Ways To **** Yourself

Blow out your brains with a gun,
slit your wrist, slit your throat.
Play chicken with a moving train,
jump in front a moving bus.
Go in the ocean, filled with sharks,
while in the tub, throw in a toaster.
Overdose on alcohol, drugs or pills,
leap off a real tall building.
Hang yourself with a strong rope,
choke on a big piece of meat.
Run in the hood, yelling the n word,
jump from a plane, high in the sky.
Drown in a swimming pool,
poison your food or drink.
Cover your head with a pillow,
stab yourself in the heart.
Jump on top of a hand grenade,
walk naked through the jungle.
Warning, do not try these tricks ever,
side effects include a painful death.
Reality, never a reason to **** yourself,
don't be foolish, dumb or stupid.

First, you dig your self a hole
Deep enough to lose control
Then, you push yourself inside
At the bottom, where there's no place to hide
Next, you try to claw your way through
Until there's nothing left to do
Tired, helpless, body worn
Wrists among everything else is torn
Drowning in your own salty tears
Condemned by the most realistic fears
Gasping for air, destined for execution
Feeling like death is the only solution.

Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to ****.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears


And look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being ******, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.


The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches

Conservative make
watermark there
if he
seek not
both their
inequities in
this dissolution
close to
them both
render what
in their
agreement with
antipathy then  
might grant
with only
final adoption
his again

She spoke of dreams
and chasing shooting stars
under galactic blankets
that covered them warm...

He kissed her quiet
"Shhh darlin'
you're doing it again..
you're reading my
thoughts"

The beginning is so unassuming
It's a faint desire to better oneself by
succumbing to "healthier" options both
mentally and physically
Or at least that's what we tell
ourselves

Once the introductions are over and
the pleasantries of obtainable goals
made, you become totally enamored by
the sense of accomplishment
That nagging whisper of assurance,
gratitude, and love keeps you
constantly striving for something
more
With that, the trap has been set

One goal turns to three, and three
turns quickly to ten
Now you are in the grips of an enticing,
vengeful, and all-consuming force that
is never satisfied
The whispers soon become screams
that berate your inadequacies and
open the floodgates for negativity
"Never Good Enough" becomes the
battle-cry of this addiction towards
self-deprecation

Intentions to stop are always there
However, chasing the ever elusive "last
goal" becomes your entire existence
You alienate yourself from any and all
who stand in the way of disordered
progress
Blinded by a strong conviction and
supposed self-improvement, you
cannot see the destruction ED craves
It devours every possible ounce of time
and energy a body has until there is
nothing left to give

Still not content, and louder than ever,
ED seeks complete annihilation and
your ultimate demise
Only through intervention,
enlightenment, and a shroud of hope
can the bond be broken with the beast
within
This clarity makes it possible to live
and fight another day

I Believe...Do You?

i am tired of talking to adults no i do not want to see a dermatologist or a psychologist or a psychiatrist or a nurse no school counselor i am definitely not having suicidal thoughts and no doctor i do not want to talk about the results of my mental health survey. of course dr. cook i am totally open to the idea of taking an antidepressant dear god i am tired of talking to adults do not want to be diagnosed i do not want to talk about it stop worrying about me, no, 'i am not depressed,' this is my life so thank you for not making me sign a life pact but leave me alone i am not going to cry in front of another strange adult. do not diagnose me. all i want is to be normal, i am tired of the pills. i am done with talking to adults