i’m tired and i need sleep.
i’m tired and i need rest.
i’m tired and i need peace.
i’m tired and i need quiet.
i’m tired and living hurts.

from missio to yungblud to cacaphonies to rain, living is slightly more bearable.
he helps, but i don’t want to bother him.
i wish to sleep.

i'm so tired

keep fighting. the dark doesn't last forever. i promise.


i was not supposed to be here last year.
tIme Was supposed to remove me from this plAne by my own hand and yet i am here, Still here.
half of me is in deep greyS and cannot tUrn their neck to look uP at the little bit of colour acquired since, seePing dOwn from the other half of me.
i am very tired and while i wish to Sleep, thEre are things that i Do not wanT waiting fOr me lest i Do not wake up agaIn.
for if i rEst for my final time, i would tear a hOle through uNiverses nonE have heard of, black holes that will never evaporate, regardless of if i can wrap my head around the possibilitY that i am wanted.
one yEar lAter and my head buRns with memories i do not hAve anymore, locked behind walls sturdier than steel that i forbade myself from ever Going tO take down.
whether it be Involuntary or A juMp to arms, tHere is no looking ovEr it, theRe is no picking thE lock, there is no keY tO be foUnd, there is no secret door other than a gate in the middle.
there is shAde with a cushion that the dooR providEs for me.
wiTh shade cOmes peace and with peace cOmes healIng. time weArs down everything, no Matter what the subject may be.
the door's hold has been disruPted and flames have begun to gRow and surrOund the wall, bUrning it up.
with each new cinDer, mOre seeps out From behind a Year's wOrth of sUrvival.

i do not know how long i have been on survival throughout my life, but i do know one thing.

it gets better, friend. it is increasingly difficult for me, but it may not be with you. keep fighting. the dark doesn't last forever. i promise.

To wish on a star is to call to someone who doesn’t exist. To call to someone who has no body, other than the light surrounding the life they never lived. To see their soul reflected on the ground in the form of a screaming child.



To wish on a star is to hear the beating of wings against the roars of the winds beneath you as you fall. To fall into an abyss of red and white and blue and gauze. To walk back to your parents on your grandfather’s birthday and walk back out of the hospital doors.



To wish on a star is to float over seas of red, blue, yellow, green, and purple. To be hunting for someone who never entered that door, and yet is found in the middle. To walk through new doors into mountains you’ve never seen.



I’m that screaming child. I’ve been in the air, under the ground, in the oceans, gone into the heavens, soared through seas of stars, the winds nipping at my eyes as I close them and wake up. Turning to the sickly orange concrete stars beside my bedroom, I look up. Up into the blues, pinks, purples, and blacks of the universe. Through the clouds, through the snows, through the voids calling the name I never had, I can see a star. Dancing so brightly with his moon. I want to be that star. I want to be on that distant planet. I want to burn through the core of the earth I walk on and leave everything. I don’t want it. I want to run. I want to feel the green softening underneath my feet. I want to feel my lungs burning as I lift myself off the ground. I’m soaring now. Over the fields, over the towns and cities, over the mountains resting below the clouds. The cold stabs me like a forgotten sword, but I pull my sleeves down and close my eyes… and I dive. Past the mountains, past the cities and towns, past the cliffs I nearly hit. The water doesn’t greet me too well. It’s hard but warm, and soon, it hugs me. I’ve fallen into the hug now. The water lifts me up onto his hands and kisses the top of my head, calling me his love. I’m crying now. It feels good.



I like this.

don’t ******* remind me
I see it every day. Trust me.
What hurts more than anything, is reminding me.
I know.
Maybe I should drop it.
Maybe I shouldn’t.
It might be better for me if I did, but is it too late?
probably.
Just please please please,
Don’t ******* remind me.

You just keep on counting, don’t you?
1.
late.
2.
Late.
3.
late.
I know. Stop telling me. I don’t argue.
Not with her. I don’t like her.
She’s stubborn.
She doesn’t listen to me here.
And neither do you.
So I’m begging you.
Don’t ******* remind me.

You know why I can’t do it.
You know I can’t argue.
So why the **** do you do this?
Does it make you happy?
Sadist.
Does it hurt?
Good.
Now you know how I feel.
I know it’s all late.
I know I haven’t started them.
I know I’m too ******* scared of asking for help with absolutely anything, that I would rather suffer in silence and fail all I’ve got than be seen as weak.
Cause I know that that’s what I am.
So don’t you ******* dare remind me.