I think about dying
At least once a day
It's gotten to the point
Where I crave death:
To the point where suicide
Doesn't seem so bad and selfish and cruel
But more like a solution to all my problems

Of course, I'd rather die
From natural causes
But the progression is way too slow
So, I'm trying to speed it up a little
By destroying my body in the best possible ways:

-Junk food
-Laziness
-And bad ******* hygiene

the cold seeps into my bones
like tea in a cup of hot water

and like the hot tea
it burns me within
with its touch

i hate it

and as i sit on a warm bus
peering out the window
thinking of you

my hatred only grows

I miss you mommy

I think about you a lot
About who you were
And what you were
To me

How kind and self-sacrificing you were
How hardworking
How strong
How beautiful and loving and warm and bright

Oh, how I miss you!

But the more I think about you
The more I realize
Just how fragile
You truly were

How your kindness
And self-sacrificing nature
Was the result of abusive parents
Who constantly molested your body and mind,
Spewing lies of you
Being meaningless and unlovable
As they rubbed their sins and selves upon you

Oh, how you wanted to be loved and needed!

How you used hardwork
To gain the fraudulent love and care
Of rotten people,
Who used you to fill their pockets
And laze around on the back of your efforts.

Oh, how they hurt you!

How your strength
Was throwing up walls
To keep them out,
So they could never penetrate
Deep enough into your heart
To ever hurt you again.

Oh, how you feared they would!

And how your
Beauty,
Love,
Warmth and
Brightness
Was who you truly were
And who you promised yourself to be.

For me
My brother
And my dad

For friends and strangers
My cousins, aunts and uncles
And my horrible grandparents

For all of us
Because it made you feel
Loved and needed

And you were
You were so very
Loved and needed

I hope you knew that you were

I miss you mommy

I woke up prepared for an interview I knew would occur
I passed the interview,
Got a good response,
The incentive of good pay,
And a promise of emails to further the process along

I told my brother
He wasn't happy for me

I'm going to tell my dad
He'll be happy for me

I'm going to tell my friend
They'll be happy for me

I wish I could tell my mom
But she's dead

But if she were alive
I know she'd be happy for me

bright

warm

inviting

Yellow is such a happy color.
So happy, it almost cures my depression.