“Really, he’ll be—”
“But m—be-”
“There isn’t anything we can—”
“THERE HAS— SOM—ING”
“Sir, I’m going to—ask you to—sit—”
“DON’T TELL—DOWN—”
“…I assure you—”
“*******—may—then—weeks—”
“Sir, please calm—”

I am so tired
And darling, you know I don't want to come over
But you asked me to
But you want me to
And so for you, I will

I am so sick
Of this love thing
I hate it
But you asked me to
You want me to
And for you, I will

I hate all of this
It brings me no joy
But you know
Being around you
Brings me all the joy in the world

I hate this
But if it's with you
I love it

I want to play music
But I have nothing to play
Worth listening to

There are words written
On small sticky squares
Hung on my wall
None finished
just begging for me
To pick up my pen
And get back to work

I'm missing so many assignments
I'm missing so much attention
I'm missing so many apologies
I'm missing so many notes
But my dad says "Don't cry."
Okay, dad.
I won't.

Why is it so impossible for me to get out of bed?
I am tired.
A tireness no amount of sleep could discard.
I know, I've tried.
There have been days where I went to sleep at 6 pm,
Woke up at 9 pm,
and then went back to sleep.
And I slept until 8 am.
But this is a bone-deep tiredness.
So, I stay in bed.
Sitting up in bed alone takes up all my energy,
So why should I get up?
My eyes burn and are swollen shut from the tears I shed last night,
This battle to stay alive
This battle against depression
Anxiety
My own mind
It is all to difficult,
And I don't have the energy to fight it.
I can't get out of bed.
I feel quite safe in this bed that my blankets have encased me in,
And I am not hungry...
At least not enough to get up and go get some food.
I just hate the 'outside world,'
Being in the car makes my stomach turn,
And the screaming of my stomach is so annoying.
If the car I was feeling ill in suddenly crashed,
I wouldn't mind.
I feel tired,
And alone,
And empty...
Always empty.
There's always something missing.
Answer me this:
If my poor old mother was sobbing on the phone, begging me to stay...
Begging me to suffer, in other words...
Would I really be around to care?
What's the point??
There.
That's it.
What's the point?
That's why I can't get out of bed.
I could be so **** motivated.
"Come on," I'd encourage myself, "We got this!! Get up!!"
And I'd sit up,
Sigh,
And immediately sit back down.
Because what IS the point?
So,
I'll lay in this bed of mine,
Held down by these blankets,
And I won't mind a single bit.
Because I'm rather fascinated by these nightmares,
And I'm not hungry...
At least, not enough to get up.

It is a strange thing,
to go back to the same light
that has burned me
so many times

The event
that turned my life
upside down
inside out
backwards
Was losing you
The day you stopped saying
"Hi!"
Was the day
I stopped saying anything
Because I had nothing worthwhile to say
I had no one to say anything to

That day I lost you
I lost my voice

She said we could spend time together.
A me and her day.
When I asked about it,
she got angry with me.
"I never said that,"
she says.
When I remind her that she did, in fact, say that,
she rubs her head.
"I don't feel good,"
She explains.
The kids at school are wondering why I'm so loud.
Being loud gets me attention,
And I don't have much of that elsewhere.

A blobfish is ugly,
A blobfish is gross.
However, a blobfish
Does something no one knows.
Have you seen a blobfish look pretty?
When it’s not stressed?
Because only when its endangered
Does it puff out its chest.

I want to cope,
But I cannot.
I try music,
You know, listening to it??
Singing it?
Writing it?
But my mom says shut up.
I try to sleep,
You know, until the next day?
When I sleep on it and it's better in the morning??
But my mother says I am too lazy.
I try,
But it’s not hard enough.

Dancing on the hardwood floors
Careful not to slip
But it's hard to see
In this pitch-black room
The light journeyed afar
to say hi to an old friend
Who needs a little bit of light
Right now
The smell of lilacs
My mother's perfume
Invades
the pitch-black room

I am in a very deep pit
I feel nothing will save me
You say, "it's okay,
I have a lot of rope"
I try to grab it
And wrap it aruond my neck
And you say,
"Don't,
Just grab on."

I’m in so much pain right now,
God I feel so drained right now,
I do not know my name right now,
I should have been well-trained by now.

I have seen you behind the building
With the new person
And you tell me
You are not dating them
I have seen you
stick each others' tongues down
your guys' throats
but I'm sure you're just friends

"We grew apart,"
Though really,
You just left
Because you found
Someone better
And that's okay.
I don't blame you.

Texting
Singing
Ignore your phone ringing
Ruining me
Using me
Pretend you aren't abusing me
Overwhelming
Overtelling
Aimed at me you're always yelling
Sting me
Bring me
"Can I meet your family?"
You say no
go change your clothes
You're too ugly, adios.
Goodbye love
I am free of
Your mental sort of
Boxing glove.

Jayden, look here.
Put down the beer
Even though you've no courage
To keep someone near
Jayden, look up.
I know that you’re stuck,
And you feel there’s no place,
For you to get luck.
Jayden don’t look back.
Keep going down that track,
And don’t you dare come back.
For you have gone too far
For your heart to start to crack.

I could never dream
Of a tranquil end,
But maybe,
Someday
The end after the end
will be
calm

Let's take this outside
Let's fight it out
Let's both end up
Bruised and ******
While a drunk crowd
Cheers us on

Let's take this to the stars
The world isn't ready
For this fight
And no drunk crowd
Is gonna be drunk enough
To think
That this isn't wrong

"Why?" I asked him. "I'm not pretty, I'm not smart, I'm nothing."

Dec. 25
Today is the day I follow Shiloh. I quit my job at the bakery, and I gave the cash to a charity. I’m done here. I’m finished. There’s no ‘unfinished business.’
I’m ready.
I stand atop this bridge now. Hoping maybe you’ll listen. Understand why I did this. Not that you’ll care. We haven’t talked in years. But I have to tell someone, and you’re the only one I thought of.
I don’t want to be known as ‘selfish’ for this. I want people to understand. I can’t do this without him, you know?
So I won’t. I won’t do anything without him.
I think I need to die now because I know it’ll be better than this purgatory we call home.
Honestly, I don’t want to die.
I think I just don’t want to be alone.
And I sure as hell don’t want Shiloh to be alone, either.
The air is emptier without his laugh, and it is painful to sit here in this new silence and long for the music to start again, and for the disc to spin again, even if it means going round and round for many more years…
…for at least we would be moving, and Shiloh would be laughing here on Earth… And not only in Heaven.
But I am grateful that we loved him well. And that we miss him well.
But now, we grieve in silence. Yet, not without his presence.
I miss him so much. So, so much. It hurts. And I can’t hurt this much any longer. I’m sorry, I just can’t. I can’t take it. I wanted a romance, not a tragedy.
I just… Shiloh was so good at telling me what he wanted. He threw fits when he didn’t get the remote for the video game console when I died, he would jump on my shoulders and whine. I’d sigh and give it up.
He wasn’t great at showing me what he loved, though. He’d always hide or try to evade things when we got on the conversation of likes and dislikes.
I wonder… Who was I to him?
Kodes.
I’m Kodes.
He’d laugh with nana when she called me Buggy, though. I’m Kodes, but sometimes I’m Buggy.
As cheesy as it sounds, I really… I really thought I’d be alone for the rest of my life. But then he came along. I was on the ground at a playground when I was seven.
I had been pushed to the floor by a few kids from my school.
But I looked up, and I saw an angel. And he reached his hand out to me, and I took it. And this angel seemed to be the solution to everything. I never expected him to stay as long as he did. He even kept coming back after the first time he saw my dad.
So I kept hiding him in my closet.
And he kept coming back. He always came back.
Once, he tried to run away. I was the first person he ran to when he decided to come back. He ran to me and cried into my shoulder. And I didn’t mind the snot one bit. He always came back.
But he’s not coming back this time.
Umm… Also, just something I’ve been thinking about… Uh, call me crazy, but… I think he did it on purpose. I think he went in there knowing he was probably going to die, and he wanted that… Um... I think he was thinking, “Oh, look, a perfect chance!!” Like, a rescue mission with a side of suicide?? I don’t know, I’m probably overthinking it, it’s just…
I loved him. It was more than love. Beyond love. I went beyond and I lost it all.
I think that angel of mine has decided it’s time for him to go home. And it’s devastating, but I just hope things will be better for him up there. The love of my life. I just hope he finds peace.
I am so happy for him. I am. But I don’t think I’m ready to do this without him. And so, I won’t.
Anyways… you heard about my story. You heard about what I knew about Shiloh’s story. I’m done here.
Goodbye, Jennifer. I just want you to know it wasn’t your fault, okay?? Mom and dad were bad, alright? It’s not your fault. My dying wish is for you to stop blaming yourself to what happened to us. You’re young. You’re my little sister. You weren’t responsible for what they did.
You shouldn’t have felt obligated to care for me. No matter what, I’ll always be with you.
I love you, Jenny. Don’t miss me too much. You’re all grown up now!! You can do it without me, okay?
So… “Goodbye, cruel world,” and everything.
Sayonara, and I hope you might understand.
And I hope I’m not called selfish.
…even though I deserve it.
Oh!! I am donating everything you find that belonged to me, but you can’t take the rabbit. And you better not touch my copy of To **** a Mockingbird.  

