12:24PM, January 21, 2017. Saturday.
This feeling is like the sweat beads
Dripping down my back
On a sweltering afternoon.
I lay here in remorse,
Feeling and experiencing
Like life awakening from a coma
You were never aware you fell into.
Speaking of falling, have I mentioned that I am?
Questioning the permanency of a foolproof plan
And no one knows who or what
I'm talking about
Not a single thought in their minds
As to what the gears
Behind my eyes are creating.
A concept of solipsism,
The revolution of somnambulism;
It's why we all want to take
A psychology class but confuse
It with philosophy and end up taking both anyway.
I feel like the cotton candy at a carnival,
So many pick and choose the pink or blue
The black and blue on my ankles and chest
Hands gripped around my neck;
Sorting through what particular part of me
Makes it worth sticking through.
They want to taste what it's like
To break me down
But the second I hit the tongue,
I dissolve. I melt away,
And they are satiated,
Left forgetting me and the craving urge forevermore.
When the pen seeps through the paper
I expect to be reminded of how
Every little tear fucking burns my eyes.
They say it's because of dehydration,
The less water you drink the more salty
Your tears become.
But you'd figure after so long,
Your body would become used to the pain.
Then again, that could apply to
Most of the pain this fragmented coffin of a figure
Am I pitiful?
Because even after years
Fighting, struggling, suffering,
Working to better myself any chance I get,
I still feel selfish for crying out.
I've lost too many people
And sometimes I wonder how
Someone so strong could become
So fragile, withered,
Wracked with debilitating illness
That they can barely stifle a single breath.
Sometimes I wonder how in a matter
Of a month, someone could go from
Talking, though strained, walking, though barely,
To completely immobile, paper-thin, codependent
Then ripped away at the seams
From those who are still now learning
Just what exactly death is.
And here you are, standing over their corpse,
Crying in silence so no one detects
The vulnerability seeping out of your pores.
Your hand is stroking their hair again,
But they're cold, stiff, devoid of any sense of future.
No light, no twitch, no remnants of the soul
You'd connected with, the one you'd spoken to
Just the day before.
They don't open their eyes then,
And the more you stare at their chest,
Thinking every couple of seconds that
You swore you saw it rise just that little bit.
You soon enough come to the abrupt realization
That there is such a thing as a permanent marker
Because I'm forever stained with the memory they've
Abandoned me with.
And I don't blame them for leaving,
I don't blame the one who took them.
The time comes and it's inevitable,
And with that notion comes the irrationality
Of being afraid of the one thing we know for certain
Will always happen to each and every one of us.
Not a doubt. No cheating death.
And so begins the process
Of desperately clinging onto the memory
Of someone you never got the chance
To properly meet in the first place.
They tell me they're better off
But not a single damn one of them looks at peace.
Not a single one looks asleep,
And not a single person can fit the lie
Into my head that they went peacefully.
That they never suffered.
That they weren't terrified
Of the door being closed on them.
That they weren't afraid to die.
I know the story, I knew the hope.
I knew the fight.
And they say it's "always darkest just before the dawn",
But I've been walking through this tunnel
So long now that I have familiarized myself
With every single damn crack in the stone,
Every patch of moss,
Fathomed obsessions over every fiber;
Unable to see the stars
While everyone else is at the planetarium.
I've been traveling for so long,
Believing this fact of hope and drive,
That I'm now starting to recognize
That this, this right here, is all a glitch.
This tunnel has no end.
And as a matter of fact, I have yet
To see any flicker of light at the farthest point
To which my eyes can see.
The only small, hopeful, good days experienced
Feel like thousand-year-old stories carved into the cave walls,
Or a smidgen of a hole in the ceiling.
And it hurts.
My feet burn from walking.
Even in my sleep, my soles meet
The cold stone floors, strolling, wandering,
Unable to stop.
I hear the trickling of water now,
Like a small babbling stream
Abandoned in this cave.
Just like me.
But now, sometimes I fear the rush.
Because I know, soon enough,
The water will overflow again,
And I will drown
Because nobody had the time or devotion,
To teach me how to swim.
I feel like I've lived a thousand years onwards.
