almost got lost
the craving to face...
He lived in me.
HE almost consumed me.
I let myself
drown into darkness.
Not to be corrupt by it,
but to put an end in him.
I slumbered into darkness
to find him.
To find and kill him!
My other side.
The other me who
is a maniac of pain
A manifestation of
Of deep anger!
Or the many more
darkness could offer.
to the lost.
When it comes, your smile is more of a statement
than a question mark. I crack myself dry and
lose the chapstick. I later find it on the floor.
I threw it there in the quick strobe of psychosis.
But where are your words now? You see, since Gregor Samsa
threw himself off a balcony thinking he could fly
after dropping too much LSD, I lost part of my larynx.
I’ve been chain smoking since the cops called.
Don’t blame a bug. No one else knows how to love a roach.
Where is your mirror? Since we all hate confessions
I try not to read Plath, or open my mouth.
I can’t touch myself without breaking a bone because
I’m all glass and deception and Tennessee Williams
was once my sugar daddy, but he drove off and I am cold.
My oven is open. I only speak as it heats up.
What happened to your eyes? My eyes are lost
roaming the streets. They’re cloaked in red wool and
I feel them scratching. I’d get them back but
I have no money left for a taxi let alone
a search party. Something feels too Little Red here.
I am also the wolf. I am also my own shoveled snow.
Are you doing better? I hate wolves as much as mania
and sharp teeth. Send a prayer only if you believe
thoughts count. But sometimes I can’t reach up to ten.
Mail me a letter soaked in your lover’s perfume
so I can smell like purpose while I pretend
I’m not wretched. I’d write back
if I could avoid a paper cut,
but last time I had an
out of body experience
and I can’t moderate
for the life of me.
She used to write poems about slitting her wrists
About monsters that did but did not exist
About band aids and stained paper towels
About grubby toilet seats and empty bowels
And well, now
She regret the scars
Fishing line trails out of them
Transparent until noticed
Then tangled and messy
Catching on hot sweaters in the summer
On the eyes of friends
Of her grandparents
She found them to no longer be the uneven lines of art she loved
She'd stick to colored pens
take a look at the first thing next to you
now imagine it but a hundred times brighter (all the time)
if life is a glass of water sometimes i wake up and it's filled with caffeine instead
to keep me running faster than i want it to
there always has been a spark in my eyes that wasn't natural
no one's quite sure where it's from but i used to think it was a superpower
i used to think not sleeping for days was a superpower too
it can be scary if you feel like a puppet that's forced to kick and hurt and attack
it can be scary if you can't make yourself stop
it can be scary if fun isn't fun anymore but danger
it can be scary when you're fragile
it's like a bubble in which there are no boundaries
the world has no boundaries there's only me and my ideas
and i seem to be way better than i'm supposed to
how can you stop when there's so much left to do?
(even if afterwards it won't be)
the world is bright and colorful now but it can go back to greys anytime
it won't go to neutral colors (it never does)
you can't shut it down if the "it" is you, if the "it" is what you're up against
if the "it" is constanly challenging you to go faster better faster faster faster
"it" is so fragile if you stop it for a moment there may be no coming back
there are so many fun things intense things death can be just one of them if you don't control "it" soon enough
when caitlin snow first got her powers in flashpoint she had to stop them
i always had a superpower and it will always have to be stopped
take a look at yourself in the mirror
now imagine yourself but a hundred times brighter (all the time)
if i'm a good person sometimes i wake up and i'm a goddess instead
(what can i be if not godlike if it feels like there's nothing that could possibly stop me?)
there's always been times when i felt like i left my old self to come back stronger and happier
i don't know if there's a happy because every single time i felt truly happy it was an illusion that doctors called "a chemical imbalance"
if i can dress up and be a new me who can dress like this who can do this
but if you'd stopped me i could be angry
(i don't know an angry me, i always forget her)
so i have a calm kind of angry-an angry where no one and nothing else can be touched or hurt but i can
when i was confused about sexuality websites were calling it "hypersexuality"
it can only be a superpower if i see lights and flashes others don't
it can only be a superpower if people i'm in love with have a halo over them
it can only be a superpower if i seem to stop the cars around me when i run through the street
if someone whispered "high risk, too impulsive" i thought fun and passion
the thoughts going through my mind always seem amazing
and i wonder if the people who've written the bible felt like this
if they did, i'm happy for them
i can never forgive myself for things i've done
(not sins, i'm too envious of people who are faithful)
but i guess it's not, not if there's a spark in my eye that can disappear, only on certain conditions
one of the last things on the wikipedia page for bipolar disorder
are the suicide statistics
sometimes I cycle through moods,
sometimes I pin you to the bed
ripping through your clothes like a mad dog
on a fresh piece of meat,
and then I lay you ever so gently against me,
and kiss you for 6 hours straight
until both our faces turn blue,
but then there's days like today,
where just digging up a smile to face you
You have to take me from this dark, cold, lonely life now.
Where it rains all day, storm clouds are rolling above.
There is only a thrilling quiet, with the occasional mutter to myself.
It only takes a couple seconds to put your arms around me,
I wear your necklace, you call me your baby.
Let me run my fingers through your hair,
let me make you feel loved.
I need you like a baby; you’ve got me drooling.
I’m like a druggie when I’m around you.
Yes, you. Yeah, you.
I’m so tired right now,
come wake me up from this scary dream.
My eyes are welling with tears now.
I need you, yeah, you. Yes, you.
It all started with a memory.
Pushing its way from the depths of my mind.
Submerging into a thought...
The thought causing my stomach to scream every time I walked past her.
My emo blue haired friend.
Well used to be a friend.
At one point even a little more.
The thought slowly but surely turned into a tear.
Then a storm.
The rain kept falling my mind clouding up completely.
I hurt my girlfriend to much.
It's all unintentional but it's there.
Anyways the storm turned into a lightning strike.
The lightning taking the shape of a silver blade.
The blade I had sworn to put away.
The blade I had hidden ever so well just invade and emergency came about.
I thought this to be an emergency.
So the lightning struck leaving a thick river flowing down my hand and arm.
A river of red warm regret.
I liked watching my own blood make it's way down my arm.
It gave me a sense of peace.
Peace knowing I'm so lost that I rely on self mutilation to get through the day.
Everyone has their choice of destruction...
some choose drugs.
Then there's me and I choose isolation and pain.
Being alone is my worst fear and my number one weakness.
When I'm alone I can act recklessly with no one to stop me.
Not that anyone cares anyways.
That's all I want.
Someone to stop me and hug me and tell me it'll be alright. Still I remain alone.
no lights... this is my life now.
The tears leaving my pillow wet and the river flowing thickly from my arms.
This is my life now.
Somewhere in China
A butterfly flaps its wings
Setting off a chain
Of blame and effect
And all the way over
In my living room
I face a hurricane.
And all the things I have
Out on loan
From the universe
Are being returned to it
Except love and forgiveness
Because you can't blame a hurricane
For being a hurricane.