young people
swallowed up by the night
sacramental in its significance.
the supply of drugs
picked clean by
the small hours of the morning.
that limitless darkness?
that was something
that had to be acquired
by osmosis
slowly, over the years.
she opened her mouth.
the luxury of a
detached state of mind
lingered in the air.
the emotion within her strangled any words.
come inside
into the night.
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 3:22 PM UTC
anxiety is not an adjective.
running late for your job interview
is not ‘giving you anxiety’.
you are nervous
you are apprehensive
you are worried
you are a dictionary full
of possible word choices.
anxiety is a mental illness.
a faulty amygdala
that causes my body to prepare
for a threat that isn’t real.
the excess of cotisol
penetrating my tissues
is ‘giving me anxiety’.
i am drowning on the same air
that is keeping me from passing out
i am having my lungs squeezed
between the fingers of an iron fist
clasping at my damp skin
prickled with sweat
suddenly it’s a swealtering day in july
even with snow packed under my boots
i am gasping for air
i have an anxiety disorder.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 10:26 PM UTC
an ember on a pile of burnt coals
can’t help but feel engulfed by darkness
if only it could adopt the perspective
of the fingers, frozen, nearby -
resting on the bones of a ribcage
of an icy body; akin to its own
that it would see its reality with clarity
for those people:
that ember is
hope in the face of an empty matchbox;
it will keep them warm.
that ember is
a promise of light.
just as it did before
it will burn bright once more
and not only will it shine
but it will burn through the darkness
for all those other broken coals
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
age ten i was lost in a story
letting words dance over my tongue
and fill the space between my sheets
with roaring emotion.
age thirteen i was lost in my thoughts
letting the blades dance over my skin
and fill every inch of my wrist
with hot scratches.
age sixteen i was lost inside myself
letting the pills dance inside my stomach
and fill my blood with toxins
that would end my wasted existence.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
suicide notes
and
love letters
are made up
of the same
26 letters
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
on every girls sixteenth birthday
traditionally,
her mother would drape a necklace
crafted out of silver
around her neck
and one day - she'd do the same.
no one would hear her whisper her wish,
due to the chorus of birthday melodies
escaping her loved ones lips.
she'd hug her mother
and dance with her father
until they went home.
but her parents had died too young
so she draped a necklace
crafted out of rope
around her own neck.
she couldn't hear the singing,
for she lay six feet under ground -
the height at which her father once stood.
but it didn't matter,
as her wish had been granted.
she lay hugging herself,
incased in wood.
she could sleep at last,
blanketed in a layer of earth,
for now - she was home.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC