i don't deserve
the tears i once was able to shed
the reprieve
of screaming to my lung's content

i don't deserve
the fleeting remarks
of admiration and trust

i don't deserve food
not a vessel of satisfaction
not a privilege to withhold

[tw: some graphic stuff yo]

sometimes i imagine
using razor blades to stab my eyes

sometimes i imagine
that with a slick knife,
i am pinned down
and slit open

i imagine lines and lines of blood on limbs
limbs that can't be soaked
no not yet
not right now
not today

i imagine
getting beat up
fresh bruises blooming my features

swollen black eye,
split lips,
teeth knocked out

i wish to suffocate
to be crushed

and to receive all the wounds i deserve

you wrote me a song
a song i didn't want to hear
but it kept playing and playing in my head
like a broken record looping endlessly

your words and promises
entangled in my head
now they serve
as mere thorns
still wrapped
and wounded tightly
as i cling to them stubbornly

memories brought back
to a mind that persists to forget
yet shows no signs of letting go

i hate talking to people
one might think this comes naturally
like breathing or something
but it's more complicated than that

communication is like
setting your humor,
your mannerism;
and your vocabulary,
in par with
someone who won't
give two *****
even if you were to
get hit by a bus
or something

its like im trying to permeate a membrane
that’s constantly mocking me
and blocking me from entering,
from belonging

today i went to school
with an uncovered scar
one with an overlay of red
four inches long

someone held my arm
and asked me
"why?"
i don't have an answer

except maybe
my limbs were canvasses
they looked better that way:
shredded and ugly

the world is cruel
enough to trap me inside my own head
anxiety plaguing
my ******-up head

one minute fully content
with simply breathing
and the next
wanting to throw myself
in front of a vehicle

"i don't want anyone to clean that up"
my thought process provides,
dictating my self-worth
with mere words and hushed whispers
directed to my ear

a searing pain brought
by the bullet shot through my head
it isn't real
but why does it feel like it is?

it hurts and it's bleeding
but i'm not dying
not yet
oh, what a cruel world.

i hate the rays of light that mock me as i wake up

i hate the grass that grows faster than me

i hate the clouds that move far away
and get to release when they feel full

i hate the cold gust of wind
that tickles my face
as if grimly reminding me
that i can not just get flown away