At this point, I'm surprised I manage to wake up,
when every night is plagued with dreams of you,
caressing my fragile body, and then plunging into it like it doesn't mean two ***** to you.
Every night it's the same dream, and I wake up smelling of sweat,
but it's not the same as yours, an aroma that haunts me even in my sleep.
See, when a man like me desires,
he desires with more than just his heart and mind.
He desires with his nose, his lips, his hands and his tongue,
his eyes, his ears, and with the tips of his toes.
Not unlike the fantastic houses we used to build between periods.
Not unlike the make-believe we used to play during recess.
So, my friend, let's make-believe one last time:
I'll pretend to be a woman,
and you'll pretend to be in love,
and I'll finally find myself in your warm embrace.

I say my mantras every morning:
“You’re worthless, ugly, and undesired.”
Can’t risk forgetting, now can we?

When I wash my face, it’s more out of habit than out of hygiene.
Some days I don’t feel like washing my face, but I do it anyways.
Maybe it’s the thought of changing something that I’ve been doing for so long that’s making me anxious.
Maybe that’s the same as how I view life:
Just a habit that I’m too anxious to break.

Brushing my teeth is less of a habit and more of a favor
You know, to everyone around me that day
They already have reason enough to avoid me
And the remainder of a long-broken train
One whose windows were shattered and metals bent
I am the debris of a boy
But I fail to remember when I was anything else.

The taxi ride to college consists of the longest and shortest 45 minutes of my life.
On one hand, I want to get there on time
My anxiety intensifies as I think of all the material I’m not understanding
I start breathing heavily as I imagine the workload I have to cover.
Then I think of myself, in class, clueless about what she’s saying,
Not even capable of physically concentrating. Not physically capable of concentrating.
My heart starts cooperating in the ingenious scheme to defeat me
A scheme put about by none other than my own self.
I think about the scholarship and what I could lose if I don’t study
Then I think about not being able to study
Not because I’m dumb
But because I can’t.
I think about all my other friends, totally capable of doing the thing I struggle every day to do,
Slightly envying them for having a reason to wake up every morning.
Then I think of my parents and everything they’ve done to me,
The amount of money they’re paying to put me here
And my mind drifts off to what they’ll think when they find out I’m not straight
The disappointment in their eyes
The anger
Huh, maybe even some fear, if I got extra lucky.
And at that moment I’d have repaid them well for all the work they’ve done.
So the ride suddenly become minutes in length,
As I find myself there
But not quite.

I lay down in bed, most probably my head hurting.
I try to sleep but I can’t.
It’s not physical, I just don’t want to miss out on anything happening.
What if this person talks trash about me? What if he sarcastically talks good (because you can’t talk good about me without a sarcastic undertone).
What if my friends are talking? I do not want to feel left out more than I already am.
My mind drifts to what would happen when I die.
I think about my grandparents, my family, my friends,
I think about rotting in the middle of the earth.
Suddenly, the darkness of the room becomes the darkness of the house, the floor, the building, the block,
And the darkness of the room becomes the darkness of the world,
And I feel like I’m slowly being ****** in.

I’m still alive. I take one last breath and the decision to sleep. I fast-forward my night with up to 6 hours of terrible slumber, wake up,
And repeat.

I’m huddled up in the side of a bathroom stall
My friends are outside, breathing, leaving,
And I’m rocking like a lunatic.
I’m rocking like I belong in a psych ward, like my mind is definitely not okay
It is not okay.
In my pocket there is a pack of Advils
They rattle as a rock, they shake, their sound breaking the silence around
And the rattle
It feels like my head is filled with sand
It’s weight is too heavy on my shoulders
My stomach is clenching too intensely
My breath is pulsating
My wrists are itching for a scratch with a razor
And the pack of Advil rattles
And the pack of Advil rattles and cry grows up my throat
It chokes me, blocks away the air
And I shake
And the pack of Advil rattles
I hold the pack, the sound is deafening
I throw the pack down the bathroom window
It swooshes down
And then it’s silent
Then it’s the dead silence
Then the chocking gets intense
The beating gets extreme
The blood in my ears blocks everything else
My lips twitch
My body shivers
My blood pumps
And my neck itches for a blade
And suddenly,
The rattling of the Advil
Did not seem that bad

when my lips are spoiling your skin
don't think i'm detached.
my chest would hammer
driving the nails even deeper
(is that what the hollow in heart is?)
as my breath crawls onto your collarbone
and my fingers draw figures onto your *******
my hair would brush across your chin
my hair would coil around your fingers
and my life would coil around your bones

I’d like to imagine our hearts
With tiny hands, doing their own dance
When we are chest to chest,
Away from the world, as my lips find meaning in yours.
I’d like to imagine our souls,
Tearing away from our body,
Moving to the rhythm of heartbeats so loud they can pass for music,
But that is exactly what they are.
I’d like to imagine the gasps and the stolen breaths
As if they are pieces of your higher self
(Oh, but can there be a higher you?)
As I trace with one hands the jawline that made me dizzy
And with the other, the ribcage that made me safe.

I am tired of being told what I should and what I shan't.
And I know this platform isn't for ranting and yet here I'll rant.
I am sick of being empty, aimless, vague and out of place.
I am sick of wasting all your air, of taking all your space.
And my claws, I use to tear my skin, so that I could be set free,
And my screams I let out muffled and hushed to spare you my agony.
And my body feels imprisoning, my breath is getting faint
And my eyes are melting, face is welting, dying from the paint
And the bathroom doors complaining from the numb and from the tear
And my psyche getting tired of all the sorrow and the fear.
And the voice inside my head, always saying I'm not enough
And the lies I tell myself like "you can make it, you are tough."
And the people I looked up, lived with, shared with my days
And the lies they taugh me, unconditional love, they said, stays.
And the God whom I once worshiped and for whom I often cried
And the deaf, the blind, the disabled, to whom he's closely tied.
And the fact that I am beyond your repair, beyond all that can be done
And the way I feel at the start of each day and with every falling sun.
And the creature biting on my heart at every given chance
And the demons sitting in my head, not letting me advance.
And the love I always had, different faces every while
And the feelings that I gave away and never even got a smile.
This is not a ranting place, and yet here I wrote.
Is this a good place though to write one's suicide note?