there is room in my heart for you
you, who holds the one that loves you hostage
hostage to the pains and inflictions
of torture you hold in a silver blade
a silver blade composed of truth and lies
melded together in a beautiful engraving
we talked about angels falling
yet the next day you seemed to have forgotten
you threw your heart at the moon
and it landed in australia
you wouldn’t dare to tie it up in a bow
and give it to me in return for the
one wrapped in a present i gave you
it’s desperate and pathetic that my heart
still let’s you in despite the fact-
the fact that you eat hearts for breakfast
after impaling them with the
sharp wings on your eyelids
after telling them you love them
and then running back to your nightshade berry
after cutting the vein and running me dry
you still send surprises
there is room in my heart
but none left of my patience
your malice is too much
for a hazel in the summer
I keep this bottle of pills, filled up to the brim. And I leave them on my nightstand.
I keep the small container without stealing any
Even when my head is throbbing so hard, I can hear my pulse deep inside my ears.
But I keep them; so if I ever want to taste them all in one setting,
The option is there.
I don’t plan to take these pills. I just have them; just in case.
Because you can’t plan death, you can’t sit down one night and say, “I, want, to, die.”
It doesn’t work like that, depression isn’t that simple.
It’s not an impulsive act or feeling; it’s a build down.
And I say build down because it sure as hell doesn’t make you feel good about yourself.
It piles in your head, like dirty laundry that’s been there for days and sits around the floor,
Because you can’t get out of bed.
It adds up, like miles on that old car that seems to cost a fortune every week but you can’t afford a new one.
Because if you could, maybe you’d leave your pillow and see the world,
Like a cross country road trip, pushing pins into a board, marking all of the spots in the world you want to stop and see.
But if my arm were a highway, and these straight lines my tourist spots, my blade would be my car.
It’s not a Cadillac or an SUV. It’s been used,
Back when I actually gave a fuck about what I looked like.
I don’t cut slashes in my wrist anymore
As if I was a four year old erasing the white ink from her canvas, coloring with a silver crayon.
And I may be lying when I say,
I don’t have a razor blade hidden within the drawer.
Because I keep that thin, shiny piece of metal that pulls so easily against flesh,
Maybe someday I don’t want to relapse and start over.
I want to succeed.
But that isn’t something I can plan.
How long can your legs quake, your body shake, before your heart breaks?
How many times do you have to be knocked down before you can't pick yourself off the ground?
How much taunting and teasing does one have to do before it finally kills you?
Imagine being born into a family that loves you very much.
They work hard to provide for you and give you what you want.
Your mom works two jobs to provide for your basic needs.
Your dad works too, works 24/7, to make sure you get food to eat.
There's no money for toys or fancy clothes, but that's okay with you.
You still manage to smile, happy as always, doing what you love to do.
Now imagine being judged, taunted, ridiculed, insulted; for enjoying the little you have.
By someone who's rich with everything they want, but who's also incredibly sad.
And this sadness inside has messed with their head, it's not fair that you get to smile.
She is rich, she has so much money, but she secretly hates her life.
Imagine this person has made it their job to bring down your mood.
Imagine this person, knowing you're poor, always spits in your food.
Imagine this person, wearing their fancy clothes, throws you in the trash.
Imagine this person, that you don't even know, has made being alive sad.
You used to smile everyday, thanked your parents for what you had.
You never cared about the clothes you wore, you never thought you looked bad.
But this one kid who was upset with their life, took out their anger on you.
The words she said and the things she did had changed your point of view,
On life. You hated it, now you just wanted to die.
The pain she's caused is so immense you now longer loved your life.
That person who decided to ruin your life, to make life seem more "right".
Now that you have lost your joy she can finally sleep at night.
She's stolen your smile, killed you inside and she knows she's caused you pain.
But see, she thinks she was wronging some rights, so she is finally sane.
But you, you've lost all will to live. It'd be better if you were dead.
And so that's constantly in your thoughts, would people be happier instead?
You don't wanna believe it'll help anyone, what would your parents do?
They'd no longer have to work all night, cause no you means more food.
No you means more money, they can finally be at peace.
I would have never imagined that my parents would be better off without me.
It's 4 in the morning and I am awake, writing my parents a note.
I've told them I love them and because of that, its time for me to go.
