Lines and lines, druggy times.
Bleeding nostrils and racing thoughts.
Fast heart beats and feeling distraught.
Alert and awake, thoughts are chasing me in a maze.
I've lost it, I'm back on the powder.

They call me Kat, because my spirit animal is one of a cat like creature, and my drug of choice.
Fierce, sneaky, stealthy, and mischievous.
Kat is my name, one of many different personalities.
Freaky is her demeanor.

Wired and full of energy, mind is coming down, muscle spasms are happening.
I need to sleep, 2 in the morning and I'm writing forbidden thoughts.
Dreams that are nightmares that aren't stopping, I have no hold.

Will it ever stop?
Control before it becomes an addiction.
Hold, or the demons will rain, toxic tears to my waking existence.

I woke up, in hospital, the visions and dreams I had were scary.
Some were real, some were not.
I thought the dream of actually being in hospital was a nightmare.
Then I realized, the suicide attempt didn't work.
I vomited everything out, but some of it is still in my system, making me very drowsy, this isn't a poem, it's a confession.
I attempted to **** myself, but it wasn't the right time.
I have faint memories of what happened.
Most of them were scary as I was drugged on the medication, seeing delusions that weren't real.
I won't do it again, I learnt my lesson.
My mom brought me home, to keep an eye on me and give me direction, I'm doing well, yet, still very drowsy and nauseous.
She flew all the way down to see me in hospital, I was in ICU for 3 days.
I almost died, if I closed my eyes before the ambulance came, I would've.
That was the point, but, it was all an illusion.
Never overdose on your prescribed bipolar meds.
Never overdose on anything.
...
Never attempt suicide

When people find out they have a certain amount of time left to live, it breaks them.
When a loved one passes away, regrets start pouring.
Unspoken words filtrate and reminiscing of memories elaborate.

****** up, ain't it.

If I had a certain amount of time left to live, I would use it wisely.
I would be happy, because life to me is pointless, I'm not suicidal, or maybe I am.
But I would rather die.
If I had cancer, I would suffer in happiness, hoping not to get better.
Honest thoughts, I WANT TO DIE.

Easiest suicide method, a gun to the head.
May take a few minutes to bleed out and die afterwards, but where to get a gun with such little cash.

Life is an ongoing cycle of pain, loss, betrayal, and abuse.
I AM SICK OF IT

Physically, mentally, and spiritually drained.
Emotionally abused and always taken advantage of by toxic people.
I need help, but I don't want it, because when I'm happy, it starts again.

**** ME

The pain and hurt and loneliness I feel inside is not worth it anymore.
I cannot do this anymore

POINTLESS

No motivation, no will, I have nothing left to live and be grateful for.
My sacrifices mean nothing and I am just a worthless burden to all.

It shouldn't hurt this much to be your angel.
It shouldn't bleed this much to be your guide.
It shouldn't pain this much to love you.
It shouldn't scar this much to be by your side.

I'm torn between obsession and hate, for the mess that we made.
But, they come, they go, so replaceable.
I can only have you in my dreams, it seems.
Because reality strikes and you leave me in pieces, ripped apart, wounded, my wings, fallen off, I am burning in loathe.

Choose one:

- A vampire needing blood, because they lose their power. So, they
  **** people and torture humans in order to get it.
- A fallen angel needing love, because it loses power. So, it manipulates, charms, and leads people into falling in love with them so can steal their heart.

ALL FOR THEIR OWN GAIN

                   Power

The glass on the stone, the peace in her eyes.
The emotion of her soul, and the serenity in her mind.
The way she speaks, of utter conscience.
The way she perceives, of deep imagination.
Holds her words in, and grasps morality.
Holds her tongue, and justifies her thoughts.
An angel, a goddess, of silky wavy locks and intelligence.
She speaks of wisdom, philosophy, greatness.
...
She speaks revolution.

A tragedy of conversation
Can bring a tremendous friendship  
To an untimely holt