Plagiarism of worthless ideals,
that you so ignorantly hold high.
Shaking in amazement,
how can you call your self alive?

Totalitarian, lethargic lifestyle.
Ignominious displays of disaffection.
Constant contradictions;
out of your mind.

Caught up in the clouds,
cognition of mania and level debauched.
Up to high to realize, you're an “open mind” with locked doors.
Maslow, Skinner, and Darwin alike, turn in their graves,
over your lack of evolution.

So I just did some math.
This week,
according to the numbers,
I've consumed on average
375 calories a day.
Call it 500.
I have no appetite;
I'm stressed;
It's hot;
I'm ill.
This relapse is
not like the ones I know.
It's so subconscious
I'm drowning
trying to fix it.
I tremble as I write this.
I don't know how I get through the day.
But I do know,
there is a mountain
of responsibilities
that I must manage
regardless.
I can't just over medicate
and play games
when I'm stressed.
I can't rest when I'm sick.
I must bare it all,
for both of us.
I'm being crushed
by this mountain.

Picture yourself:
confident threads,
in a mix fabric shirt.
You're in a relationship,
and it's full of love.
Till one day,
it's skewed.
The love is there by title,
but the actions have fled.
Hands cupping a Samsung,
rather than your hand.
Their mind fixed to any and everything,
but a conversation with you.
Spend the whole day together,
with but a few, short replies.
Keep telling yourself,
it will improve.
In the blue light haze,
sitting right next to the love of your life,
feeling lonelier than ever.
Unable to express it,
for fear of retaliation.
So you sit there,
noting the confidence count
on the clothes you're wearing
isn't high enough for this.
So you stay silent,
wondering what's so captivating,
in the blue light.

[Hashtag]MeToo
Here it goes again,
trending on Insta and Facebook.
Where real awareness stems.
Mind the sarcasm,
social media’s a powerful tool
not knockin’ that.
I wonder though,
does the mind of the follower
understand the context of the hash?
Do they get it should be a call to action?
Not necessarily at the keyboard.
More like on the couch with their children,
Giving the conversation of consent.  
Most people do not even understand it by definition .
The meaning of yes and no convoluted by scenario.  
Bias boils over like milk and water over full flame.
The posts bubble out and stick to the side of the pan,
quickly drying; leaving their mark.
Until the soap and warm water flows over them,
and the steam evaporates the confessions.
Until they are again whispers we all hear and know.
It’s whispers from the alley ways,
and from married couples bedroom doors.
The woman is the property,  
the man is the proprietor.  
We refuse to address the real problems,
the failures of our up-bringers.
We point fingers and slay names
yet the statistics provide the truth.  
One in four for females, one in sixteen for males.
We all have been violated, slandered, and forced to say
[Hashtag]MeToo
Not going to say I did not share it,
I know the touch of unwanted hands,
the invasive *******.
All for the sake of the insanity,  
in repeating a useless gesture.
The only difference is
My hashtag went to my Senator.

I'm starting to think it's me.
Maybe I ask to much,
though, admittedly,
maybe's it's because
I don't know what I am asking for?
I am starting to think, it's me.
Maybe I am the problem.
Or maybe that's just the voice in my head,
like a vice,
crushing any minor thing,
like an atom,
until it splits with the force of a thousand suns.
Or maybe it's everything else,
me included.
Maybe I just say it's me,
because I am my biggest bully,
and easiest target.
I thought I was asking for simple things,
but nothing seems simple anymore.
I just want these ropes untied from my hands.
Trapped in my own mind like a hostage,
who doesn't care if they make it out.
There is no greener grass on the other side,
I just wish this grass wasn't wet.
Sticking to me like feathers and tar.
I'm starting to think that I am just coasting along,
waiting for someone to help me fix my boat for me, before it sinks.