I'll be gone forever, there's no bringing me back, as I will have bled to death.
You can find my body, drowned in the tub, clear water that would have turned red.
So she walks to the tub and fills it up, takes her clothes off and slips inside.
She tells herself, this suffering will end. Finally I can die.
And so she grabs the blade, closes her eyes and places it on her skin.
Drags it across, lets out a quiet sigh and lets herself sink in.
But I'd wonder what comment could be so bad, you would feel you're better dead than alive.
What was said to her, that made her lose her will to survive.
Was it the person who judged her for what she wore?
Was it the harassment she faced for being poor?
Was it the comment about her unwashed dress or was it the ripped shoes?
Was it her being told she would always be poor or was if the spitting in the food?
It shouldn't even matter what insult was said.
Her being happy and poor doesn't mean she deserved to be dead.
"Don't judge a book by its cover", it also means by class.
Being of a lower class shouldn't result in being harassed.
It's not something anyone chooses, so be careful what you say.
Cause once its said, it can't be forgotten and someone's life might be taken away.
The feeling I can never explain something just ingrained within you.
I can't explain what I never could understand.
We are the dreamers and suffer those who are awake.
Tragic are those who lack vision, misfortune is yours please spare mine.
The blade is now a pen my blood now Ink .
For whom it is lost is more found I.
The rejects of night are but misfits of my day.
As the poison seeps in as my creativity flows unto a void created in chaos none of which
was of my choosing.
Were all dreamers caught within a nightmare's grasp, losers of a game we chose not to play.
But we dam sure tried in spite of it all.
The blank page remains a suicide note to the forgotten chapter in a dust collected manuscript.
Secrets are best left buried like shipwrecks on the ocean floor.
Why be the judge when none are innocent or ever so guilty as I.
Dam the nights for bringing the memories upon me ,
and curse my thoughts for remaining after all these drinks.
Haunted are the souls of the living simply empty vessels that fill the streets.
Many years of passed.
Yet these thoughts never age .
Goddam the nights and winters empty chill!
The fire now only seems to smolder a dragons bluff to wolves such as I.
I hear the others howl I simply choose to ignore the sound.
Taking refuge in my thoughts and torment in scars past.
Empty are these thoughts that I unearthed tonight.
I hear the howls outside my door.
They are my burden and none else to understand.
In witching hours of lost hopes and broken dreams I find my solace.
I've ran with demons and slept with many angels, to burn only in the cold of ice.
Tomorrow is always a dream as from this nightmare maybe I'll wake.
Treasure the silence in it we find our true selves.
I hear the howls I simply choose to no longer answer.
Please don't leave me alone with these thoughts in my head
The monsters are coming and they're telling me I should be dead
They force down the blade, they slice up my skin
They tell me I belong in hell, and I should pay for my sins
Humming sweet tunes of death, I can always hear them
No matter how hard I try to ignore their sounds of torment
These monsters in my head they're tearing me to shreds
I want them to stop, with every drop of red, the voices become softer
I can barely hear them now, but they'll be back full volume all too soon
As long as they're still here, my mind will only get darker
I just want the voices to stop, I don't want to hear what they have to say
I want to tear out my heart and cut off my ears, I want the pain to end
These voices in my head make me ashamed of who I am everyday
I'm thinking of ways I could silence them, maybe I'm better off dead
My soul and body are becoming vacant and empty
The only thing still inhabiting me are those voices in my mind
The quick stinging pain of a cut is dulling the screams, but just barely
I'm already empty inside so all that's left is finding a way to die
I bought a new razor, I have my pills and a tub of hot water
When suddenly I'm hit with a memory, a memory of you
That single thought saved me from the slaughter
You called me perfect, you made me feel beautiful
I remembered your smile, your eyes, how you looked at me
I know you're hurting too, I'm sorry, just know you're irreplaceable
I'm fighting my demons, I'm locking them up and you are the key
"I hate myself" I say
"it's just a phase" they say
"I cut my wrist today."
"it's just a phase."
"I want to die."
"it's just a phase."
I wrote a note.
covered in blood.
I said my goodbyes.
I'm ready to go;
to leave this behind.
I'll prove to you it's not a phase.
this is real and I didn't know how to deal.
