i think i want to die,
thing is, i have to die perfect.
if i were to die, it must be the perfect death.
the date has to be significant, but
not significant like my birthday,
that's cliche.
it could be a day only a certain someone
would understand;
maybe i'll do it on her birthday.
i can't have any lingering problems
to carry with me six feet under,
so i'll have to make sure i make the necessary amends.
apologies to mutuals, return the borrowed, and
make peace with my delusions.
i want to look beautiful.
i need to fix up my appearance so when
the day comes around i'll be ready.
i'll practice my hairstyle for the occasion,
something that looks too innocent to be death.
maybe i'll even try some light makeup
or maybe i'll keep it clean, like i'd be once dead.
i'll wear something light and flowy and white;
white so that if i shed blood it will shine brighter,
and white because white is pure.
maybe it will be a soft looking dress with a neat lace headband,
it'll look so delicate and young.
young forever.
the cause also has to be chosen with consideration.
i have to do something that won't take long or be a hassle,
but it also has to make a statement.
maybe i'll hang from a rope tied to a tall tall oak
that is covered in matching lace to my headband.
maybe i'll profusely bleed out so that my dress
won't look so young and delicate.
it'll be perfect,
it has to be perfect.
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 7:35 PM UTC
the vivid red of my blood
when it leaks out.
sometimes it's a striking line,
like a small stream of red in snow.
sometimes when it beads up around
a slice of a cut,
i see rose buds slowly rise up.
splashes of bruise that comes out overnight.
they always become a new shade each time
and form a new shape.
it's like blotted watercolor
on a brand new canvas.
the one's resembling dark galaxies
always hurt the most to get.
and scars, they always stay so bold so long.
most are still, and probably will be,
fading forever.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 6:54 PM UTC
the window to my room is open
letting in sunlight and fresh air.
i hear the sounds of birds and the breeze
as i mindlessly stare
at the circular handle of my dresser.
the sun is warming up its dark oak ****
i’m laying on my side with my blanket
covering only halfway up to my stomach.
it’s so bright and warm in here
but i feel so shallow and dreadful.
the sunlight floating in
is darker than you can ever imagine.
it’s 78 degrees but i’m freezing.
pulling up the blanket
couldn’t possibly help.
it’s long past noon
and i’ve only gotten up to
play ballade no. 1 in G minor.
after that i was done, and right now
i’m still done.
i keep thinking
“what am i even doing?”
because really,
what AM i doing?
summer is on its way
but i feel like i’m stuck
in the darkest winter blizzard.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 6:08 PM UTC
my favorite piano piece to play is
winter wind.
but it gets very loud.
i don't really like loud things
or to play such crazy pieces.
i suppose i favor it because i feel loud
when i play winter wind.
not at first though;
it's graceful and easy and soft at first.
then it goes silent.
after that comes the vociferous crashing notes
from F to C and back up E and up to A again.
it's as if i'm making the piano scream.
it's as if i'm screaming using the piano
so i don't actually have to yell myself.
perhaps it's because i can say what
i can't say by myself,
and i can say it so loud.
so everyone can understand me
and i don't have to speak.
they say piano is a reflection of
one's emotions,
and i can't agree more.
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 12:15 PM UTC
it's the only aspect of me she cares of—
and i used to find delusions in that—
and so, of course, it causes pain.
with every off tempo measure,
wrong key played,
and incorrect dynamic
comes something thrown.
at times it's a still-ticking metronome
or the closest binder to her grasp,
all of it comes in an instant.
"again. play it again."
and i will, until i get it right.
but i don't hate piano.
actually it may be the one thing
keeping me here.
i've come to realize, i hate my mom
and i hate what she does "for me".
but when i play,
even if it's wrong and causes some new injury,
i love playing.
who cares if i get hurt
when i can fly and the melody can carry me
for a while.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 10:55 PM UTC
again and again:
i'm scrunched under a blanket
and
whispering on call with my friend
to get me out of this hell i called home.
on some days every creak and muffle is heard
with precision, and the atmosphere around
is cloudy gray and foggy.
on other days everything's eerily
silent. it's almost nauseous.
the air surrounding me is the kind of yellow
of clear plastic that's been used.
still,
like clockwork,
everyday
it repeats.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 2:28 PM UTC
you look at me like that
and expect me not to shutter.
your glare burns through glaciers
and pierces through titanium.
you glare to all
yet it's me who gets
the most painful glare you got?
i'm down on the ground
and see the evil glowing behind your eyes.
im down. and still.
you. look. down.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 2:08 PM UTC