Spit it out. Let it go. I am screaming, pleading, wishing the words would come. Yet they don’t. The page sits empty. Blaring white into my eyes as if to say “you’re not creative.” I want to say I am creative. I am supposed to be creative. However, when I thought I was creative it was chemically induced. So where the chemicals creative? I think about those old mixes of Carbon, Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Chlorine, and Oxygen.

C16H13ClN2O was my writing partner and my best friend. We went through so much together, though I’ll admit I was a bit clingy. These chemicals blended like warm water through my veins. Like a cool breeze on a spring day. My chest fills with Helium and I could float away.  Milligrams pass through time; the words just fell onto the paper. The letters rained down with tears and blood until the sun was rising and I was no more found than before. The venting was relentless and filled no more voids than it created. The rhymes were so easy, the stanzas formed into beautiful verses of a lost soul with too much weight of the world crashing down. I wasn’t spiting it out, I was throwing it up.
C17H13ClN4 was the voice I never had. It was the confidence to tell anyone to *******, and that meant everyone. When this chemical melody was carried throughout my bloodstream. The only creative thing it brought out of me was my creative ways of finding food in an empty kitchen. This re-uptake inhibitor was just the pill to get me through the day in a world that I hated. It was the personification of my hate. I literally was spitting my words into the universe. No paper could withstand.
C11H15NO2 was the lover you wanted to cook you breakfast, but ***** on you instead. And C18H21NO4 was the catalyst to the end. All these blends changed my mind in many different ways. At times they made me feel like an author, at other times they made me feel worthless.

Years later now and the sober me enjoys the absences of these chemicals for I like the natural mix that is me. Though, I do crave the words. I lust for the flow. Creativity is a luxury of the depressed. Because now that my life is happy and settled I can’t find anything prolific to say. I have much to say but no way to spit it out.

There is a war in me that rages.
To speak up or not speak up
Is always the point of contention.

I do not know when to ask for help
Or even how for that matter
But I'm so tired of feeling alone.

I wish I knew how to pull
The coiled wire from my chest
To alleviate pressure, any pressure.

So I can breath again.

At times our conversations feel like they're in a tumble dryer.
Spinning into mindless repetition and progressively heating up.

Spent countless days waiting and wishing for someone to come save me.

Until I stood up and realized the whole reason I am here is to save myself.

Crying on the couch
thinking in circles,
when I look down to my phone.
It has an open, blank, message,
to my drug dealer.
"Woh, how did that get there?"
I close the message.

That was close.

For all these years I've been gifted
I'm just curious
When do I start to enjoy them?

I dance around these moving goal posts
With poise and grace

While it eats away at my mental health
And my stability with it.

Hope you enjoy the lie.

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.

2020 the year weather was borderline irrelevant in my world.

I am the settler
The assimilated puppet.

I am the beacon
To avoid, not follow.

I am the lost soul
Who can't articulate how the feelings manifest.

I am the child
Who can't express what they need.

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.

Addicted to darkness
like millennials and 90s nostalgia.
Undeniable comfort found in misery.
Leads me to drive the sulking deeper; enhanced pity.
Consumed by temptation,
vivid thoughts and shallow promises.

The predictability of my self destruction.

Euphoric memories of crimson scars,
that flirted with inevitability.
Slick and blurred is the line between thoughts and actions.
I'm walking a tightrope; history breathing down my neck.
I sadistically want to lose my footing,
and masochistically suffer the consequences.

The inconvenienced patron always arrived late. 
They always had a glass to fill, and not a minute to wait. 
Their emotions were like landmines, and their problems all your own. 
The inconvenienced patron was always picking a bone. 
They tell you how they were mistreated, how others are so unkind. 
Then rant and rave about how how if they’d had just been patient with them everything would be fine. 
The inconvenienced patron never seemed to give a second glance 
To the glazed over patrons not holding their breath 
For an ounce of positivity nor some selfless grace. No. 
The inconvenienced patron made them blue in the face.

Snaps

Garçon
An order of perception please;
Side of hand mirror.
Additionally,
I'll take a pair of shoes,
Your size fits
For dessert I'll take personal reflection
But no hypocrisy, for it doesn't settle well.

Merci

What if I allow myself,
to be myself,
while still being happy?

What if I stop
being the bully,
and become cheerleader full time?

What happens when I just trust myself
as a default?

Well then I guess,
I'd be free.

I could never own a gun,
I'm too much of a risk for that.

It only took me two and a half years
To feel like checking the mail
Wasn't a burden

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.

If you're working against a better future for all of us, I will, without hesitation, walk all over you to make the best out of a world on fire.

Perceptions, like opinions,
are often set in stone.
Established like law of the mind
they are easy to create and laced with fallacy.
Even the widest gaze cannot see everything.
Through each strangers eye
a new “you” is manifested.
Thousands of “you” running through their minds,
but none of them are… you.

You are the master of your creation.
Based on your reality
you must adapt to cope with life.
For some the burden is less than others.
The spectrum of content and discontent
lay within the realm of perception,
and the inevitable unknown of external factors.

I once had a perception of self
too highly influenced by those around me.
Whose perceptions I foolishly held on to as truth,
for lack of a better understanding.
I self-destructed into everything
they wanted me to be.
Disingenuous and jaded
I shattered from the lie.

There is an unmistakable familiarity
with rock bottom
that I have grown to welcome as home.
The fall down is vigorous,
hitting the ground hard enough
to knock every molecule of air
out of your lungs.
You lay there breathless hoping that
perhaps this is the crescendo.
Once you decide to breathe again
you can rise up.

