Days are for the sun to shine,
the light to beam,
and the fake smiles, laughter, and confidence to emerge.
Nights are for the moonlight to seep through the clouds,
The stars to glisten,
And the hauled up tears to finally come streaming down.
The clench of your teeth and fist,
Digging into your gums and wrist.
Your limbs, throat and chest tightened,
Feeling angry, engulfed, and terribly frightened.
Your eyes have gone fuzzy and dark.
Your face, frail and stark.
Confusion fills the air,
As you’ve caused such a scare.
This is what occurs,
When you feel an attack,
Up and behind your back.
Fits of hyper-venti-lation
With no seemingly logical explanation.
All you’ve done is say those six sharp words,
That are now stabbing you in the back, just like swords.
Your thoughts jumbled up in a giant mess,
Lost in all of the dark, heavy stress.
And it’s all pressed
On your quivering, fragile chest.
It feels like a never ending pit.
No one seems to understand it.
And now all you’re left with,
is that dizzy-making, stomach-churning hell of a fit
Head placed upon the middle of your pillow,
leaving a circular dent surrounding it-
Your pigtails on the side,
tied in pink and red bows.
An attire of frilly, cotton, pyjamas,
tainted with dainty flowers-
a total of 32 spastically placed.
Filled with frills and pixie dust,
along with the shards of glass
-lined with blood.
On the beauty of the moments,
Of the innocence that once filled your mind-
gently placed upon the pillow
lined with delicate lace,
beneath your frail, fazed face.
Bone hugging, more like
- is what is wished for and deemed right
The only way to
Grant this wish, fulfill this desire, correct the wrong
is to get rid of the hiss, right?
And in order to do so,
will come slithering up and through your torso,
as a reaction to the bristles on your toothbrush;
coaxing the snake out of its hiding.
Leaving your body and mind
Empty, relieved, satisfied and pleased.
Yet so fraught, disappointed, fearsome and creased.
It’s like a drug
-except that it doesn’t come in a little orange box
Or in the shape of a little white pill,
But rather through a shiny, sleek, sharp blade
That grazes over your skin
Just like a red ribbon swaying in the wind.
Allow me to ultimately succumb to my fate;
Spill down onto the sidewalk
along with the other helpless raindrops
and slide into the gutter.
Allow me to finally let go
of the blissful, blue balloon;
fall to the ground,
and disintegrate in midst of the dirt.
Allow me to disappear
Forever and always;
into thin air,
like a cloud of dark fairy dust.
Allow me to cry
a flood of tears and sorrow;
enough to fill an ocean
Deep and Wide.
Allow me to bask in this
dark void of emptiness
that fills my mind and chest;
rendering me plainly incapable.
Please, just let me go.
Feeling the metal
sink into your flesh
and glide along
the vast plane of your skin.
Growing exposed to the outside world,
to the ability to breathe again—
The bubbles begin to rise
lining the sides of the wound.
Once they begin to pile,
a large wave of red
flows over the lining,
and down the rest of the plane.
It finally contains itself mildly,
allowing for the wave to slow at the shore;
It’s not the end for you yet,
as you succumb to
the temptation once more.
on the cold, damp sand
in the open air.
Hearing the gush of the waves
Crash against the rocks
and roll onto the shore
-Gently kissing your feet.
The Coldness is overpowered
by the emotions and relief within.
The light finally begins to rise,
The skies grow a blissful blue-
in contrast to the regular, deeply darkened grey;
mirroring the colour within your mind.
Feeling your hair ****** forward
along with the black crow-
The long residing and awaiting crow.
The final release,
Resulting in the return of
light, tranquility, and peace.
The final release
of this Dead Weight
-constantly on your shoulder,
Weighing down on your chest,
and fluttering throughout your mind.
The final release
freeing you from this
Godawful, hell of a disease.
A large, vast ball fills within,
as the pain from the wreckage
continues to reside.
A grand sensation of emptiness
and loneliness floods in-
Evoking an even greater amount of
melancholy and blurred lines.
Yearning to return to the past;
where the grass was greener,
the sky was clearer,
the doors were open wide,
and the telephone lines were unhindered.
Wishing to be rid of this nostalgia
and live in the moment, once more.
Prior to the large loss,
that created an awful sore.
Imagine being a caterpillar.
Curled up in your cocoon,
Dreaming of soaring the interstellar
And up and around the moon.
Wishing for some fresh air,
And someplace, somehow, somewhere,
to be able to finally
spread your wings
But in reality you’re stuck.
Stuck and curled up.
Forever eyeing and envying the eccentric butterflies
Fluttering and flourishing throughout the skies.
— The End —