Despondent people are not puzzles to decipher
and we are not broken vases to be fixed, either.
We are not projects for you to put together
just so you can boost your ego over "saving" another.

Sometimes, she'd run deep into the shadowed forest;
full of breathtaking scenery and abundant beauty so modest,
on cold stormy nights where the wind would wail,
the thunder would roar, the skies would cry and the trees would flail.

She'd throw herself into a pile of auburn fallen leaves so crispy,
looking up at the ripped sky; the darkness broken by lightning so wispy,
and she'd scream and shout and weep in time to the thunder and rain,
until her tears were no more and her soul was cleansed from all the pain,

because in that moment in the woods she and the world were on the same wavelength,
and she isn't as alone as she thought she once was - together with the storm she rediscovers her strength.

What a hero our dear Michael is, plus,
a blessing to each and every one of us.
A beautiful soul enlightened with devotion,
he makes my world brighter spreading light in waves like an ocean.

He's someone who would die to protect another,
he puts us all first like he's our big brother.
He was there when I tried to end it all
and he picks me up every time I fall.

The one person who never gave up on me,
the one who matters the most to me, I wish that he could see
he's a main source of inspiration in my life,
and my admiration for him really is rife.

I wish he could see just how special he is on this Earth,
and I want him to realise just how much he's worth.
He will get all the good things in life that he deserves,
because all good karma comes to serve.

My emotions are obstreperous once more,
I cannot think straight; this sensation I abhor.
The impulse is too strong and the relapse is near,
it's racing through my bloodstream - that alone is clear.
It's screaming at me to be released quickly,
and the anxiety building up is making me feel sickly.

I reach for the blade after four months clean,
why to myself must I be so mean?
It burns and stings as I drag it across my wrist,
every sin and feeling is freed into the midst.
This is yet another battle that I have managed to lose,
another fifty wounds leaking out a red sea and I have lit the fuse.

He's searching for all that will destroy him and everything he knows;
anything that will help him forget the trauma and the surrounding despondent shadows.
First came the shots of ***** and the little white pills he'd swallow each and every day,
then came the self-tattooing of his skin using a thin and sharp silver tip in every which way.
Soon it was the rush of taking an ****** cocktail in the hope of drowning out the violent voice in his head;
and staying in bed for days on end, wishing to be nothing; to be neither alive or dead - but to be a nonentity instead.

It took months of keeping you safe from your demons
to understand that your manipulation deepens
so while I was busy saving you from Hell,
you were pushing me further to it; the poison murdering me well.

Eyes glued shut with residue of tears, not wanting to wake,
fresh tears fall drip drip drip with a body and heart full of ache

Into the darkness I further fall
laying in bed now staring from wall to wall,
my head cloudy, confused and detached;
I've made little red oceans where my skin has been scratched,
and I can't decipher reality from my delusions;
the dark crevices of my mind crawling with daunting illusions.

As Plath once said, "dying is an art"
and just like her it is something I'm good at by heart.
You see, I've died not once or twice but fifteen times,
always by my own hand; sometimes by rope and sometimes
by pills stocked up to the max - always dying
and also always, to my own misfortune, surviving.

Your past is creeping up on you after all of these years,
you wish it would stop because all it causes is pain and tears.
But the darkness is the burden of all that is true;
all the things that have hurt you have made you YOU.

So many times have you lost your heart
to the detrimental work of the devil's art.
With eyes like clouds that won't stop raining,
you can't stop the pain flowing through your veins; how draining.

You're as fragile as a butterfly's wing,
and I know you're hanging by the thinnest string.
But you are here. You are brave. You are alive.
And you're going to make it through the storm and survive.

No amount of strong coffee or sleep
can cure my tiredness; it runs too deep.
It’s the kind of exhaustion from lack of exuberance and hope
and a perpetual state of desolation in which I’m unable to cope.
So worn down by life and the trials it brings every single day,
this is not the kind of fatigue that can easily be taken away.

She was so lovely but then she changed.
The cards her life dealt her made her deranged.
But it wasn’t the drugs that transformed her at all,
it was the pain and trauma that pushed her to fall.

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs so why won't anyone take heed?
Painfully visible yet ignored and pushed aside by all those that I need.
Nobody is listening to my cries asking for help with this despondency
and now I'm drowning in the ocean of despair unable to set myself free
just waiting patiently for the grim reaper to come and claim me as his own
so I can go beyond the veil and enter the dark abyss full of the unknown.

Don't tell me you know who he really is in all his madness
until you know the ways he tried to **** his sadness.
Until you know of the blood running like a river down his thighs
from the gaping wounds he makes all the while he cries,
until you see the crimson waterfalls rushing from the veins on his wrist,
as he tries his best to succeed at ceasing to exist.

Don't tell me you know him until you know how he spends every waking moment at war with his mind,
guided by the black dog incredibly prominent; the same darkness that has him so confined.
Until you're aware of his tendency to seek amnesia at the bottom of endless bottles of whiskey,
until you understand that this crisis leads his behaviour to become most risky.

Don't tell me you know him until you know of how he starves himself and strives for perfection,
because tormentors told him that he's not good, thin or man enough - so it's all he sees in his reflection.
Until you've seen him punching holes in the walls wanting the pain to cease,
until you've seen him popping hundreds of pills hoping from an escape from the world, looking for release.

So don't tell me you know who he really is in all his madness
until you know the ways he tried to **** his sadness,
you only see the parts he wants you to see -
you cannot understand he's broken into merely debris.

I gave you all the power to destroy and **** me,
and piece by piece you mutilated me to debris.
You left more than a bad taste on my tongue;
and you forced stories within me to go unsung.

While I held onto your toxicity I failed to grow,
but once I'd fled your ghastly hold, I began to glow.
I stopped being a **** and grew my petals,
I blossomed into a beautiful flower while you remained a stinging nettle.

Now the tastes of alcohol and cigarettes no longer
remind me of you in the way they once did. No, I'm stronger.
The things you did to me are memories that have stained,
but I will not let you define who I am; by you I will no longer be drained.

I've got to write poetry; I am full of it.
It fills my lungs & keeps my heart beating I confess & admit;
the words and creations flowing through each vein -
a need, a want, that I just cannot constrain.

I cannot help but think of the time,
of the hours ticking by with every chime.
I can't help but notice all that I haven't achieved,
the minutes and hours always have me deceived.



I often ponder all the books I have not read,
of all the things I have not said.
I contemplate all the songs I have not sung,
and of all the slips of my tongue.




I muse over all the people I want to be,
over all the places I want to see.
I realise I'll never acquire all the skills that I'd like
because time is always ready to strike.



I think of all the time I've spent surviving
instead of living; all the times I said my dead soul wasn't worth reviving.
I feel that I have wasted precious years
simply drowning in my own tears.




Time is a mystery and must be well spent,
we should all remain focused on the present.
Take our dreams and make them happen,
otherwise our lives will become meaningless and misshapen.

I lay entwined
in incongruous melancholy
and beguiling sorrow,
held within its
duplicitous, detrimental grasp.

When my victim wakes up in the morning, I am by his side,
he know me all too well so I have no reason to hide.
I smile sinisterly at him and tell him he is weak,
lazy, disgusting and convince him that his future is bleak.
I shriek that he's not trying hard enough;
and I make him feel worthless and rough.
I constantly whisper that he is broken and beyond fixing,
"you are undeserving of love" I can't help but keep hissing.
My lies destroy him beyond compare,
and to my delight he is full of despair.
I crush his world into infinite emptiness - I know it's uncalled for -
then give him a plan and say "ssh baby, nothing matters anymore".
I slowly cut off his friends and family so they cannot save his life,
and soon enough I make him go to the kitchen to pick up a kitchen knife.
I convince him suicide is the only way out of this mess,
and cutting vein by vein he takes his life after a long while of distress.

O how I wish for an escape from all this trauma surrounding me;
Sometimes I wish I could disappear forever and never come back; just flee.
Discover the world in all its glory and forget just who I am,
And forget where I came from; anything to not care or give a ****.
I crave to become lost somewhere unknown to me and explore –
Anything to not have to live my own life or be me anymore.

Another night of overthinking,
unable to sleep with all the sinking
into the darkness fuelled thoughts that cloud my mind -
the mistakes of the past I cannot leave behind.