From the outside I am not a strong person,
about as average as they come.
I have an inexorable burden
that you cannot see.
Yet another perception
only I can perceive.
What I must do to appear normal
is utterly exhaustive.
Compile daily responsibilities of a “normal” person;
I have to sprint to compete with those walking.

In the shadows I can show the pain
but in the light I must remain in character;
an actor on a stage.
The endless mind acrobatics
twisting and pulling myself to fit this mold.
A mold I was never made for,
so it hurts to obey.
As much as it hurts, I remain silent
about the realities of it all.

Whilst I adapt to my environment,
you call me weak.
As I pretend I am not in pain,
You note I am behind.
I pour my energy into your sorrows
You consume, endlessly.
If I ask for this treatment in return
You point to my condition,
Note your perception of unsuccessful,
based on a reality
you’ve manifested
for me.

My reality is one only I can see
however, that doesn’t change the impact
of the failure nomenclature.
Comparing me to you or any other
encumbers my progress.
Your lack of understanding
is not my duty to teach you.
My façade is not for entertainment
it is for survival.

All my self worth is carried on the backs of others.

What an idea to fathom

That I could carry it myself.

What a task I've burden others.

Would assume the weight if I knew how.

I'm shooting the high horse
So step off
Or go down
Your choice.

I am a lover, a dreamer, and someone who hides their pain well.
Just as death is inescapable, so are these broken nerves and mixed signals.
So is the reality that I'll never escape the pain, and the daily battle to smile and not mention the hundreds of error messages sent through my veins.
A reality that broke me once, twice, and countless times to come.
My head swims in unrelated words and feelings all processed at once.  

Making yourself a public martyr via claiming caretaker doesn't mean **** if your words of care and comfort are engraved with my name yet only serve your desires.
I am weak, I fall apart, and I am the glue that strengthens and repairs this invisible damage I was born with.
I am not a scapegoat nor an excuse.

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.

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.

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

What ARE you DOING about YOUR depression?
If I hear that one more ******* time.
Ugh! I'll rip my hair out.
Besides everything within my power,  
I'd like to reiterate that
I didn't choose this,
There is no on or off switch.
You just ride it out until it ends.
I can only fake smile so much.
The plays curtains are closing
Right on top of me.
Don't act like you're not the stage hand
Who should have made sure
Those lines where checked.
Do I have to worry about the lights falling on me next performance?
Repulsed by my voice cracking
Upon the ridiculous question.
I've been in therapy for nearly a year.
I'd call that something.
Sure, I fall to old vices,
I ******* HATE MYSELF RIGHT NOW.
I can only lie and cheerlead myself to the extent that eventually my brain calls "*******, where is the evidence?"
I'm at a loss.
Relapse doesn't have a switch,
You of all people should understand that.
I've done a pretty ******* good job of resisting those vices.
But they sing like sirens.
I want to thrive,
But I'm crawling in the mud.
Reaching for the towel
in your hand,
But it's just out of reach,
And your eyes fixed to Silicon distractions, can't hear me SCREAMING.
I'm trying to do this without your help,
But don't expect me to do it alone and not be at a red alert all the time.
You told me to "just stop crying" recently.
I didn't hear you,
I heard my father.
I became the submissive dog that I am.
It's easier to accept blame and guilt,
Than it is to argue with someone.

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.

I wish that for just one
******* second,
I could turn your mood around
like a Xanex bar can.
I wish that thoughts of me
flooded your mind to the point
where the day is ruined without me,
like you do with your zombie bricks.  
I am so tired of being second best
to a chemical mistress.

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.

Isn't it a bit hard
To find meaning
In what you're doing right now
When you know
That it isn't
Helping -- even remotely
Slow down the mass extinction
Your species created?

There are a million ways you can divy it up
Justify it, add perspective, be realistic about your impact.
Which ultimately IS minimal
But could be larger
Maybe
If we all did... something?
Together?

Stop the world and find a common focus
Like the world always does
... In action movies
Usually because... Aliens
Which pose an immediate threat

A threat our brain can understand
Not this delayed doom
That feels so far away
... far away...
Until it's here

Is it too late?

Worst thing is that we **** 99% of all life on the planet.
Maybe this is just the 1% at it again
Taking it all for themselves.

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.

Mind wonders all the time
About the curves defined by glowing silk
Soft as clouds and sweet as summer rain
My fantasies loom in my clouded mind
Distracted by lust and desire

I have a savvy relationship with pain.
Particularly the kind that my nerves play out;
a cruel fiction science is still trying to workout.
Luckily, it's not harmful, it just hurts.
It would be fair to say that I don't like pain.
Being a daily greeter at my bedside table,
the moment I consider opening my eyes.
I would be contradictory, yet fair all the same,
to say that I like pain.
Not the random pain I was born with,
but controlled pain.
That once consisted of self-inflicted
lines of distraction.
Or any distraction that calmed the storm.
Lately my therapist advised squeezing ice cubes,
it surprisingly... works well.
My relationship with pain is involuntary,
self-inflicted or otherwise.
Curse or coping,
It is something I cannot escape.
I have day dreams of what 'normal' must feel like,
yet also wonder if any of us are not in pain.
I wish I wasn't alone in my relationship with pain.
Pain is a feeling, it does not negotiate.
It has driven me to madness.
It has made me want to clime stairs while I still can.
It motivates me and rips me to shreds,
simultaneously.
So when deeper pains come into play,
like the depression that grows within me.
Survival becomes a challenge,
because my mind can only shift around pain so much.
Eventually I will fall.
Literally, figuratively, or both.
You have to be there to catch me,
but I don't know if you're ready.