Thing's that make me uncomfortable:

That feeling when you get mad at me,
because I didn't do the thing, you didn't ask me to do, cause I can't read minds; I'm not your parent.
That tone in your voice when you go off about how unfair the world is, triggered by the slightest setback.
The feeling when I sacrifice all that I am for the sake of your mood and happiness, in vain.
That sound of the exacerbated sigh when I ask you to run an errand, as if I am not also tired.
The pressure of carrying us both on broken legs.
The pit in my chest when I ask your opinion and you say "I don't care," but you actually do care, because whatever choice I make is laced in ridicule.
When you say you're doing something for me but you're just trying to make yourself feel better about doing it for yourself.
When you use my disorder as a justification or excuse, but when I actually need your help you seem burdened and annoyed.
That "okay then" moment when I give you everything you ask for and you take it as if you never wanted it.

Some chemical influences are necessary.
Experimentation is mandatory.

Skim the syllabus and you will see,
MDMA is chapter three.
Hemp is the strongest ****,
At least that's what I learned in Botany.

Biology came as quite a shock,
When the plants pulled out their *****.
English came as such a breeze,
The Diazepam brought poetry bees.

They pollinated the dopamine receptor,
Which greatly impressed my psychology professor.  
When the zombies rose for dead weeks droll,
Adderall and Vyvanse kept us cool.

There's always a place in the Union Bathroom stall
To do a dome some Coke before study hall.
Of all the girls in my dorm floor
Roxy and Molly were just next door.

Art history wasn't the most entertaining,
Until Absinth was my painting water.
Finals were such a stress, so I'll admit
We laced our gin shots with Xanex.  

College was an experience, I'll admit,
But Chemistry got me on the DEAn'S list.

Mouth over mind;
I could have said that better.
I’m sick and I don’t know how to be helped.
I am lonely in a crowded room.
Grasping for something that
simply isn’t there.
The silence is laced with disrespect,
and the disregard leaches my hope.
Articulation like strangulation,
each sentence a new meal
shoved down my throat.
Perhaps that’s where my appetite fled,
full of past statements
out of context.
I need a break that’s not from a bat.
I need compassion that isn’t laced with guilt.
Above all else I need honesty.
Without that all I have is chaos.
I’d ask you to keep me in your mind,
among all the impulsive desires
to self-indulge.

Lately when I've been walking,
I find myself staring at the sidewalk.
Thinking "I should just lay down,"
as if the sidewalk is the perfect place
for a defeated nap.

Lately when I've been working
I find myself unable to concentrate.
Words move around on the screen
and my brain can't keep up with my eyes.
Reading only to instantly forget.

Lately when my phone rings
I panic a little.
Fearing whatever is on the other end
is something that isn't conducive
to peace.

Lately I have started to wonder
If I was mistaken to hide my sickness,
to hide my pain.
Because now I can't hide it,
and the perception of me becomes
a crying wolf.
Yet I've always felt this way,
just with lips sewn shut.

Lately when I've been eating
I am repulsed by food.
My throat rejects it;
unable to swallow.
No appetite,
neglecting the consequences;
the hallow weakness.

Lately I've felt like
I am slowly killing myself.
Adrenal gland pumping,
at all hours of the day;
heart grieving;
stomach on strike;
body screaming.

Lately I've been trying to get better
but I can't tell if it's working.

Because you assumed.
That I was willing to give.
That I was able to give.
That I had anything to give.

Because you made the choice,
of self-sacrifice for me.
I am upset because
you didn't even think

to ask first.

"What's funny is" is a ****** statement to be on the receiving end of, it nearly ever ends well.

What's funny is... Often times, most of the time, it's not funny at all. Curious, that we take humorous language and make it into lighter fluid to burn bridges.

What's funny is... The fire is usually a case of arson brought about by projection of in-the-moment feelings, that are fleeting. *******, that we allow ourselves to make them permanent; just mindless masochistic beasts wallowing in the ashes.
What's funny is... The echo chambers we've created for ourselves are actually prisons. Ironic, that we make up walls made out of bricks of unreachable goals, and feel disappointment when we don't achieve them.

What's funny is... Is that the more I interact with people the more I understand why we let ourselves indulge, and indulge, and indulge, to numb the monotony for just one ******* second. Nerve wracking, that every person is just a liability I cannot trust to not become the shackles attaching the weights that drown me.

