i have forgotten how to think
my words are spilling
along with the ink
i cant do anything
so i just blink

i may die tonight
living like this isn't in my right.
i have lost my fight
and all my might
has since taken flight

i know i don't deserve it
there is nothing i wont admit
i know i am unfit
to recieve all these benefits
but i just cant help it

my breathing will pause
and there will be a morbid cause
to the stuttering in my chest
and it will all be because
i have forgotten how to think

a boy was mean to me today
my mother gave me a hug
and told me it will be okay
they deserve each other anyway

i didn't fall asleep in math today
i swear to god it's a miracle
i'm not failing that class
though my efforts make me feel that way

one pill to take the edge off
one pill to calm me down
one pill to make me feel better
one pill to make me drown

to drown in the feelings of nothing
to make it easier to sleep
to keep away the dreams
the nightmares
the thoughts of you

please leave me be

i've never been good at sudoku
i erased all the numbers to start again
how i wish i could erase all of my feelings
that easily

my pencils have no erasers anymore
and i think that's ironic
and symbolic
for how many mistakes i make
on paper
in life
with you
with me

one pill to take the edge off
one pill to calm me down
one pill to make me feel better
one pill to make me drown

i begin to feel light
i begin to feel soft
i begin to feel bright
maybe i won't dream
maybe i will sleep
          through the night

please leave me be

me
there are things
i should burn for
but i won't
there are things
i should burn
but i don't
burn for you
i still burn for you
when i drink i still drink
but only in fiction
i try my best
to avoid looking at
pianists guitarists and singers they don't upset me
but i guess their art is too honest
for who i am
as it should be
i will never
understood anything done
for me out of love
me i
shouldn't be alive
last november i kicked
my friend in the face while
he tried to save my life
i'd forgotten about it and so
when he visited me
in hospital the next day
i asked about the bruise
above his eye
he looked at me real
funny and told
me he ran into a tree

I think I was thirteen
when I shipped myself out
to the sea of solitude
since then I've tried rowing
back to shore but
currents of discontent
are hard to fight
inevitably I gave in
to the candy-coated
pills and powders
and the minty fresh breath
of men lurking in corners
almost as sweet as sanity
eventually I overdosed on emotions
but I was only trying
to rid myself of feeling
since I was never good
at walking on the tightrope
between wanting and reality
at this point I don't know
who to apologize to
since Hallmark doesn't have cards
for sincere self loathing

it's just that
some days it's really hard
to keep your voice even
when your mother asks
if you're slipping

I actually found someone I prefer more than
The xan
I would rather remember the time I spend on him
I want to feel every touch and breath he gives me
He addicts me more than
This xan
When I’m incoherent and don’t understand the world for a few hours
When I’m so weak
And so useless
So dumb
He keeps the danger away and I’m safe in his arms and
The xan never gave a **** about me
It made me stop thinking
But it also made me stop caring
About everything and everyone
But him
He was stronger than
The xan
He never ruined me
And the xan sure did
I can turn away from it now
But him, I can’t
I used to dance with little white, yellow, and green bars in my butterfly filled stomach
Until I lost my balance and
That xan
Did me so wrong
But he
Only wanted to help and I fell in love with that
In love with him
His
I didn’t want to belong to the xan
I wanted to die by the xan
Except now, he made me love this life
Made me realize that I can
Without the xan
My boyfriend tastes better
Makes me feel better
Takes care of me better
Than
Any kind of xan I
Could ever find

In the August of 2013, my therapist taught me how to feel pain.

She sat me down on her couch, put her hands around her knees,
And said that I was ready to learn about the juxtaposition of love and self-degeneration.
She recited to me as I was perfectly amended, and wrote down a scripture on the walls
As I watched from her susceptible whole-draining couch.

I began to litter my mind with an effervescence as she talked,
I pleaded and broke my solar plexus to let it shine within me as she spoke fluently about where I will be in times of darker days.
I listened, and let cognizant dissonance transform into regular dissonance,
As we feuded over some emotions that she claimed to know better than I did.
When the dissension was destroyed with my evenly wild dismantled separation from depersonalization and reality,
She stopped scribbling in her book and looked me straight in the eye.

She asked me how I felt and I told her that I did not.
I told her that I am a vessel for the supremacy of a mind that looks at prominent self-worth
the same way it looks at the particles underneath a shoe or the water at the bottom of an under-gated puddle. I told her that I have never opened my eyes since my father figure transformed into the door I used to hide away the tears of the woman who raised me up. I told her that I am a conundrum with a voice that is shadowed by the memories I witness and replay over and over again but have never actually ...really...experienced.
She looked at me like she expected to hear every word that came out of my mouth.
She was more a carnivore in my eyes, and by the time I realized how much an allure surrounded my depositing of impressions into this woman's central nervous system,
I was already telling myself that I have never really needed sanity.

She professed that the boundaries of my life were created by an inner turmoil,
And I would notice its symptoms and prognosis if I would just open my eyes to its horrifying truth.
By the time the room was filled with lies, I had already told enough truths to let her believe that assistance and recovery were the things I came into the room for.
She told me that I was a functional disorder, and I told her that that was patronization.
At the end of the session, we both seemed to feel equal over the fate of a sequel to a previous encounter with our regular conversational dissonance...
She gave me a piece of paper.
And it became a burden.
With a despondency I created out of her bickering and my dejected submission,
She ended the session and let the emotion run free from the tone of voice she used to impractically aid me.
I picked up the paper and picked up my serenity and created more demons out of the gracefulness inside of me,
"Open your eyes, Mzwandile."
I casted hope upon my pocket, crumpled it up until it meant as much as it usually did,
and exited the room with a prescription for a new life.

Dazed, mind filled with xanax dust.
I'm questioning who I am
When I look in the mirror I do not see myself
I see a stranger
With bags under her sunken in eyes
And her eyes, they look sad
Lifeless, dead
And her body
Her body's ugly, fat, disgusting
Covered with marks, scars, burns.
But as I look at this person in the mirror
I am over came with the urge
To hurt her, to feed her pills and potions
Because some how I think I am her
I am the sad girl in the mirror with the cuts down her arms
and the bags under her eyes
I just don't want to believe it
Believe I've wasted away
To xanax dust and cuts.

I remember the little men
in big boots. The ones who sat
at the edge of roof tops in a city called
Loneliness, and cut their teeth while chewing jagged glass and angry truths.
They parachuted down to earth
and hit their heads on desperation.
Hollowed out hearts with tree trunks
serving as legs, they marched
across the stratosphere until their existences neared zero. Nothing
more to disappearing than popping
some pills, falling asleep, and dreaming
that the whole world had gone mad.
The interesting part is when you wake up
and you can still hear the echo of
unfilled boots.

You tore her apart for your own joy,

Her soul lies vacant and fragile,

Yet she faces the axe for getting *****,

As no case ,can be filed.


You still roam around and live your life,

While she carries a perennial pain,

Who gave you the right to commit such a heinous crime,

And leave her miserably insane."


Unfortunately the past cannot be altered
but we can certainly look for a brighter future.


"I hope one day,  there will be no stare,

I hope one day ,no one will care,


Whether the fabric ,is short or long,

Visible garments ...
Whether a mini skirt ,or a cloak,

Clothes aren't right or wrong,

It's your mind ,facing a deadlock.


I hope one day , no news of ****

I hope one day,no obscene tape

Is it so hard to achieve

A world  free of harassment and eve- tease?"