Occasionally, I lay back and close my eyes,
Feel the chill of the stone wrap itself over my body
As my body temperature drops gradually
Just to listen to the stream lull me.
I'm still trying to figure out if it's because
The stream often symbolizes the foreshadowing
of the Undertaker, and I am accepting defeat;
Or if this is simply the only way that I can
not only drown not just my thoughts,
So, I keep falling, in more ways than one
In search of that permanency,
Or at least substitution.
I crave people, because
This cave is so lonely,
And autophobia eats me alive
As people drop like flies.
So, I guess selfishness isn't a lie, after all.
Couple years past, still in a ditch.
Like this is some section to uplift,
More like a fork in the road
Or an alternate ending
When the main character isn't defeated.
But somehow, over time,
I've obtained the process of how
Moss is a life form, perhaps parasitic,
But thriving in the smallest
And most desolate crevices.
So, I've formulated a plan on how
To make rope out of this fiber.
And if this ladder fails me now,
I will come crashing back down
And break my spine.
Hopefully, if it ever were to heal,
Maybe I'll be able to conjure up
The strength of a better backbone
Because these demons glow in the dark,
And I've gotta gather up the guts
To turn on the lights once and for all.
Cecil Beau Calcifer
I can't tell why
Where are my tears coming from?
Are they coaxed out by the fingers down my throat, coming up with the acids in my stomach?
Or are they because of the pain leading me to do this to myself?
Blurring things together,
Making my reflection as distorted
as I am in my mind
I can feel the flesh settled on my bones.
The fat waiting there,
wishing I could skim it off with a knife
I know it must be as soft
why am I doing this
why am I crying
why am I killing myself from the inside
I can't tell why
A shock to the system
A Loved one is lost
Sledgehammer to the heart
Lightning bolt to the brain
Entombed in a blackness
Unable to move
Suffocating in a thick tar
Flooding my lungs
Suspended in stasis
For what seems like eons
My body in a slumber
My mind round the bend
Now ready for healing
With the passage of time
For banishing the darkness
For reclaiming the light
Things seem clearer now
The dark shadows are lifting
I can see clarity, lucidity
I can see a light ahead
It's turning my stomach
It's crushing my chest
I'm struggling to breathe
"daddy, i'm so tired all the time.."
of course you are.. you barely eat...
no you don't... you only just eat enough to survive
you eat less than your 5 year old sister.
- I don't know why... and i haven't thought about it.
I like my body trust me
But i don't want food
I am hungry, but i don't eat till the hunger has passed i only eat because i have to... if i didn't have to i wouldn't eat.
Eating bores me
Eating makes me feel nonproductive
I haven't thought about the fact that i eat less than my 5 year old sister... and i can't understand why daddy hasn't said anything before now..
And now i can't wait to get on the weight because i wanna see if he's actually right, that i'm losing weight..
Trust me i'm not trying to... idk why i'm doing this...
With solid stone
No this is not
One two three
To slow the thoughts
Dancing out of reach
Drip drip drip
My bloody tears
I wish it were
Hold back the hurricane
Restrain the flow
Stem lava from
Float me a ring or
I'll sink in my raft
Oh how I wish I were
The thing therapists don't tell you after you've "recovered" is that you'll have good day and bad days which will mostly consists of bad days. They fail to mention that because when you're in therapy it's all about progress.
"Don't say this you'll trigger her..."
The truth is, some days will be harder then others. You'll want to relapse and self destruct because all of that is familiar. You'll want the antidepressant pills again because life is hard again. Life is how you swore it would never be like again yet you're there again. You've spent the majority of you're time feeling this so you crave familiarity.
Some days you will not want to get out of bed because the sick truth is you don't want to get better. You've already made you're life around your illness. Sometimes you'll just want the world to stop for a moment so you can realize that's false. The illness is bittersweet feeling because in the back of your head you want to get better. You want a cure for the illness but then again you crave something that's familiar and close to home.
i've been joyful for the past 4 months... i haven't even had one sad moment....
but all of a sudden i look back at how my family is torn apart, how i changed so much..
how much weight i gained.. how faded my scars are, and i kinda miss the way i fell....
I would never imagine that i could miss something that bad this much..