What's funny is... As hard as I try to remain invisible, I'm forever tracked by a spotlight that blinds me. Insane, to think for one second we are anything but dirt on the ground; let me be dirt.

What's funny is... The numbness, and the pain, are like logs on the fire. Enduring, daily, the pokes and prods to keep the embers going when all they wanna do is die.

What's funny is... I like to dance in the flames but hate being on fire. Truthfully, I aim for embers.

I am so afraid of becoming White Collar Micheal.
He likes to act like his life is so hopelessly blightful, because his name is White Collar Micheal.
On the weekend, he throws on a tie-dye.
Goes from Business Man, to Mr. Nice Guy?
Deep down you know it's a facade, aka,
Your big life's a big lie.  
He does so many uppers you may as well call it the tweekend.
He fills his mind with illusions of grandeur.
I look at him and think "you need to be a man first."
Instead of filling my head with candy and dreams, I face my demons.
And it's utterly delightful because I know I will never become a
White Collar Micheal.

That feeling when you catch yourself in a washroom mirror and think, "God you look terrible."
That feeling when your physical nails break at clawing your mind out of a creeping depression. Like shackles tied to the weight of your mistakes pulling you back to that place.
That feeling when you can't process what's fair and unfair. Where you went wrong and why you're not better to begin with.
That feeling when you're at a constant battle of worth, convincing yourself to exist. When old vices and bad memories hit you with a bone chilling gust.
That feeling when you can't fake it hard enough to hide the damage. Ripped to shreds, sewing them in whatever pattern to just get over it.

As you lay next to me I can’t help but think of you.
You lay sleeping, and I close my eyes and envision you taking me.
To the place that only the weight of your body on mine can bring.
Your hands moving across mine, light as feathers
Your breath on my neck, slowly become more rapid.
The look of love in your eyes,
A look you couldn’t hide with all the will power of your being.
I want to spin with you, lose control, devour the moment.
I crave to make you writhe, twitch, grasp the sheets,
To arc your head back and gasp for air.
Have you lose all barriers and be truly free.
As you lay sleeping, I envision reckless motion
Feelings words can not personify.

Anytime I look in the mirror I see the reality of myself
A reality once only could manifest, yet now is actuality.
My own image brings up feelings of imperfection,
A figure that I am not comfortable with,
Self-esteem that I can not seem to find with out you.
You are my world, my sun, my universe.
My every thought orbits around you
My mind races at the thought of you
Despite all the time that has elapsed
I long for you, I beg of you to wake up
To say balderdash to rest, REM, and energy
And expel it all unto me.
I want you to take all that I am; consume me.
Fore when we connect I am completed

As you lay sleeping, you toss and turn
Growing ever closer too me
Were your eyes open I could tell you
Tell you to take me in any way imaginable.
Not out of primeval hormones,
But for a cluster of fireworks in a darkened sky.
A lustrous swaying of beings that few experience in a lifetime,
But with you it is constant, predictable in a joyous sense.
I am broken, though the patches I’ve created hold to me well,
My mind can not help but regress to old patterns and vices.

At times I wonder if the feeling is mutual
If when we intertwine my experience is the same as yours.
Are there fireworks, or just the "great value" ****** any girl could give you.
Your love is undeniable, however, your anatomy has a satisfaction guaranteed
Though still I wonder about the fireworks
When your inside me do you feel flesh or do you feel alive - the most alive you’ve ever felt.
Does your mind forget, just for that moment, that anything else in the world exists
Just for that moment, are their fireworks?

Because my world changes in those heated moments
It is the only time I feel beautiful.
I worry that because I have changed I can not satisfy you.  
Your former mates eclipse me,
You’ve been with those who are beautiful by textbook standards.
You’ve been intertwined with those who I feel I do not compare.
I want to make you feel the way you make me feel
I don’t want you to just ***, I want you to have an ******
To feel that explosion of love and satisfaction.
I want to know that the fireworks are not duds.
Because, I would do anything to make you feel beautiful.

I've hit a wall lately
A wall so tall it seems impassable.
I wake up daily to it encompassing my bed.
Making waking up a test of endurance.
Once I'm passed that, there's just another wall.
Around social interactions, work, moving, and to be honest.
It's all just ******* walls.
Walls I thought I broke down, that are now 10x as big.
Did I mention my fear of heights?
I take pills that are supposed to help,
and they do, but these halflives are nothing compared to these walls.
They're made not of cement but of sentiment and wicked dreams.
Thoughts of all the horrible options that could be.
Thoughts of a depressed self and a depressed spouse.
"You think the kid can tell?" That I'm loosing my grip?
That I'm terrified of the monsters under the bed?
I'm immobilized by my own mind like a car tire boot on my will to try.
Wish someone would tow me off to oblivion.
Or at least a place I could relax.
I'd modestly ask for just a few moments escape.
From all these walls

Your words spin in circles
around topics that never change.
One place to the next,
everything stays the same.
Compress every minor inconvenence
until they shine like diamonds
in a pitch black sky.
Embed them in your skin.
Wear them like badges of honor,
even though they're scars.
Would have been better,
to just let the coal burn.

Overwhelmed is a term tossed around to the point of underwelming.
I am a depressed person in a glass cage, with no way to hide my fear.
Like a million little cuts across my body, and not a **** one distracts me from myself.
I feel like I'm pounding on the glass screaming, "I wish you would just be happy!"

I'm a depressed person wanting telling a depressed person the worst things to say to depressed people.
The irony is a silent needle that sews the lips shut.
Pretend you're alseep while pretending to be alive.
I sacrifice myself for others worthy of the life.
Exhausting to carry their burdens, and the tears they can't actually cry.
Faces rest in palms as if hands are any sort of shelter.
Inability to let things go makes me feel like I have to rip them apart.
Living like this makes you ill beyond belief.
All I want is a good night's sleep.

Big city.
Crowded train.
Observe the vast graveyard,
on the commute.
All those who came before.
Some days it induces fear.
The great unknown.
The hard stop.
Some days it spurrs a sigh.
A releiving exhale.
All things end.
Reminder of the moment.
A promise to end all suffering.
Assuming I'm patient enough,
to let it consume me naturally.
Reminder not to rush to the finale.
It is inevitable, after all.

In the mist of night
I sat under computers light
Watching moving pictures
Of ******* delight.
With motions so loveless
Even my father would be amazed
At how empty and soulless
There facile expressions became.
How pathetic am I
Not to get off to such a sight
Am I broken on the outside
Or has the inside ****** me dry?
The continuous coitus
Has me wrapped in memories,
That remind me how miserably inadequate
My past lovers have been to me.
I've never got the good side
Of cunnillingus you see
Just been known as the first three letters aided with a "t."
I am distant and disconsolate with life
Relationships seem to end
Once me and males meet in sight.
My never ending lust for liaison
Has left me with no earth to stand upon.

In algebra there is a method for factoring polynomials
called "guess and check."
You figure out the factors A and C  
and mix and match them until you find something equal to the original problem.
It's a good analogy for this feeling, these moments, where a direct answer escapes me, or you.
So I am left with no other method,
besides "guess and check."
Sometimes the first few guesses find the answers, sometimes you have to try it twenty different ways.

I am exhausted by this constant guess,
of what A and C equal.
An onerous search for the variables to solve the equation of making you happy.

Everyday is like a hurricane
without NOAA.
High sustained winds
cut my emotions to shreds;
as words, like debris, crash into me.
I'm trying to smile,
but the rain floods my eyes
until the leaves burst.
The storm rages on
with the fury of
high temperatures.
I'm holding on to street lamps,
losing my footing,
while all I was trying to do
was sing in the rain.

Trapped
Slave to money
Trapped
No time for fun
Trapped
Make that money
Trapped
At least 18 years
Trapped
Self sacrificed
Trapped
For the good of the family
Trapped
Don't know myself
Trapped
Can't feel anymore
Trapped
Can't eat anymore
Trapped
Like I'm in a zoo
Trapped
Can't speak my truth
Trapped
Can't escape my abuse
Trapped
Alone in a crowded room
Trapped
No energy to speak of
Trapped
Gave away all I am
Empty
All that's left.

Green, yellow, red,
The color of me and my fellows.
When the sun's heat touches my friends,
They create life, thus I began.
I gown to serve my family,
To keep the tree alive.
I grow to aid the environment,
I make the animals thrive.
Ever since I opened my stigma
I have seen this world of truths.
I watch the animals fight and blossom.
I also understand I must die.
But I will never die in vain.
I am nourishment. I am the beginning.
I start new life, or sustain it.
Natures circle, where I fit.

I will see the day victorious
But the day is never done.
Regardless of their numbers
No mighty sedge will-ever I run.
Never would I waste my time
Pity none the lesser
I will center my emotions
Let the anger manifester
Until it radiates from my skin
Like the fire from suns
Many moons of restless rouges
Informalities and salacious puns.

Eye lashes brase my brow with a flash of awareness.
Of gravity, of heart rate, with fading memories of mental images and sinking in reality.  
Argument insues among the self
"why do I have to get up?"
"I don't know the ******* answer, just get up."
It goes on repeat.
Get up, get up, get up.
Frozen in the warm sheets and safe feeling that just barely lets the pressure fade.
"Why can't I stay in the twilight of REM and awake where my body is light doesn't hurt and my mind has solace?"
"I don't know, just get up."
Get up, get up, get up.
This feeling has lost me GPA points
and this feeling has cost me jobs.
Place my hands on my chest and streach out my legs.
Rip away from the fetal position and complement myself relentlessly.
Get up, get up, get up.
"You're okay" I wisper as though the echo will ensure it's truth.  
Deep breathing to irratic breathing to controled breathing.
Rise, wash, repeat.
Get up, get up, GET UP.
Rip the sheets off like a bandaid and immediately stand.
Run to the warm shower.
Pretend it's rain and back to deep breathing.
Complement what a great job I'm doing, getting out of bed, not even crying.
How proud I should be I'm taking care of myself - by taking a shower.
A basic Target pattern, fortress of solitude.
Consumed in the hot artificial rain drops I find another fleeting moment of solace.
Deep breathing, "you're okay."
Let the water run over my shoulders until it turns cold.
Dry off in the shower, take advantage of the ignored greenhouse gas - bask in the humidity.
Look into my dark eyes in the mirror, and ask questions. And hope they are good that day.

I am somewhat of a ticking time bomb.
I can feel the internal pressure increasing daily.
Reminding me time and energy are finite,
and that bitterness lingers like a bad smell.

Having little practice managing anger
it slips away from me like sand through my fingers.
Sand gets everywhere, leaving nasty texture only I can sense.
The dominos are falling; an unstoppable force.

The fire has been lit in me to discover authenticity.
Inherently, growing aware of every violation against my core values.
The sand allowed for lines to be drawn,
and I am not crossing them; an immovable object.

Static, stuck, still, yet not stable or sustainable.
Understanding that life comes with sacrifices,
I will no longer give away so easily.
Assimilation is removed from my vocabulary.

Were I a Starfleet Captain I would be unfit for duty, but this is no Federation of Planets.
This is a moment in time and barely anything at all, yet it is everything.
Carrying a weight on my back of a small crew, I lack the mental fortitude to take care of their carrier.
The cacophonous cocktail stirring within my ribs is barely tolerable.
In fact, It is not tolerable.
Adorned in a gown of ripped tissues,
the waves come like tsunamis.
Somehow throughout my turmoil I have to remain focused and continue forward.
Every step is heavier than the last and I often am unsure how I will see the sun set.
If I'll make it there alive or as some hollow shell with a faux optimism.

"Your discomfort is better than mine"
They speak without words.

