TW: mentions of addiction


Addiction is like a game
It make you believe you are in control
“I can stop if I want”
But can you?
Can you get rid of its grasp on you
Its claws will dig in to your skin
Trying to pull you back
You will wither like a flower
And think “just 1 more time”
That 1 more time turns to 9
That 9 turns binding
The bind that will not break
If you don’t stop today
The cycle will repeat tomorrow
Like ring around the Rosie
Around and around
till you collapse
You must break the cycle
Before the cycle breaks you.

TW : references to triggering topics below

My art is not considered normal
It’s made of fine lines
The lines form rows
They tell a story
Of whom I once was
During the tears
Those tears not only lasted for year but also still last
My fine lined art has recently come to a end
Or more of a rest
Because it may start again
My fine lined art is not art
But a way to cope
A way to breathe
Yet my skin bleeds whenever I draw those lines
The fine lines are considered ugly
To the eyes of society
they will leave scars forever
But my scars are not ugly they tell a story
Of my fine lined art.

A few years ago a tv flickered on
It was bright
Colorful
It made me feel good
I let it shine bright
A year or two pasted
And the tv had changed
There was something new
It felt right
I let it shine bright
But some people glared
It made me feel odd
Ashamed of the glow
I slowly hid it
And dimmed that glow
I hid it under a blanket
In the back room of the house
But that tv still flickers
Hoping one day to come out.

When I die
No one will mourn
There will be a funeral
Many will attend
mourning someone
That died when I was 10
The gravestone will be mistaken
About who I am
The people will weep
And mourn for long
But not for me
For they have it wrong
They will mourn the girl in the casket
A shell of who I once was
No one will mourn me
That is no lie
When I die they will mourn the shell
of a girl i once was
But the little boy inside
who’s always wanted to come out
No one will mourn him
Ace will be forgotten
He will be erased.

That boy from Virginia
The one I once knew
We never met in person
But I wish that we had
You knew more about me
Then I knew myself
You’re 2 years older
God you’re almost 17
I remember when we first met
You were 13
You’ve ghosted me twice
But sometimes you return
I’m not sure you will this time
But I hope that you do
We wanted to live in Germany
With horses and cats
We talked about band
And how I wanted a cat
We’ve seen each other in our highs
As well as our lows
We grew up together
But now you’ve gone on
You’ve grown up more
And left me back
If you happen to see this
Please come reach out
Oh Kass from Virginia
I miss you

I only knew you for a week
But it felt like years
We shared much in common
Especially our tears
It been 2 years
I wonder where you’ve gone
Did you get into theater school?
Or is that dream gone?
I remember giving you my book
Because you wanted to read
It left a impact on you
I remember the poems you taught me to write
So I’m here writing this one
The last words you said to me were
“Take care of the hive”
It was our inside joke
From that book of mine
Oh dear Cameron C.
I hope you’re ok
I think of you often
A little to much
I hope you’re okay
Sincerely your psych ward bf, Ace

When you try to **** yourself
They lock you up
You’re a danger to yourself and others
“We’re here to help”
By helping they meant giving me medication
Till I am a zombie
No longer myself
But a shell of who I used to be
Why didn’t they notice all I needed was a hug
Not to be stuck
In these padded walls
“They are only here to help you”
But by helping they make me feel broken
I am not normal
I’ll never be normal
I am broken so bad
“Only we can fix you”
They says that they’ll fix me
But every time I feel
Less and less of whom I used to be
No worries in the world
Just dirt on our knees
But now we’re grown up
And there is no turning back to the way I used to be.