,
and run her hands down the length of my arms
to thread her fingers through mine,
I could be.
Instead, she connects my goosebumps
forming constellations that would
astonish me if I weren't so terrified of them.
Instead, she weaves her cold fingers through my hair,
only to leave it more tangled than before.
Instead, she leaves the indents of her nails
like crescent moons to complement her
all across my arms
Instead, she slips moths inside my mouth,
left open in sleep, where they fall terrified
into my chest and flutter against my heart
until it can no longer remember how to beat.
Instead, the winter that surrounds her
leaves my lips chapped and bleeding
and I pray she won't kiss that part of me as well,
because if she ever did,
I'd never be able to find my way up for air.
Slowly I see the sun go down, and I know what's coming . As I sit at the foot of my bed, I hold my head. I scream internally.
"LET ME SLEEP! ""LET ME SLEEP! ""LET ME SLEEP! " I lie down and close my eyes, trying to sleep. My mind won't let me, my mind won't let me. I try my hardest to not think of anything, but my mind continues running around. I scream internally again
"LET ME SLEEP! ""LET ME SLEEP! ""LET ME SLEEP! " But my mind don't let me.
Constantly rotating images like a small child who
Recently acquired a red Viewmaster
Laughing so joyously in amazement
Such a thing can exist and be held between two hands.
I think about my own throat
Face turning lapis blood vessels
Breaking in attempt to speak and I am laughing
At a 3D image portraying the death of my beloved Betta Fish,
A fillet knife resting on the table
His eyes looking up at me,
Ever running and rotating
It’s not necessarily a fantasy
Metaphor alluding to a deep rooted feeling of loss or anger
An apple once swallowed
That settled down and never came out
Every time I look in the mirror
My hands are my hands and
My face is my own but with something missing,
Not some sudden emotion that’ll pass or rot
This thought loves me and I’ve been
Biting my tongue on saying it back
Not wanting to admit that violence is my true passion
There’s enough awareness to not walk
On that side of the street anymore avoid
Making eye contact lock the door
In a neighborhood once claimed safe.
I’ve grown old, tired of pain
Being the key to happiness tired
Of constantly changing the locks
Yet always waking up to breakfast in bed,
Settling for acceptance over relief,
Dysphoria over amendment
Feeling whole isn’t worth it
If all the pieces are broken
Anxiety is getting quieter, but it's not gone. I feel it in my periphery, knocking and scratching. My walls are a little stronger today, and a little stronger everyday. But there's always that unwelcome guest tapping on my door. I hear it whispering through the boards, little lies I don't quite believe but I can't quite ignore. Each day is a fight.
Depression is a little louder today. Not quite loud enough to leak but it falls like rain on my roof. My roof is a little stronger today, and a little stronger everyday. But the rain still falls heavy and cold. When I find a leak, I patch it. Trusting the patches hold longer than I do. The rain makes me feel heavy and cold. Each day is a fight.
Your lilac halo boasts wild days,
Yet your eyes, earthy and bold,
Whisper soft melodies of sweet innocence.
The bird on your shoulder shouts confidence,
Yet fidit... figi... fidgeting hands
Scramble days of rotten terror.
Be true to yourself;
We know who you are
We know you better.
You're not who you claim to be,
Despite all your changes.
Be what we want you to be,
Because all you are
Is what we make you to be.
So i said to myself
"Yeah, lets pretend like we don't know eachother,
It's probably for the best anyway
Because when you talk to me
And grab at my shoulders the way
You use to, it all comes flooding back to me
Everything i pushed to the back of my mind
Hits me again like a tsunami
So i'll just turn my head
And walk away
Even though i can feel your eyes
Like you always used to."
Well past breaking,
To be seen,
In this delicate,
Near the edge,
As she stepped out,
On to the building ledge,
Trying not to look down,
She takes one last view,
Of this sorry town,
By the score,
Do you think she will jump?
Not really sure,
From certain death,
She edges closer,
The crowd holds its breath,
She lets go,
She decided to jump,
Hit the floor,
With an almighty thump,
A jacket placed over her,
Her face now covered,
As dead as can be,
People sobbing uncontrollably,
Why is the question?
An answer no one will know?
The crowd disperses,
It’s the end of the show.
Wrote this as just lately there has been a lot of people writing about their anxiety, this is what happens when people run out of people to talk to about their problems, totally fictitious story but it happens most days across our globe... JB