Slowly roasting from the inside out
is a hard thing to hide;
smiling with lava in your chest.
Persist, persevere, push onward;
put a pin in it.

Pin the feelings that are inconvenient.
Note and move past the ignorance and injustice, impulsivity and disrespect.

"Shut up and melt"

When I was younger
I didn't understand the phrase
"I wish I'd never been born."
I thought it synonymous with
"I want to die."
In many ways it is.
Yet the phrase is less saying
"I want to die," and more saying
"I wish my lack of existence
wouldn't cause you any pain."
It's saying,
"only a few I love keep me here."
It's saying,
"I'd give up all I've lived to not have to go on any longer.
But if not for you,
I would choose an early out."
It's as near sighted
as any suicidal logic.
But the depth is something,
I've identified with in these
later days.

I have always hated the way you look at me.
With such distance and disgust,
Among colorless eyes.
I am doomed to my fate
The old views I cherish.
I am a child of wind and rain, not DNA.
My scientific lust spliced with my bioluminecent heart.
Nothing more than bones and bruises; trying to hide.

We are children of a past we don’t agree with.
It is a past we comprehend, we’ve lost our empathy.
Forgotten our lust for cruelty.
See it true, those of the past would not pity you.
Not one soul, fore none alive today could know,
The horror of swords, dirt, disease and patriotism.

I'll never stand between you and your family,
but I will point out when they use you.
My relationship with members will differ from yours.
There are somethings I'm not sure I'll ever forgive.
Simply put, we are different people,
marching through this life together.
You have to understand
you may be able to move on,
and I may not be able to.
I have a great fake smile,
but I am not going to lie.
That person is dead to me,
that's not something I joke about.
I am done with them,
even if you're not.
I hope you understand.

Putting mascara on the eyelashes below your iris,
is like making a promise to yourself that you won't cry today.
Sometimes it's a promise you keep.
Other times your tears run black with broken promises.

A stark realization.
I'm, for lack of a better word, obsessed with South Park.
Not like collectables, clothing, or other cluttered stuff.
But like ingrained into my personality, seriously, like a face hugger planting seeds in my core. Hatching into satirical, political, ridiculous obsession
Half my inside jokes.
The majority of my random noises.
Sewn within my vocabulary.
Constantly murmuring on the TV like old friends at dinner.
In my achievement list on Steam.
On my blu-ray shelf.
Gently nudging me with phone notifications to collect my free pack.
Definitely used in comparisons at work.

Equally tearing down the walls of anyone and everyone.
I eat it up.

I want to craft something unique and timeless.
Unfortunately the words do not present themselves organically.
So I look to my wandering thoughts for a sense of purpose;
to discover a catalyst and explode in a burst of creativity.

With fizzles echoing from the hollowness within me;
the empty space where hobbies and passions live.
Sought time and again, to give meaning and purpose to a life as a cog in society's machine.
Perhaps I am wasting the very time I am trying to enrich seeking a dream.

When it comes to finite resources, our concept of time is fickle and dubious.
As it often will, perception steps to the top of the hierarchy of attention.
Time management is a killer sound byte, though an illusive skill, and not often thought of outside of the office.  
Grasping at the moment I cannot help but find myself wondering through the fog of the future.

I fear sitting back when I am older and looking upon a life not lived.
That the time needed to discover what I want will slip through my fingers, and the void will remain indefinitely.
Dreams are hard to fathom in a shroud of controlling darkness beyond your control.
The ever looming need to survive suffocates every orifice without mercy.

The rock and hard place of playing victim and being one by consequence of existing may as well go by “my humble abode.”
Pressure mounts with each tick, and tok - still I throw words at the page.
Waiting for the catharsis to cast itself out of my chest, violently;
for the words to fall into place like sand counting seconds encased in glass.

Screaming internally; sitting in silence.
Make these feelings wash away without a word spoken.

Articulating perceptions while throwing water on burning oil.
Flames and rainbows blend until the fuel is exhuasted.

I am exhausted.

Eloquent lair,
esteemed and influential.
Spreading disasters
that make me mental.

