Blank stares fill my room faster than nurses
Rhythmic drips fall slow
My brain is leaking and my will is deflated
But I’ll hold on for our every tomorrow
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 1:51 AM UTC
With every flick of light
I grow dimmer and dimmer.
Memory tarnished with burn holes
of a grown sinner and I’m scared.
Seeing spots of expired clarity,
I’ll keep numbness at my fingertips.
Insomniacs get more sleep,
so I skip every therapy trip.
Cope with no hope of recovery,
but scarf the midnight stabilizers.
Better days will never stay
when you’re a self loathing sympathizer.
Jan 13, 2022
Jan 13, 2022 at 11:59 PM UTC
My ears are rendered useless as jargon fills every canal
And my legs are numb from answers I long sought after
“You see this here, this is why you can’t see or hear”
I feel the cold examination table turn into my personal chopping block
For any ounce of salvation left
“And this atypical depression explains your major atypical depression”
White and gray matter riddled with scars and defeat
Proof of my demise makes me nauseous even in my nightmares.
“Speaking of which, here’s why you can’t speak and only twitch!”
My sticky insides were doomed from the start
Faulty workings trying to disguise themselves as functioning parts.
Healthy has become only but a word to me with no meaning
But I long for it’s stale taste and I mourn the loss of every stolen morning
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 8:28 AM UTC
You shouldn't trust my thoughts.
They're beautifully arranged,
but their intent is too dismal
You’ll follow them down,
take notes and listen close
only to be pulled in
But don’t worry!
The antidote is numbing
and soothing, like crackling embers
behind freezing hands
Slow time and unwind,
while your brain resembles
the grease stain on your shirt
Your trivial mind, tribulations,
and trials are silenced,
but only for the time being
My somber mind is paused
And I’m afraid for you when it resumes.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 3:27 PM UTC
The mask is greater than the man.
Sitting motionless and colorless, you wouldn't dare guess he's fearless
when hiding behind two holes and a nose
He sits a very scared little man.
An anxious and weak, small man.
A man who can't look his server in the eye,
A man who sits nervously on the subway,
The same man that convinces himself five times that he has in fact locked his front door, regardless of the seven times he's checked before.
He's lonely.
Lonelier than the budding flower with no one to enjoy it's beauty
Lonelier than the naïve, bopping teen that truly thought she was loved deeply.
But the disguise he wears keeps him company in dark times.
It reminds him that victims cannot poke fun when you have already poked the victim.
Warm bloodstreams pour from their wounds, soothing the hidden man's very own wounds.
His mask allows him to be free,
even when it's the very thing that keeps him chained.
They say anyone can put on a façade,
but very few men are greater than the mask.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
He calls me M.Ery when I'm writing,
and honey when I'm sweet with kisses.
My ears ring with lover when he's wrong,
and mini dancer when I sway.
I'm darling when he needs me,
and love when he's too blue.
His devotion has many names,
and I hope he knows, mine does too
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:49 PM UTC
Lace on my thighs and fringe around my neck,
more is revealed than the flowing crimson blood.
Bleeding deeper and deeper with every slowed breath.
Deeper than the girls I see with their shoulders against the wall,
the dream girls with their purple hair and tattered tights.
My neck growing saturated with strawberry nightmares,
but at least they like my tattoos.
I feel the black cats circling my ankles,
cries of hunger and any form of normalcy or stability.
It feels familiar, like a hymn from my childhood
throbbing between my ears.
Overlooking other's carnage is easy, until it's your own.
I don't know what this means, but it comforts me.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
I dance barefoot in my driveway,
letting the cold gravel indent into my toes
making me feel like a kid again.
I can still taste the rocket pop syrup on my lips,
and smell the grass stains on my levis
Sitting in my sandbox, staring up at the clouds.
Dreams of being a writer, an explorer.
Someone with intention and aspiration,
who stays glowing with fire.
The childhood within me finally came to age,
and I hope she's as proud of me as I am.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 1:14 AM UTC
*Hot pancakes at 11 PM,
dark roast coffee that burns my mouth,
Vanilla wafers and skim milk,
Moby's soft meow when she circles my toes,
the view from my messy desk,
frigid winter days,
frigid winter nights,
showing others my favorite movies,
feeling myself,
hearing loved ones say my name,
the thought of a stable future,
forehead kisses,
bad cult classics,
spontaneous day trips,
the ability to live for new things,
the feeling that I'll make it out just fine,
now knowing I'll make it out just fine*
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
Waiting rooms with gray walls and spotted brown carpet,
Scattered with crying babies and outdated magazine stands
Tideous clickings of pens on clipboards writing in medical histories
Everyone is waiting on something here
and for the first time, I don't feel sick in the lobby
Smooth words with hungry conversation stay my new elixir
While the impulses in my brain dispell
and the world dwindles into states of impertinence
Who knew good company could soothe the cure for a neuromaniac
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC