Sitting in a
deep
dark
hole
questioning
whether or not
its possible
to utterly love
again after
failing the
first time.

I want
to create
a painting
of blood
showing every
last stab
of pain
I received
from you

Lately I’ve been having trouble breathing.
Everything around me closes in;
it swells up leaving no room.
It gets so tight that no air
could possibly squeeze through.
And then I pass out.
Only it doesn’t stop.
I keep waking,
endlessly struggling for air-
only to pass out in a panic.

I will be open with you.
I won't lock you out of my heart.

I will communicate effectively.
I won't hide my feelings away.

I will tell you small things.
I won't shut you out.

I will confide the larger things.
I won't bottle them inside.

I will give you all the love in me.
I won't let this relationship die out.

I'm a ******* coward.
I should have said something, anything.
Instead I just sat here, took it, and tried to hold back tears.
You didn't know you did it.
Probably didn't know it hit me like that.
I should have said something,
but i'm just a coward.

You make me so happy
And I hope that I can return
Just a fraction of that happiness
Back to you because
Youre an amazing person.
And you deserve to be happy.
And I love you so much.

Cry.
Let the world know
that your in desolation.
Let them know
that they hurt you.
Let them know
how you really feel.

Scream.
Let the world know
that your done being walked over.
Let them know
you never wanted their opinion.
Let them know
you will NOT capitulate to them.

Everyday I do nothing,
but try to keep my mind
from the dreadful thoughts
that make my wrists ache
for a blade to slice them
into a ****** art piece.
Yet even though
the art is lovely, I hide it.
I let the world live
in blissful ignorance
not knowing, not suffering
the way no one knows I do.

I open my eyes, where am I?
When did I get here?
The walls are high, there's no escaping.
No door or window, just simply sitting.
Is it possible to recover
From a disease that only I have the power to stop?
I cannot focus long enough to think, or feel around.
How do I get out?
I dropped myself here, and it’s on me to get out.
I need to sober up, and find a way to return to it.
I try, but I only scratch at the surface.
I cannot dig a hole to get out,
it will only bring be deeper.
What if I just gave up?

My mother wants me to go to college
My father prefers me go to technical school
My uncle thinks I should go into the Military
My aunt pushes me towards the Navy

However, out of four brothers
Not one tries to influence me.
Not a single one.
By doing this,
they encourage me to be me.

And that, is why us "Millennials" ignore the older population.
Ignore the stuff you all say that is stupid and frustrating.
We break the mold because we refuse to sit in one.
We push the boundaries you set,
Because we want to be OURSELVES.

I’m not the right flavor for you.
My love is shown a particular way-
I give you reassurance,
you consider it babying you.
I ask about your day-
tell me I’m simping.
I want to call-
and you say I’m annoying.

But then-
I change those habits,
And now I’m a walking red flag.
You molded me how you wanted me,
But now you want the original again?
I’m sorry, but you don’t get that choice.

I always mess up.
Somehow. Someway.
Each and every time.
I accidentally hurt you.
I don't mean to.
I never mean to.
Yet I cannot find the proper words
to convey that I am not abandoning you.
to convey that I am not against you.
It's overwhelming.
Overwhelming to the point
that a knife to the stomach is preferable.
For maybe it would provide
more release than temporarily solving the problem.
A permanent fix.

I just want to move on, but it’s so hard.
Because we facetime so often
And you still call me babe.

i left the other day.
i packed my bags and moved out.
and that is when I realized
that home isn’t a place.
it’s you.
it’s our walks through the park
and our talks through the night.
it’s getting in trouble together
and getting out of trouble together.
home is us. home is our friendship.
I have no idea how to be at home when you’re not here.

Lately I’ve been struggling with my body.
I am not skinny enough: I’m chubby.
I’m not feminine enough: I’m ugly.
I’m not masculine enough: I’m frumpy.
I cannot look at myself.

Sometimes I feel as if you stole a part of me away with you.
You took the very essence of my soul with you when you left.
I didn’t think it was a permanent ending, of course, neither of us ever did.
Each time we parted, it was never the end.
And now it is, and I no longer have air to breathe.
The fire that once sparked us both and lit up our the passionate flames of our souls belongs only to you now.

Be passionate for me, even if it is not with me.

One:  *******.
Two: I'm stupid.
Three: Can we end this?

A swirl of need, want, and terror resides within me.
I need to connect,
I want to connect;
however, the connection inspires my innermost fears
to come slinking out of the dark
showing their faces
and grinning as I become
hopelessly afraid.
Unfortunately,
if this terror persists,
I fear that I may soon
come to an end.

Im ****** up.
Everyone leaves me.
I guess I'm not good enough.
And I don't think I'll ever be good enough.
I think its time for me to leave them.
Because they're too good.
And I think they will always be.
So with a steady hand, Ill let my blood seep.
And my soul wither away into nothing.

Sometimes I wonder
If a knife to the
stomach would
make everything
disappear into
a painless
oblivion.

O-F-F
                                
                                                          M
    ­                                                            I
   ­                                                        S
                                                               ­   S
                                                            ­   I
                                                           N
                                                               ­    G

                                             Something is missing.
                                                        ­It's not lost
                                                            ­    or

                                                         ­          J
                                                               ­        U
                                                               M
                                                               ­            B
                                                               ­         L
                                                      ­        E
                                                       ­           D

                                                  I­t's simply not there.
                                            And I do not know what it is.
                                                             ­     
                                                           ­  I love him,
                                                 but something is missing.
                                          
                                                                ­ It feels
                                                           ­                 
                           O
                         F
                      F

                                                            Temp­orary.
                                                            not concrete.
                                             As if the wind could blow it away.
    





                                                 ­                                                 I've finally dropped my walls
                                                           ­          For someone new
                            
                                ­   but it just feels...
                                                                ­                                               off

Memories long since past are spilling out as if a flood was beginning.
I see each one, every single one.
I  had forgotten your old habits, tricks, and tips.
I had wanted to forget those beautiful, deadly things.
It only draws me in, like a warm blanket and a hot cup of chocolate.
It draws me in and makes me think.
Think about what old habits, tricks, and tips people associate with me.
I slowly fell asleep, for once thinking about myself.
Yet the next morning my thoughts were back to you,
a never endless routine.

I want pain
I need pain
Not the pain on the inside
I need physical pain
So that maybe,
just maybe,
I won't remember
the pain on the inside.

I feel lost,
forgotten,
undiscovered,
disregarded,
neglected, and
past recollection.
I am stuck in
Painful Oblivion.

Lovely colors
are dripping
from the
vivid black
canvas.