Not about this repetition.
Locking me in a finite position.

With a moderate delay,
reinforcements arrive.
Reminding me that it is alright to thrive.

Maturing at a healthly pace.
Hoping to survive it all with grace.

Being empathic is like having a noose around your neck.
Yet never knowing when someone will decide to drop the floor.
Leaving you hanging.

Warmness comes across my skin.
A feeling I know so well,
It devours me.

Coldness creeps over my soul.
The darkness takes a hold.
Tolerance consumes me.

Words fall like sleet
They burn my flesh,
Weaken every inch of me.

Lies grow until they are vast,
Inescapable forrest of wickedness,
All created by me.

I want to shake you;
toss you down the stairs,
slap your face till your eyes open.
Not to hurt you
just to break the spell,
of the pharmaceutical sleeping beauty.
She got ****** into falling in love
with Snow Whites wicked sisters.
Mind askew in egregious hypocrisy.
She's got the frog emerging into a Prince
but the slipper no longer fits.
Mind lost in jealousy and greed;
vanity and self-doubt.
Ate the apple that positioned her thoughts
into thinking zombification is the only answer to this painful life.
Lacking the courage
to face the telling mirror.
She wonders alone, lost.
Falling down the rabbit hole.
Desperately grasping little vials,
"Eat me"
to hide from the truth,
"Eat me"
forget about self-loathing.
If only the vials carried an ounce of courage
the girl could find the moral
of her privileged story.

These people act like I sit on my phone, protesting food like Ghandi, and absorb depression through the silicone.

Hello all!

I am in the process of creating my own blog/ poetry website. I will still be posting here for a while as I continue development on the site. But feel free to come check it out in it's most basic form!

Updates to come in the coming weeks.

https://spacepuppybarks.com/


Thanks all.
-Alaina

"You need to chill."
"Why don't you just relax?"
"Why are you so sensitive?"
"Why are you depressed?"
"What are you doing about your depression?"
"Why don't you just eat something?"
"Are you even trying to get better?"
"You're not trying"
"Why don't you try harder?"
"You should workout more"
"Why don't you grow your hair out?"
"If you lost more weight you'd be really ****"
"You need to learn how to entertain yourself"
"Everyone has problems"
"Would you just stop talking"
"You make everything about yourself"
"You're just confused"
"We've plateaued"
"My mom thinks you hate her"
"You don't listen to feedback"
"You make jab comments"
"You take everything as a jab comment"
"If you can't see I'm trying to help you then, sorry"
"I don't have the mental fortitude to deal with you"
"You're not supportive enough of others"
"I give up"
"You complain to much"
"You just sit around and mope all the time"
"You're always on your phone"
"You bring up the past to much"
"You don't do enough around the house"
"You should be grateful for what affection you get"
"Why are you anxious?"
"You make me crazy"
"I don't care"
"You're too needy"
"You need to just get over it"
"I give up, there's no talking to you"
"I can't say anything to you without you getting upset"
"Just stop crying"
"You need to be nicer"
"You're impeding my progress"

Words, redacted,
Still echo in my mind.
Esteem in shambles.
Foundation unstable.
Aware enough to know the fallacy
Yet to weak to tune it out.
Communication misheard.
Emotions unchecked.
Can't swallow this;
Choking to death.
Words on a CD disc
Covered in scratches
Skip-skip-skip, away to oblivion.
I can't breathe in a pool of oxygen.
Weights lifted,
Pressure remains.
Heart is ready to burst
In a gruesome seen
Of mental instability.

You can think whatever you like.
That’s the freedom of thought.
Experience leads you to perception,
so let me tell you stories about
you.

There was once a time
where we were at odds,
and our spirits acted as
poles on a magnet.
I tried hard to turn myself around
but I ended up in an uncontrolled spin.
Ever gaining velocity
from your push.

There was once a time
where you were deceitful
and purposely put me in a situation
where I had to keep quiet
about your pathetic inability
to have an ounce of self-control.

There was once a time
I coddled you in a moment of pain.
I sacrificed my focus,
for your feelings,
as friends do.  

