you tell me you wish to develop cancer
I hate you for saying that

my mother is dying from brain cancer
and you have the audacity
to say you wish the same for yourself

I pray to any higher being
that you learn how much
you've hurt me for saying that

Two to Five years they're saying
and god only knows that
I cannot live without my Mother's love

It came to me again the other day & sprawled itself across my skin,
trembling like a Richter Scale,
The Great Valdivia Earthquake,
blurred my vision,
slicked my tongue,
sharpened my teeth,
I felt it give out beneath my feet.

I know that you hurt for I hurt for you,
and I know the pain in your bones that you feel,
heavy, like lead sinking under the layers of an ocean.

It's an awful feeling,
the feelings we feel but this pain,
your pain,
it makes life real.

And I know you won't believe me when I say,
that the dull ache in your body will fade,
and you will wake up with butterflies fluttering in your lungs,
and you will breathe in the music that life sings for you.

Stay strong for the world would miss you if you left it.

ring around the rosey
i heard you were a phony
ashes, ashes,
they were ******* right.

it's too late to eat,
that's too much to eat,
that's too little to eat,
why don't you eat?

getting better but not quite,
still plagued with nothing good to write,
string me up like a flying kite,
because this low, i long for height.

but now that i'm coming down,
oh hush please you're far too loud,
head is aching like i'm in a crowd,
pressure temple crown,
ow.

my lack of nails fail to itch
the scratch of failure on my skin and
i cannot fall asleep at night because
i wake up to the sound of my thoughts
rolling and crashing against one
another into this huge sea of
awful.

my fingers snubbed out
the last of the lights in the room and
we sat there in total darkness
waiting for death but he never
came no matter how much we
begged him to.

when they pulled out your body, you were almost unrecognizable.

soft, peach-colored skin i used to kiss had peeled off into a blueish-grey.

your body, bloated, from the time you spent under.

oh i wonder what you were thinking during your very last moments here.

the police tell me the water removed all traces of evidence.

i'm so sorry that the last time i saw you alive, i told you to leave.

and you did.

and i wish you'd stop coming to breakfast
with two black eyes and a dry
tongue unable to create words
behind your tired lips because
you were up all night screaming
at the "mud" dripping down your walls
and please stop trying to convince me that
there is a creature living under your bed when
from what i can tell, is just in your head.

i also wish you'd stop waking me up at
3 am screaming that the "swamp monster"
touched you and turned your limbs to gangrene
slowly rotting your once-peaceful slumber
to the bone.

i know what keeps you awake at night
half asleep mumbling in the shower
you talk to yourself and i cannot help
but to listen to your empty words as
your tongue stumbles over them.

these words mean nothing and
should just be considered a
blank space in which anyone can put
their deepest thoughts into.

i should've crashed_the car the night_i drove alone_

i feel my presence is much like Gangrene,
i am parasitic,
i am a debilitating disease
in your bones that breaks
them apart and gradually kills
you from the inside
out.

"don't"

D ealing with feelings.
O h please end this.
N othing else helps the pain.
' ...
T ell no one, not even your friends.

"don't" written on my arm with
these things bobbing in my thoughts,
surfacing then sinking only to
come back up like bile in an aching
throat after waves of sickness.

"don't harm here"
written on my arm.

i've turned into something awful,
something grotesque and bent,
sitting in the corner on the line of grey and black,
and stewing words inside of an open cranium,
mixtures of insecurities & dysfunctional thoughts,
it sits and spews this bile into a bowl,
held out in hands to catch it,
every night,
one hour,
shaken & stirred well,
poured down my throat,
*self-induced nightmares.

didn't think i'd make it this far,
or actually have someone see
something in me worth asking to
partake in their system for,
but here i am,
coming home to a letter saying
that i'm not a complete failure,
that my parents are "proud" of me this year,
my mother cried and laughed,
and to be honest..
i almost did too.

i don't know what it is exactly,
to the human eye it looks like smoke,
or a shadow of someone that has gone off course,
it likes to sit in my nana's rocking chair,
and stare across the room at me,
it has a tendency to chuckle or groan,
but it has no mouth,
whatever it is:
it seems to have one move left,
and i have none.

