I want to feel your bones crush in my hands.
I want to feel your skull crunch under my feet.
I want to cause pain.
I want to make chaos.

I am angry.

I want to break, tear, smash, throw, and shred.
I want you to feel just a fraction of this pain.

But that's not just why I'm angry.
I am angry because I am sad when happy things happen.
I am angry because it doesn't change.
I am angry because it won't change.
I am angry because it all changes so quickly.
I am angry because I am angry.

I can't shut it off or shut it out.

I am consumed.

I am angry.

-t.s.

I won't eat
I won't sleep
I won't brush my teeth

Instead I write.

I won't cry
I won't laugh
I won't see my friends

Instead I write.


Eating does not fill me. When I try to sleep, I toss and turn. No need to brush my teeth when I won't go outside.

Stories are my nourishment. I drift off to dreamland in prose. My soul is cleansed with antonyms and synonyms, similes and metaphors.

Crying brings no freeing feeling. Laughing holds no joy. Friends will soon just leave me and take with them my heart.

I pour my tears into a song to convey all that I feel. I laugh along with Shakespeare as he inspires every play. All my friends are pencils because they're useful and won't leave. And if one happens to skip away, break or reach an end; aisle 4, below the staplers, I can always buy some more.

You promised.

You swore.

You said you would.


We drank a little whiskey and I smiled at your goofy grin. I laughed when you bet me a stop sign that I would get sick on my 21st. Little did you know, I can handle my liquor  magnificently. We put some music on and swung-out to that 40s rhythm.


You promised you loved me.

You swore you would never leave.

You said you would always hold my hand.


I turned 21 last week and I sat in my cold apartment, alone. I did not drink, I did not smile, I did not laugh, I did not dance. Instead tears burned through my cheeks like acid rain. Instead my nose leaked into countless tissues. Instead I ignored my world.


The promises are broken.

Swearing is just curse words, now.

My hand is empty.


I turned 21 last week. I did not get sick. Now, all I can think is




Where the hell is my stop sign?

-t.s.

I hate to see you doing well.
I know its shallow, petty, and sad

but call me all those things
because right now I'd rather you be alone.

You should be alone
after what you did to me.  

How is it that I'm the one fighting demons you created
and you're running with my dream that we created together?

I hate that you're doing well
and I wish that you weren't.

-t.s.

9:47 I sit on my couch, staring at my bed.

I'm not supposed to lay down until at least 10 o'clock.

It's supposed to "ward away depressive states" so I don't "stay in bed all day long."


9:52 If I go just a little early, that won't be a big deal, right?

No, I better listen. I better try.


9:55 Only five more minutes.

That's funny. We used to use that to avoid going to bed, now I'm using it to count down until I can.


9:58 Do I have everything I need? The temperature is set so I won't get too hot? I've got my glass of water, my phone charger, my fuzzy socks?


10:00 Sweet relief.


I'll never leave you again.

I promise.  


"Depressive state", my ***.  This is the only place I can be safe. The only place I'm home.


-t.s.

I swore I'd never write about you again.


You aren't supposed to be worth my time.


But my time is worthless and my hand knows nothing besides you.

-t.s.