Sincerely,
Your Best Big Brother
P.s. Do me a favor.
Don’t hold anything back. Don’t make the same mistake I did.
Moral of the story, and all.

Depression does not care.
I thought changing my style, changing my diet, changing my sleeping routine, but no.
Depression doesn’t care.
It doesn’t care how I look; it doesn’t care how little I eat, it doesn’t care how much I sleep, hell, it doesn’t even care how spoiled I am. It just doesn’t care.
It doesn’t matter how skinny I make myself, not eating for 4 days in a row. It doesn’t care how much I hurt myself to make it happy, I feel the same.
The same being… I am up at 2:40 am on a Wednesday. The same being… I ate a Pop-**** for dinner and that’s all I ate for the day. The same being… I cannot get out of bed no matter how many hours of sleep I get. The same being that I feel so uncontrollably empty.
Depression doesn’t care how long ago the trauma was. It doesn’t care that I’ve forgotten it almost entirely, every once in a while flashbacks just pop up.
I make jokes about my trauma that make people uncomfortable all to try and pretend that it wasn’t a serious thing. It wasn’t serious, it’s something to laugh about.
Because it wasn’t.
It wasn’t a big deal, people have had it worse, but depression doesn’t care about that.
God, how much simpler fighting depression would be if depression cared.
But it doesn’t.
And I need pills just to help me battle it, and I feel shame in needing help. But I need help.
Depression doesn’t care, and it doesn’t matter how good your life is.
It just doesn’t care.

I beat that ******* doctor to the ground today. I should have killed him. I wouldn’t even mind the blood on my hands. No, not one bit.
But Shiloh would be upset with me. I hated it when Shiloh was upset. When dad came home, Shiloh looked like he was about to cry. He was trembling. I hid him in the closet so he wouldn’t be beaten with me.
And then I’d smile at him to try and make the fear go away. But then one day, he smiled to me instead. He held my face in his palm and tilted his head. He took a deep breath…
…and he smiled.
“Just breathe.” He told me. “It’ll be okay.”
I remembered that when I was beating the doctor. I remembered Shiloh’s smile.
And I remember his tears, and shaking hands, and dark circles under his eyes.
Why. Why do I have to use ‘-ed’ in every sentence I say that has the word Shiloh in it?
Why do I have to use past tense now? I want to go back to using present tense. I want Shiloh back. He can’t be gone. There is no way he’s gone. Even this cruel God I keep hearing about wouldn’t do that!!
…right?
…An eye for an eye, and the world goes blind. I’m no better. I’m not a hero.
I’m just me.

“Up, down…” She held her pen and moved her pen up and down right in front of my face. The point was to follow it with my eyes, similar to the way a lion would look at a zebra before pouncing. That pen angered me, so did the old lady’s bobbed black hair. Or the way her neck drooped practically to the floor. What’s the point of me looking at her leopard-print glasses? What’s the point of this pen? What’s this going to help?

“Okay,” she muttered, “That’s worrying…” I zoned out again. Crap. She held it back up again. This time, she moved it side to side. I followed it as best I could. My stomach stings. I haven’t eaten since lunch 3 days ago. She brought a big box of fruit snacks today. On the box it says, “Party Sized!!!” With 3 exclamation points, even though it wasn’t all that exciting. It was just me eating this “party sized” box of 40 fruit packets. She sighed and put the pen on the chocolate-stained desk. Did I do that? I should probably clean up better next time. Ugh, I hate this room. It smelled of old ketchup and perfume… Was that just her? She started talking to me. There is no window in this room. I cannot see the outside, which makes me anxious. But I won’t tell her that, because if I keep getting anxious over such small things, I’m going to be confined to this isolated room much longer than I have to.

“So, I’m going to put Zoloft on…” I don’t care what she’s about to diagnose me with. It doesn’t matter. “Ava?” I feel tired and my chest feels heavy. It’s MDD, dysthymia, PTSD, anxiety, the list goes on. I wish she didn’t keep piling meds on top of my regular diet of 2 potato crisps a day. “Earth to Ava?” God, I hate that name. It sounds sour on the tongue. Ava, Ava, blah blah blah. I hate it almost as much as I hate silver cars, and red trucks… And the smell of pancakes, which is weird because pancakes are my favorite breakfast food. Who ever heard of hating the smell of your favorite food? “Ava!!”

Oops. “Yeah?”

“What do you think?”

Crap. “About what?”

“Have you even been listening?”

I haven’t. “Of course.”

She starts to lecture me. How annoying. I scream at her to shut up, but only in my head. Lots of things go on in my head. I have learned to mostly ignore them… They talk too much. “Quiet,” I hissed at them (in my head), “I’m trying to work!!” All those missing assignments, all their doing. Nothing bad is my fault, right? Always blame it on my head. I could never express my feelings out loud. But I could put on a real good fake smile. She goes on and on about “not being able to help me if I don’t help myself.” So what? How is telling me what’s going on in my brain even helping me?

I hate therapy, I hate being tired…
I hate it here.

This paper
Holds only sadness
And so
With my spare time
I'm gonna scribble

All over the newspaper.

You're breaking my heart
Oh, don't start
with the
"Oh, but where's the what YOU did wrong chart?"

You're hurting my head
At least that's what I said
When you went
"Momma, I don't wanna go to bed."

I feel so ill
And that water bill
Has gone so far up
The bath is so large to have to fill

I feel so sick
And this feeling will stick
Because the pills and the bills
Are too much of a sick trick

There's too many kids
That drunk teenage kiss
Turned into something...
God, I never wanted this

While I don't necessarily dislike lighter colors, I don't often involve them in my artwork.
I find it inaccurate to make a piece meant to involve a lot of feeling so happy, because I feel that 'happy' isn't a good feeling.
When I make art, I want people to cry. I want them to feel the things I felt when I wrote it.
Until I met them, I didn't realize I could pour happiness into art as well. I didn't realize I could make people feel happy when they saw my art because I didn't believe that would be making them feel the way I felt when I wrote it.
That was my biggest flaw and regret: Negativity.
Now that I have people I hold close to me, I finally believe that I can put something positive into my art.
And that being said,
Go out there.
Feel something.
Be something, do something, go somewhere! It's finally time for me to exit this dark place in my life, and I hope you soon follow me out of the door.
While I don't believe I am necessarily happy, I am content now. I feel that life is worth living. I'm still trying to quit bad habits, I'm still trying to having healthy eating and sleeping schedules, but I'm calm nonetheless.
I'm finally ready to move on from my past, and I want you to come with me out the door. I want to move on with you, I want you to be happy...
I want you to be proud of yourself
And even though it's gonna be hard,
I can be proud enough of you

For the both of us.

I hung up without a warning
Too many people joined
Too many
Too much
It's all too much
I'm feeling overwhelmed
Drained
Frustrated
I don't know why I'm mad at them,
I don't know why I just suddenly left
Well
Because I'm too tired to talk to you
It's too much
It's all
too
much

With eyes the color of magma, he watches.
Those nightmare eyes.
Implanting darkness in the mind with a look.
A single glare.
Always glaring.
Why is he so angry?
All the time…
Just filled with…

Rage.

Hello, best friend of nine years

I am so sorry I forgot your name the other day

Running
Flying away from you
Your betrayal
Flying away from you two
Wash your hands before takeoff
The soap
The smell
Your smell
The soap
The flowers
The soap, your smell, the flowers,
A betrayal, soap
And a misplaced plane ticket

“Oh, ****—”
“Somebody get—"
Oh, god… this is… loud. And bright. And overwhelming. What is this beeping noise? It hurts. Oh, my head…
“We’re losing—”

He asked me what is wrong with me, and this was my reply.
“It takes me weeks to finish an assignment, and I do not know why.”
I do not understand why all I seem to know how to do is cry,
I don’t even know why all I have the energy to do is think about how to die.
I don’t understand the way to love, like all those cool kids might,
And I do not have a plan for who I want to lay here by my side.
In a bed I’m trapped and in a bed I’ll forever be forced to reside
For walking tires me and I seem to have lost my confident stride.
You looked a little mad  when you asked me why I cried,
And all I said was, “You know what? I don’t even know why.”
I don’t have an answer to why I so badly want to die.
Because my life is good, this is something I cannot deny.
In school I am happy, I’m just a little shy,
But if you were me, wouldn’t you go about life with a sigh?
My life is average, I’ve barely suffered enough to earn the right to cry,
So all that’s left for me to do is ask the world “Why?”
I have lost all my young confidence, I’m not even close to being spry,
My mother said shut up, and I so sadly did comply.
My room has turned into a sort of depressing pigsty,
With monsters in the corner judging me, saying I’m the bad guy.
With mine a broken wing, I am a butterfly,
Unable to go about life without rules to abide by
Rules that tell me how high I’m allowed to fly,
Or what predators to avoid, they see me as a bull’s eye
So I am sorry if I have no answer as to why,
For I have no reason for you, I only have a lie.
“I am fine.”

When we were little, long before nana found me on the side of the road, Kody’s mom made us lunch. Kody brought it to me and smiled. He was kind of like a guardian angel for me. I lost everything, but I still had Kody.
I always had Kody.
He would make me clean up my mess when I visited his house. Kind of like my mom. He even covered my ears when his dad got home.
When his dad came in the room, Kody made sure I was hidden. Either in the closet or under his bed. Either way, he made sure I wasn’t the one beaten. His father took one look around the room and then stumbled over to Kody for a drunken slap. For “being messy,” though really, he wasn’t.
Kody was bruised, trembling, shaken up and ******, but he smiled at me when he opened that closet door or looked under the bed. He smiled.
He yelled at me when I deserved it but always stopped quickly. Long before my father had broken my voice, I wanted to tell him something that made him trust me.
Kody used to get sad when he was mad at me. He cried after shouting. He said he didn’t want me to leave. He said he didn’t want me to be scared of him.
I just placed my hand to his cheek and smiled at him.
“Just breathe.” I said, “It’ll be okay.”

"Just hang in there!"
No, that cat hanging onto that branch is about to fall
And we all know it's not gonna make it like that
But you're not supposed to teach us
The harsh realities about the world in school

"Be the change you wish to see in the world."
But geometry isn't gonna help me save the world
Nothing is
Because I'm a teenager... and you're expecting me to do what?!

"Learn something new today."
I learned a fun new name
That the students have been calling me all around school
That is a brand new thing I learned today

These inspirational posters
Aren't making me feel very inspired

He slapped me
And it bruised
But honestly
I shouldn't have said that
I pushed him again
I shouldn't have tried to tell him to quit
Because fixing him isn't my job
I'm supposed to love him through everything
and I do
I do
The words that started it all
I do
But I didn't
Understand the situation
But now I do
And it's okay
He wasn't always like this
It's just the things
He chooses to consume
It's not a choice
It's an addiction
And besides
the makeups already done
And the bruise is already hidden
It's fine
We're fine
He's fine
This is fine

I forgot the lyrics to the song I loved,
And now I don't even know how it goes.

I'm a mess

A beautiful mess, murmured a voice in the back of my head, the optimistic one; it sounded almost like you.

A smile tugged at my lips.

Death is not a race
So wipe those tears off your face.

But the bird came back, despite what you say,
Despite your thinking it’s better to go away.
The bird came back, the bird is fine,
It isn’t sore from all that flying,
It was just an adventure, one that was worth the pain,
And what would it be without a little bit of wing-sprain.

Use me,
I don't care
I just want to have a use
Be it a replacement,
A backup,
or a coping mechanism,
use me.

I excitedly drew the fractured blade against my skin
So long without a tool to do this deed
Has done horrible things to my sanity
Like a drug, it draws me to it
And I use it,
get addicted,
No matter how much it hurts me,
and then go to rehab
or a mental hospital, as some would say
No matter
It feels great

Blue and white balloons were tied lazily to cardboard sign with a scribbled on birthday invitation. Kids are squealing playfully in the backyard, chasing each other around. The sun is giving me a headache, but the water from an earlier competition of throwing water balloons makes the wet fabric of my shirt cling to my back, countering the heat.

It smelled like freshly cut grass, a smell I much adored. It was a near calming smell, one that reminded me of the way the street had smelt after the mornings my neighbor woke up early to trim his lawn.

How I hated that water, the water stuck to my skin. It was cold when the wind brushed over it, but hot when the wind left it alone. Couldn’t I just be warm?

All the rest of the kids were playing outside, playing a game of tag, and I sat alone on the front porch. It wasn’t a pretty view, there wasn’t much to look at other then the houses across the street and blue sky behind them.

Everyone was playing happily… And I was listening to music from my “Sad Hours” playlist. Skipping through the ones that were too upbeat whilst the other children were skipping along the grass, kicking dirt up as they went.

It was my sister’s birthday, and yet I didn’t care.

Yellow triangle,
Warning me to stay away
I kick it over
And slip

There is a rabbit in my room
Though, not really.
There is a friend in my room,
Though, not really.
It is stuffed,
It cannot speak,
It lies still,
But it is my friend.
Though, not really.

We've been
Migratory animals
Leaving under
Changing weather

My eyes are a mood ring
No, it's not a metaphor
My eyes change color
Based on 2 factors
my mood,
and the weather.
When they are gray,
You will know that
I am feeling so very blue
So very sad
and the world around me
Seems so very rainy
When my eyes go back
to their usual
Bluish-green color
You will know
That I am feeling
Some way,
A way you will never know
Because I will never tell you
What my eyes mean.