it doesn't matter if you think i'm thin

because to me,

all that matters is the number on the scale.

i'm scared of my imbalances
within my cerebral chemicals,
that the doctors try to fix with
pills and a locked room
with no windows and only
a bed that feels like paper,
with no strings allowed in pajama bottoms,
and blood being drawn every day,
then given a slap on the wrist,
and sent out on the false promise of
"i'll never do it again."

at six thirty every morning,
i wake up and turn my body
towards my alarm that's blaring,
i shut it off and realize
that i didn't wake up next to you.

greetings once again
from me to my only friend,
within this card i do send
a note with an amend.
saying the fault was mine,
that i knew you weren't "fine",
and instead letting you cry,
i stayed away to wallow in my own brine.
this is me trying to save,
the friendship that i gave,
to you the street i paved,
for our feelings not to fray.
**to you i know i'm dull,
but i just wish for you to mull
over thoughts inside your skull,
and to sleep our memory will lull.

i come from middle class,
i've been given everything i ever wanted,
my parents love me unconditionally,
they pay a college amount of money for my highschool,
they've supported me throughout my entire life,

and yet:
i cannot get even average grades,
i hate how i look in the nice clothes my mother buys,
i don't eat much of the home cooked meals laid in front of me,
i don't sleep well at night in my warm bed,
i'm still not cured even with medication,
i'm still not cured even with therapy,
i hurt the body my mother gave me,
i break my parents' hearts everyday,
i cannot see the light in life,
and one day i will leave.

no i am not
what my father was/is
and what my mother was/is,
i am not even a combination of
the two,
instead i am alien
to my family tree,
because everyone related
have done well in life.

crooked footsteps
fall and sink
into my mind's
dark abyss,
it is one filled with
cold thoughts that
are constantly choking
but never quite able
to wretch up the
potential of a good
thought.

arise my child,
from your stew,
bubbling and burning
and eating your way
through my stomach's lining.

arise and creep up into
my chest and lungs,
and nest there and
stop my breathing.

slither through my cold veins
and block my heart's valves,
stop my pulse,
i beg you,
i've raised you for
seventeen long years and
the only favor i ask of you now,
is to **** me.

there are none.
nope.
none at all.
depression isn't artsy.
depression isn't beautiful.
depression is depression.
and there are no perks to it.

my lips lack the luster
to make your malicious mind
continue to crave my capricious crimes
that i inflict infernally
upon your thoughts.

i haven't been on much
because my grandfather just died,
and i have to go to church
tomorrow,
even though i'm jewish.

i've got all the time in the world,
and all the tools i need,
to be someone or something,
but depression needs to feed.

i'll surround myself with people,
sweet smiles praise their lips,
i'll pretend to listen to their advice,
but i really couldn't give a ****.

they say they want to help,
but i know what they really think,
that if they say they understand,
it'll help me float instead of **sink.

a black cat crossed the road today,
right in front of my car,
it stopped and looked at me for a moment,
and burned a hole that turned to a scar.

i continued to drive down the street,
and i didn't worry a bit,
because i knew any bad luck i'd meet,
i would ******* deserve it.

my chest is constantly
like fault lines,
trembling and
aching
and shaking under
my skin,
because i'm not
"stable" and
i'm not "social"
and i'm never going
to be.

i like how our minds
can make us forget things,
like how mine can't even remember
why it saw you for anything more
than a shallow,
heartless,
monster.

my eyes reach out past the tree line,
and crawl up over the mountains beside,
and tumble down into the glacier springs,
that dig deep paths into the ice,
that flow freely into the ground,
and purify themselves,
in a way which my eyes should be.

you make me so happy,

but i'm still a miserable human being

and i can't control my emotions,

the little things are getting to me

and i'm starting to erode,

already.

let's take a moment
to peel back our skins,
and open up our muscles
and crack our bones,
and see if our insides
are as ****** up as our

*outsides.