If I write,
I don't exist.
I'm simple code in a simple form
I am the words your brain will scan
I'm part of the machine.
Someone told me once
that I kept the relationship together.
Said that if I didn't text first,
that if I didn't put the effort to communicate
we'd be nothing
I'm tired of being the one that does it
I'm so tired of caring so much for people that
would never care
in a fractioned metaphor
of my feelings
Maybe like leaves
you'll slowly drop from me
bits and pieces,
slowly but surely
and I'll be left bare.
Perhaps in the slow form, it'll be easier to handle
I'll know its coming
I'll let go before you release.
BUT IT'S JUST ONE DAY, J
no
nononononono.
No, it is not
It's every day.
You don't care.
I think that it's time for me to do the same
WHAT AM I DOING?
I'll ask again
what? am I doing?
I can't remember.
I had a plan for this, I had to have had a plan for this
it had a story
the ending wouldn't just cut off.
I must keep going.
help
If I down a few more melatonin,
I'll fall asleep eventually.
BUT WHAT IF YOU RESPOND DURING THAT TIME?
I DONT CARE I DONT CARE
The latter is the convincer
I'm much too manic to listen
much less understand.
I think that I'm severely depressed.
These episodes need to stop.
I wish that I could smell things.
I wish more than anything that I could smell things.
that way I'd find some comfort in her jackets.
they're physical.
here, they cradle my body
and though it is my movements
they rock me to existence.
I wish I could smell
so that I could find some sort of security in describing to you
exactly what it means to smell you.
Given that I can't talk
Given that I can't smell too
It all feels pointless.
I miss things that I never get the chance to comprehend.
I miss whatever it feels like to realize you love me
I miss waking up in your arms, too
but I know what that's like
I miss it a lot.
I don't get hugged a lot or touched a lot
at least not in a good, loving way
I don't get told I'm beautiful even if my hair is a mess
and my morning breath burns away wills to live
I don't curl up in peoples arms and trust them with my being
I don't wake up without nightmares flooding an already drowning mind
until you
until those nights with you
and being away from that was torture.
I have hated every night since then.
I'm overflowing with these ANTAGONIZING
wants to be back against you.
the sleepy arm misses compression
half-awake eyes miss the blurry form your good mornings kiss into me.
I love you.
I love you
and I'm okay-
I'm better now writing that. I'll be fine eventually.
but I can't just keep holding up the world
the relationship
in hopes you'll give me a hand when you feel like it.
So goodnight.
Because you still haven't responded.
and at this point?
I'm not surprised.
I'm just
...

I'm fine in the day.
As fine as I can be, anyhow.
Because at least in the light, I'm being watched by the Sun
At least I can pretend someone else has to feel the same way.
I hope no one else ever feels this way.
At night, it's the worst.
At night, I know without a single doubt that I am alone.
the house is quiet, careful with the creaks even
the walls do not turn in their sleep
the nails do not turn on themselves and scrape for some sort of feeling.
the air only shifts when I want it to.
It's worst at night.
Because I have me,
and I have my blades,
and I have some sort of will.
All very contradictory, might I add.
Most times I feel like cutting and burning
is the only thing that makes me
feel real.
Or better.
Only thing that makes me feel.
Addiction is funny like that!
See, you do this thing where you tell yourself
I can stop at any time I want!
Maybe you could
but honestly why would you
It helped
so stopping? STOPPING?
How could stopping possibly be healing?
My scars are not enough.
I need more, I need every inch
I want them purple and searing.
I want them rising like the bumps on the side of the road
they scream
WARNING WARNING WARNING LOSING CONTROL
I wish that I had the strength to get this out.
I want to tell someone, anyone, what the **** is going on in my mind.
Let me try, please for the love of ******* God, let me try.
I am hurting.
hurting in the ways that never let my fingers type fast enough.
Hurting in the ways that I'm only writing because I don't know what else to do
I've lost so much motivation
I've stopped writing as much
GOD GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO
I'm here.
Popping my knuckles makes me nervous.
don't let go don't let go
Touching myself feels like I'm one step closer to doing it
even the simple elbows on my thighs.
Naked thighs.
I traded in the baggy jeans and hoodie for shorts and a muscle shirt
WHY?
Who knows.
Why do I have to feel like this always.
I'm tired.
I'm tired and I think that I just keep getting worse and I can't
I CAN'T
tell you what this feels like
it feels played out
scripted.
each word something to laugh at.
WHY CAN'T EVEN I TAKE MYSELF SERIOUSLY.
I won't accomplish anything.
I'm going to die a failure.
please make me stop feeling so alone
so helpless.
I thought going back to school helped.
Maybe it did for a bit, but not long enough.
I'm tired of putting in an effort for nothing to be returned.
I think I'm going to relapse tonight and I'm scared.
My arm doesn't show the scars
Tough skin layered in the scar tissue.
Nothing like the WARNING WARNING WARNING
Though there's one burn mark.
Maybe I should burn more.
WHAT THE **** IS THIS.
Nothing deep, no rhythm to it
I'm losing whatever talent I sort of had.

There’s a difference between living and surviving
And I’m on the brink of death