I never saw a man who looked
with such a wistful eye
upon that little tent of blue
which prisoners called the sky,
and at every drifting cloud that went
with sails of sliver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
within another ring,
and was wondering if the man had done
a great or a little thing,
when a voice behind me said,
"The man's got to swing"

For he did not wear scarlet
nor did he speak of it,
for blood and wine were red
and so was the color on his bed.

He looked upon the garish day
with such a wistful eye;
the man had killed the thing he loved,
and so he had to die.

i wish i was in hell these days, burning
warmth so overwhelming it hurts
burn so severe it eliminates everything else

i want to forget this body, this lonely
that unlawfully resides within me
in raging eternal flames, that's how
i want to be forgotten
i want to become ashes, rise again
only to burn to death again
that's how i want to forget
what it's like to have skin and bones
what it's like to disguise the skeleton with fat and cellulites

i wish i was in hell these days, burning
yet all i do is hoarding, gorging, overindulging
in this cold room of a landfill, as a lifestyle
but also no, i don't live like this
i don't live at all

i want to prove the world wrong
i want to nullify your religion
i want you to know the absolute truth

i want to burn, because coldness
is how i know hell. i want to break,
because my whole is how
i become hell

hell is all in my head
hell is all over my body
hell is penetrating my every pores
because it's gaping wide, asking for it
asking to be filled, asking for anything
asking for enlargement, asking to reduce themselves
asking to perish, forcefully, painfully, then all at once

If I could love
the limping
ugly
afraid
part of me
That I drag through the mud
and thorns

If I could let
the transparent
clawing
screaming
silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it
into the basement

If I could put
my deepest human essence
onto paper
for everyone to see

Then.
Then, I could be free.

You ripped it
my pretty little heart -
but that's okay because
now I can pin it
to a wall
and scream
This Is Art.

And like that
my voice has been stolen away
Anxiety barricades like invisible steel walls
Trapped, I’m left banging with clenched fists
A prisoner within my own head
My brain a chemically imbalanced warden
My mind in solitary confinement

Destiny is a miserable creature
with a mouthful of sharp teeth
hiding behind a smile, yours.
Yes, you. Unsuspecting.
With a bit of happiness hiding
behind that adorable smile.
If only it would bite.

As I said, miserable
and cruel creature.
All this blood wasted,
turning into vinegar.
It burns.

The name of the poem (s0 called): Kid with a borderline personality disorder needs some help or “bye bye” then

Sometimes it’s hard to be me
Feels like I lose my identity
And I’m fighting with my own self
Sometimes to death

And it seems like eternity
I say I mean it, indeed
This is a real struggle of me and me and
Not many people seem to understand

When I say
Sometimes I’m straight
Sometimes I’m gay
Grandma says what she’s supposed to say

“I never heard someone say
When I was at your age”
But honestly I’ve never been engaged
At times I feel I need to be fixed
My papa’s sure I need some kicks
On my ***
No more no less…

Talks to my dearest mom lead
To “You need to find a job, kid”
“Boy, what’s wrong with this
This is simply how the life is”

Sometimes I feel like I am someone else
Start making up, painting my nails
Sometimes I feel like I am a complete mess
Look up at the ceiling, lying on a bare mattress

Crying my eyes out
Longing the whole world to be dead
Shout out loud
All of my hatred

And then again:

A rollercoaster of my mood gets down
I ask myself who I am
The answer comes and makes me frown
In this big world I’m on my own…
On my own
All alone