she was just a usual college girl at a glance,
look closer and you will see how her eyes dead
her lips dry with wounds all over and they are still red

one day she took a writing class because
she had nowhere to go

there was this one time the white-haired guy
with fatherly smile who called himself a professor,
raised one of the students' work and complimented
the suicide ending of the main character

he read it and she thought how it was true,

but then everyone started writing about
depression and self-loathing and
cutting yourself
biting your lips
clawing your cheeks
and ended with someone's hanging or choking in pills

she asked one of them who had written so,

'have you ever stood over a bridge
and your legs just felt like they were
going to betray you and every ounce of faith
you ever had in everything you thought you believed in?'

when she saw the strange look pointed at her,


she knew she was talking to a wrong person.

deep inside me
there are words
that have been buried
under mountains of anxiety.

they make me sick
as i try to fight them,
hold them down,
keep them silent.

they're begging me
to uncover them,
to throw away fear
so they can breathe.

but i can't
i can't
i can't let them see the sun
its much too harsh for
how fragile they are

Spending a month in a hospital teaches you a lot about people.
The doctor that told me to shave my head or she wouldn't treat me,
The nurses that spent forever chatting to me
And giving me supportive advice about how my illness doesn't define me.
The woman who was given a terminal cancer sentence
And chose not to pay attention to it and defied it anyway.
How she sat next to me on my bed,
Told me that all suffering is valid,
And just because I'm not dying, doesn't mean I don't get to complain.
How she complains more about her skin problems
Than she ever complained about her cancer,
And that's OK, because pain rarely follows rules.
I never even learned her name,
But she gave me the words I hold most closely to me
On those days when I want to fall asleep and never wake up.
I'm allowed to scream and shout and rage against the pain
And the unfairness of it happening to me.
I just have to make sure I know where the line is
Between giving my darkness a voice and pitying myself.

I will not adult today,
I will go out and play,
To my Pokemon and Legos I will say,
"It is for building and battles I deem this day."

Outside in the wind my hair will sway
And stress will not, my nerves, fray.

I will not adult today,
Imaginary monsters will I slay.
A pile of candy I will have on a tray,
Only blue skies I see, no clouds of grey.

For peace of mind I need not pray,
Today is mine and mine to do as I may.

What's that? The phone rings in my way,
It's my boss, he has something to say...
Off to work I go, I guess I will adult today.
Tomorrow I promise to do nothing but play.

She made the moon
look dull.

Though the stars
are weeping jealous.

They have no clue
how darkness could
turn it lifeless.

n.e

human life is so weird,
you wake up to an empty bed,
you make a half *** of coffee
because there is no one there to share
it with you,
you stare out the window
and imagine all the couples
sharing the news paper and
a morning cigarette,
you shower,
you get dressed,
you go to a mundane job
that you wish wouldn't **** you,
you come home to a messy flat,
you take off your shoes,
you go to the bathroom mirror
and look at your city filled pores,
you eat dinner,
you go to an unmade bed
that has more pillows than you need
just so it seems like someone else is
sleeping beside you,
you read the book thats been
sitting on your bedside table for
3 months because you just stare
at the word filled pages,
and then, out of nowhere,
you're asleep, dreaming of a different life.