i guess you only like girls who are broken
and want to be hurt, like your hands
around her neck, want
bruises and cuts
in the shape of a heart,
inhaling and choking on your affection
like she needs it to breathe

translucent skin stretched across
veins that pump nicotine and you
you, you, you, you, you

judgement clouded by hyper-dependent
infatuation and the need to heal her
hollowness, although you’ll only ever be
another teardrop on her pillowcase
while she hums herself to sleep
with midnight lies

“the loss of you would be the loss of my life”

and the saddest part
is that i almost let myself fall
back into becoming that
lifeless, empty girl
once more because i thought it might
make you love me again.

how many times do i have to restart a poem now,
just to be satisfied with the first few lines
even though it doesn't really matter much at all.

i know i'm content with life as it is
but i wonder how many times i would restart my life
before i'm satisfied with the outcome.

all those what ifs don't matter, i know,
and i know my emotions have been complicated,
i apologize mostly to myself.

the higher the emotional high the more i fear the comedown,
can't stop from thinking of the end
trying to remind myself to keep present.

haven't been here much lately,
minds been elsewhere, some other city,
and i'm not sure what triggered it.

trying to disconnect, the intense fear of abandonment,
reminding myself nothing lasts forever,
but i get attached so quick to anyone that seems to care.

have i just been closed off
from others for so long that when
someone seems genuine i start to panic?

i know i have nothing to fear,
but i can't help but get ahead of myself.
i think i just need some fresh air.

i know i'll be fine in the morning but
my existence just makes me feel so
uncomfortable.

I write at night
To share my plight
On some website
Hoping others will give me some insight and tell me that I'm alright.

To my loved ones, I'm sorry I hide this side of me, but you wouldn't understand what's inside of me.
The echoes they bellow and tell me to follow the hollowness, the solemness.

I indite these words in confidence.
Behind this screen cause the outside doesn't need to see my conscience.
I'm a mess in my cranium,
better off inside an insane asylum.

Cell so small theres no room to walk
The days going by with each mark after mark
from a spare piece of chalk
In more ways than one, I'm in the dark.

I leave my room and head outside
To begin my journey
Down the old gravel road

An endless expansion of corn
The coyotes distant howls
The brisk air, I walk at a brisker pace

Past the old-fashioned church
With its white picket graveyard
Beautiful in daylight, eerie at night

Through the woods
Over some hills
Across a stream

The bright reflection of the moon signifies my destination
It's beauty portrayed across the canvas that is the pond
I visit at night, because only then can my thoughts be as clear as the water.

I sit in silence for a moment
Pondering what I came for
Before I turn around and head back
Down the old gravel road

“I have no life.”
These words, spoken ruefully
or in jest, matters little.
The meaning is the same:
my life, as it is,
not important enough,
not exciting enough,
not good enough,
not enough.

Thousands of messages
in a lifetime,
telling us this.
It’s good for business
after all.
Buy the car,
make a statement,
people will notice you.
Join our church
you’re separate from God,
a sinner, we can help.
You need this, and that,
see what others are saying,
dont want to be left out.
Can’t get laid without the cologne,
won’t be loved without the diamond ring.

Our souls crucified
on all these lies,
we go insane,
and wonder why.
“You’re not enough,
go buy more stuff.”
I’d love to see
an ad like that.

If you can reclaim yourself
from beneath the rubble
of all the shoulds, and musts,
you will have achieved something.
As for the rest:
**** it.
All of it.