Late night panics,
right hand shaken,
covered in blood and scars.
****** therapy sessions,
sane pills I’ve taken,
my inner critics
in their tea party
laughed and said
I’m insane.
Yet I say
“we’re all ****** here…”
Lost friends,
killed souls
I’ve stayed with—
sadly ended…
Always a memory away—
Gotta keep my head up…

All letters,
diaries and poems
I’ve written—
Scattered into
riddles and enigmas.
Readers falling down
rabbit holes—
Or that’s just
me as a poet…

My ticker,
a mad rabbit,
It runs—
Keeps running—
Running into
a train...

My mind’s been
flaking slowly,
like dry paint off
your pristine,
decorated walls.
Every cold night
the autumn moon breathes,
my heart falls apart,
like dying leaves from
The Hanging Tree.

Doctor, Doctor—
Will you help me?
All this time,
I’ve waited so
patiently,
I became one
of your unsteady
patients.

Piled up poems,
letters left in one
dark corner of the
library garden—
Alone…

Heart’s tangled in
sharp thorns from
wherever I go,
where the cold
moon blooms—

Piled up poems,
buried beneath
the silent sun,
wilting faster than
a daisy’s death—
Unread…

Dear critics,
friends, families,
readers, my haunted
shadows and people
I’ve lost alike…

The cold sun was due.
I sat in this very
lonely dark room
for far long,
no way to escape.
There’s something
wrong with me.

Nightmares slither—
visions, illusions,
thoughts to lose you ache.
My right hand shakes intensely.
Reaching out feels
like climbing a cliff—
I slip and fall off
as ghosts watch…
Pain ***** me,
its rope tightens
around my throat,
I feel isolated—
I can’t breathe,
I can’t speak,
I can’t eat,
I break easy,
Anxiety cuts so deep—

“HELP ME”

I want y’all to know
it’s not your fault—
Never was.
You all meant the most.
I love you.

I don’t know if this is
my last ****** poem.
It may never reach you,
may never be read,
may never be found,
maybe forgotten,
lost in time,
or may never be—
My last letter...

-Paul

12:30 am
last night—
I woke up with
a nightmare,
couldn’t go back
to sleep.
My chest felt
something crawling
inside again.
Sharp and cold,
it touches my heart—
And there I
couldn’t breathe.

It chokes me
with a rope.
It hurts,
I don’t know
what words to
describe it—
There’s razor
blades living
inside my throat.

Worse than nightmares
I wake up from—
I started crying…
Fear of losing you
scares me.

I’m sorry but
I don’t wanna
go to your
Pity Party—
I’m tired,
my head aches
and my heart’s
****** up—

Three shots in
of happy pills,
and already have
so many imaginary
remnants of my
ghostly ghosted
friends and critics,
All dancing
in my lonely
room.