I took the blade and cut deep enough to end it all.
What they don't tell you is that
the first time you punch that hole
in your soft, unresisting ivory skin,
waiting like a virgin stretch of snow
(whether it's your blade
maybe teeth or keys)
you're not letting your pain out so much
as you're letting in
little demons, big appetites, twisted thoughts.
You used to be scared
of that first step but now
addiction has replaced your fear. All
you want is another little crack in your now
not-so-virgin stretch of skin.
You need to let the pressure out, let your pain
out, let them slowly leak away let
every little demon in, a little more
and you feel them call for your blood.
The whispers become deafening and still
you watch them multiply until they
reach your mind
set up camp in every thought
and you realize you were not letting them in
for the first time, but rather
welcoming them home.
Everytime a blade enters my bloodstream,
I feel closer to you.
Not because of anything else, more than the fact that
You hurt me.
The cold blade, like your cold words, cuts into me;
Blood pouring out.
And in the same way as before, I bleed and ache;
I am hurt.
My blood, warm as my love was for you,
And you don't care.
I can only imagine our happiness now,
I can no longer feel it.
Same too with my image of you, it is going, fading
Behind my cloudy eyes.
Its okay though dear, because I am now weak,
I am cold like your heart.
And no matter what you said or will say,
You can't tear us apart.
Because I will always love you.
The Muses dance in the rain
everything happening as the thoughts are processed
running over Summit mounds
self prophecy fulfilling are lost in sounds
everything your looking for is happening, open your eyes
Big Dick Day!!!!
The explanation trickles down
feeling pretty good
havinga big dick day is funny
the heavenly manna spread around
The water leaking on the ground
from white open doors like the sound
inspiration all around us
just write your thoughts
the genius in you finds a way to flow
open up your channels and self-realize
the kingdom is within your spirit
let it go, let it go
fly like the grasshoppper newly winged
jumping from blade to blade with fated leg
make the gain
be the man you speak
if you can
yes, you can
Ever have one of those nights where you listen to Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt on repeat while you drive your car into the city and proceed to climb the steps of a parking garage while you try to get your ex girlfriend to answer her phone and when she doesn't you stop sit on the third story railing look down and think maybe if I fell I wouldn't quite die but then she'd have to acknowledge that I still exist.
Ever have one of those nights where you're hanging out on a roof with your friends and you're standing on the edge and you really want to jump but instead you step back and freestyle the bars "Fuck love it ain't a beautiful thing/ it was created by the Devil and all his demons/ and everything's swell til its fucking ending/ then you're slicing through your left wrist's fucking tendons."
Ever have one of those nights where you're in the driver's side back seat and your best friends are filling up the rest of the upholstery and you're having a good time playing "have you evers" and "would you rathers" and shit get's real serious when you friend turns around and says "Jon, do you cut yourself?" and you just feel the tears run down your face a nod you head and they all tell you they love you and they're always there for you and you know that and you've known that.
Ever have one of those nights where you put on one sneaker just so you can stomp on an old disposable razor spend thirty minutes picking off all the plastic pieces and then carve a train track down your forearm in hopes that all your sadness will climb on board a locomotive travel out your veins down your finger tips and crash land on your bathroom floor.
Ever have one of those days where you’re ten years old and no one’s home besides you and your two sisters and you end up getting in a fight over something you can’t quite remember but you end up in your bedroom crying and decide it’s a good idea to take a belt and wrap it around your throat climb onto your dresser and jam the buckle into the slot at the top of your closet door.
Ever have one of those days where you jump
Where your body swings like a pendulum
Where your toes claw at the side of your bureau
Where your sister holds your dead weight until your feet can find a flat familiar surface and you can breathe again
Sometimes I look at myself and think why have my scars healed so seamlessly as if there were never wires strung through my wrists like a marionette manipulated by the hands of hopelessness maybe the last time I drove a razor blade into my forearm the puppeteer made a mistake and severed the strings he had laced deep inside my tendons.
I once filled a bathroom sink with my sadness and walked away I still don’t understand why if Earth is 70% water God allows so many people to be walking aquariums why he gave them leaky faucets and hands that could turn them like a door knob.
Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like there are not enough “do not disturb" signs in the universe and you've had this growing curiosity your whole life about who is knocking on the other side.