There was once a time
where you invaded my personal space
without permission.
Too intoxicated to remember
but vain enough to run from the truth
of your unwelcomed actions.  

There are many times
when the words that flow
out of your mind
and to your mouth
are convoluted, primitive
thoughtless, and egocentric.

There is now a time
where I do not call you friend.
When the veil has been burned to ashes,
and all that remains
is the same exact person
you claim to have slayed.
****** predator, pathological liar,
selfish, and narrow minded.

People never change.

I married a hurricane, and still get surprised when it rains.

Full freefall into bed.
Notice every lumpy detail;
every crumb not swept away.
Head pounds like a drumline.
Aches woven in every muscle fiber.
Hot and cold flashes rotating through time.
Dry sweat soaks my skin.
Seconds masquerading as hours.
Thoughts scratching the chords, choking to death.

Faint whispers in the day and dark.
Smiles fade into clever camouflage as the truth builds walls miles high.
Mirror tells lies, and truths I can't stand to observe.
Body rejects sustinace; swipe left, try again tomorrow.
Mind glossed in walls that reverberate, ever growing louder.
Skin crawls like a million earthworms worms dreaming of becoming butterflies.
Decaying in plain site, hidden behind a thousand "okays" and "alrights."
Verbatim honesty escapes my tounge.
Soul ever inching toward the light.

Learn how to talk!
Type out a message
Erase it.
Chemically induced paranoia.
Marooned by burning bridges,
I fear starvation.

Just surviving life right now
minutes or hours at a time.
It's not pretty.
Poems don't lie.

Perhaps that's why
I can only gush feelings
in some rhyme or pentameter

Not really pentameter,
to much work and time.
This **** has no flow other than
how I think I'd speak it in my mind.

Can't call it slam.
It's just word *****
so I can read it over
and over and over.

Send it to a friend.
Narcissistic desire.
All positive reviews,
so it doesn't matter.

It's easier to remember the feeling this way. (I guess)
Jaded poems of a jaded mind.
My issues are simple
relapse, replay, rewind.

Chain smoking simply for the high,
Et Cetera, et cetera, along those same lines.
Got all this to live for
yet that **** still remains?

Are you ******* serious?
I thought I served my time!
Regressed back to a default state of mind.

I thought I was better than this,
control seemingly was mine.
Normally I'd meditate;
not in that house of horrors

I barely eat,
Not drinking water.
Nothing but making it worse.

Escape: all available options.
I joke about it.
Reminiscent of Lennon:
Help

Relapse
It's a word that keeps coming up.
Get it?! Keeps coming up?
It's something that makes us think of substances and addiction.
A narrow view of a massive crisis.
As it festers and grows, you ignore it.
It spins webs that sew into you until more fiber is relapse than progress.
Eventually leading you to the same place it always does.
A self fabricated wall with no ropes, ladders or shovels to aid in moving past the barrier.
Spanning to a wider view you'll find that relapse is a state of mind.
Toward the diet, the feeling, the mood, the bad habit, the obsession, the perspective or the substance.
Though it is a repeated journey attempting to best tbe barrier via the same path is a path to nowhere.
Be creative, be different, be confident, find the energy and want to change.
That is the path away from misery and repetition.

Life, four letters that mean everything.
Clearly, without life who would write?
Who would see? And clearly nothing would be.
This world would be empty, and boring.
It would be without color.
Does color exist if no one is there to see it?
There would be no action nor compassion.
Everything would be still and blatantly lifeless.
The bird would not chase the worm,
Nor would the caterpillar rest it's head upon the soft flower.
There would be no countries, no math, no science or sizes.
France the size of Texas, Jacksonville and Paris,
All would be nothingness, nameless, and void.
No fetuses to grow in to babies,
Naked without knowledge.
No balloons to fly at the end of the parade,
Let go by young Marry, with her father John.
No! Without life there would be nothing.
Nothing to evolve from nor too,
Fish to monkeys to me and you.
Four letter word, that means literally all of the above.