Another morning of oversleeping - so free,
desperate for the temporary state of nihility,
wanting to remain safe from the world around me,
just call me a reality escapee.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s 4:03am
but the ghosts of her past are catching up again.
She wants to forgive herself for the mistakes that she’s made,
but she’s her own worst critic and she thinks of all those she may have betrayed.
Tonight her sadness is her blanket and guilt is her insomnia keeping her awake,
and her tears are drowning her; she’s breaking down, there is unfortunately no mistake.

I am torn into pieces like confetti,
                   tired from this fight; my soul is empty.

I want to     F
                       L
                     O
                        A
                           T
                                   away and be here no more,
          to find a peaceful place where I’m no longer in this war.

So lost within her own madness,
she was addicted to the sadness.
The voices in her head were so violent,
yet she opted to remain silent.
Death crept up on her and whispered callously in her ear,
then encouraged by its words, she took action so as to help the end grow near.

You left me with a click of your fingers,
when I was at my worst you didn't want to linger.
In hospital after attempting to create my demise,
you decided I wasn't worth the hassle; you couldn't empathise.
Until that day, you had said "you and me forever babe"
and made me feel like we had it made.
You'd given me a diamond ring and told me it was love,
but you'd lied and decided that I wasn't someone to think the world of.
You abandoned me at a time when I was broken and fading,
when I truly needed you, you simply left my heart breaking.
And now that I'm happier I'm so glad that you flew away,
because now I know what I'm truly worth - thank you is all I can say.

With golden curls, snow white skin and eyes
full of fervour while sparkling like lightning lit skies,
she was a free-spirited girl unlike any I've ever seen,
who believed in everything and saw the world as it could've been.
She spent so much happiness that she alone didn't have on people who ****** the life out of her,
Still she gave all the kindness that she possessed hoping that one day the same for her would occur.
Then the world she loved burned and crashed - fell apart overnight,
and the light within her no longer shone bright,
she suffocated under all the debris
asking herself "why does this always happen to me?"
and the pressure to be perfect and be everybody's hero broke her in two,
so she sits on the edge of Seven Sisters cliff with her life hanging by a thread, watching the view.
One shuffle forward could send her to her death;
and the excitement for oblivion catches her breath.
The river below screams "head into my waters so deep,
and let me offer you the protection of an eternal sleep",
With unkempt hair, snow white skin and eyes
so lifeless; the world succeeded in their attempt to demonize
a once free-spirited girl - she no longer believes
so she takes that shuffle forward, grows her angel wings and everybody grieves.

Overcome with emotion; so compressed
as if filled by a fatal venom on a quest -
a beautiful release founded within circumfusing
my entire soul onto parchment - my secrets oozing.
Art is not my craft - but a lifeline that stops me from fading away;
although I wish not to live, I live to write one more day.

Butterflies fluttered while your lips brushed against my cheek as you said your last goodbye,
as you left me for the last time and left me yearning for the answer to the burning question "why?"

I thought you were going to make it out of this tribulation alive,
but your words to me formed a wretched goodbye; you just could not survive.

How strange it is to think of how every single person has experienced this day in a multitude of ways;
that not one person has felt exactly the same as anyone else or had an exact experience today, will continue to amaze.
A few, young and old, are taking their last breaths as God takes them away from earth.
Some are bringing into the world more beautiful souls as they spend their day giving birth.
Several have just experienced their very first kiss and are high on love as they dance around their room,
while more are lying in bed, crying silently as their hearts have been broken by the person they thought would one day become their bride or groom.
A number have had the most optimal day of their lives; they’re in a good place and couldn’t be more content,
whereas others have spent their distressing day writing out their suicide notes wondering how best to say goodbye without causing too much torment.
Yes, how strange it is to think of how every single person has experienced this day in a multitude of ways; that not one person has felt exactly the same as anyone else or had an exact experience today, will continue to amaze.

I miss the days of my toothless grin where I found everything funny.
I miss my big blue eyes being full of light and hope, and believing in Santa and the Easter bunny.
I miss my wild, curly blonde hair au natural,
before I cut, dyed and straightened it to fit in and feel beautiful.
And I miss the days of innocence where I trusted everyone and wore my heart on my sleeve,
before I met the callous people of the world and found that in goodness I could no longer believe.