Help. I am unfolding.
Becoming the vast ******* bin that is my mind.
U n f o l d i n g.

Chased by thoughts, memories, and obsessions that need to be gone.

G O N E. G O N E. G O N E. My logical side has left with my ability to cope.
They were cheating on my poor little brain with
Depression, OCD, Anxiety, Diet Bipolar, and the rest.

M  y     m  i  n  d     i  s     a     m  e  s  s

Every thought the same. Every idea, a mess.

I    a  m    a    w  r  e  c  k

**** me. The waves of icky thoughts stick to me like wet sand.
I have become a tragedy.   U N F O L D I N G

Spinning in thoughts, dancing with death.
I've started to roll the 6 sided die, to determine my fate.
I'm waltzing with death itself. Don't get jealous. But we've kissed once or twice.
Hundreds of notes, notes that go to the fiery flames, when I don't use them.
Boy the book I could've written, with my U N F O L D I N G notes.

I've been lost in thought
Not saying the important things like hey, hello, please don't say that
It's not like I had forgotten. But I didn't rightly remember, either
The world keeps spinning but I don't notice
I have forgotten the forgotten, and in doing so, the world has forgotten me
I'm not pleased to say but the world was going to burn anyway
Who cares if I burn with it, if I spin with it, or if I live with it
There is no point in caring about the forgotten, no point in remembering
So why bother trying to forget the remembered or remember the forgotten
It's a paradoxical nightmare you can't get rid of
So I just think and think and think until I'm lost

Choked out by the forces that make me scream
Face shoved into the dirt
Boot, between my shoulder blades
Exist in the perfect cacophny of crying and failed escapes

Dragging me into the rivers of salt lined water
Tears don't form when you are underwater
So drown the innocence out of me so I can't think past the smell of dirt
Cover my throat with a shirt, and wait for me to emerge

The sound of a snap, and a flash
I am trapped, kept from coming clean with a photograph
Curled into a ball, trapped in time
Bound in that awful grime

Listening to "Dance Hall Drug" realizing the meaning
And suddenly my head is bleeding
The clock has turned red, and I've lost my head in a guillotine
It's okay, just light a match and watch me disappear; I'm kerosene

I'm easy to control, with a photo
And I'm just an average depressed ****
Drowned into the person I should be
And I guess I am the best depressed verision of me, lost at sea

Clamate dolor

I'm a cannibal, consuming the flesh of my past
Taking back what was once attached
I'm not going to be the submissive, quiet kid I used to be
I've grown and I'm stronger now, you can't control me

I'm not a victim of your stupidity to get a laugh and some masculinity
I've been busy, and I'm not looking for sympathy
Your hands will never touch me again
You will not get under my skin

I hear things are going well for you, Joey
But your mom and her protection can't stop you from growing lonely
The more people you hurt, the worse it gets for you
That guilt will one day run you through

Tyler, you were always way too protected, with your mom being a teacher at school
And you always thought you were so cool with your copy of the schools keys, you used to "rule"
I could never seem to escape you, but now you are on your own
And you should have known that someday someone would pull the rug out from under your throne

You were so mighty, Nick, with a mom to go handle all your problems
And you certainly took advantage when you were filled with all that self-importance
And when your mom asked where you were, you lied and said it was my fault
Because I just really wanted to add to my list of tramua's ****** assualt

I wasn't cute, I wasn't charming, I wasn't overly girly, but I was weak and "easy"
Of course it's easy to overpower someone if you are big and sneaky
I never had someone to protect me, like Nick, Tyler, and Joey's moms
And I never had someone who'd believe me when I finally took down my walls

I was always different from the other kids, and family wasn't going to help
Who would believe me, over a popular straight A student; for me it was a dead end
No one believes me, I am not good enough, not important enough, to be given attention
But I won't stop working, trying to prove myself, until I am seen as good enough, without question

I am not anyone's plaything anymore, I am my own person
I am not an outlet for your sick *******
I am a being with thoughts and I'm not as easy to control as I used to be
I will bring you down with me

People don't hear the true ****
They hear the pretty depressing ******* I feed to you
In stanzas and well made lines

I hide a-lot in these pill pockets of truth of mine
Like the fact that I undercounted my attempts of suicide
I've failed attempts at home before, but no one would know

Or I've been sexually assaulted more than once
But no one could know the real ****
Because I'm sure it's a turn off

No one gives a **** about the unraveling poet
No one would notice if I stopped posting
It's the curse of writing

The world tries to sweep me under the rug
Even on watt-pad, if you notice, there's no tag for suicide
And the depressing books, get swept aside for the Romance and Fantasy

I can say my work helps others, but that's not true
I can say my kindness makes a difference, but no one notices me
My actions don't do ****, and it's evident by the way people treat me

I am invisible, I am in hiding
I am lying to myself when I say there is hope for me
I should have known from the beginning, people like me don't get happy endings

People see a boy dressed in all black, and suddenly, he's up to no good
It doesn't matter if he always smiles at people and says good morning
It doesn't matter if he works hard to get a good education, and puts in effort

He's dressed in black, so he's not good enough
The world doesn't want to change, and it shows
Why try to change when the world just doesn't care?

I am a statistic, a grade, a number; I am not a person
I am not a friend, a son, or a brother
I am just a name written on paper, I am just a word

There is no hidden meaning to "Gray"
There is no meaning to the word
There is no meaning to me

If I don't show up today, would anyone notice?
How long would it be until people started wondering?
Or would I just become an urban legend

If I die today, would anyone come to my funeral
Or would it be empty, with just my body waiting to be buried
Would people bring flowers I actually like, like a Nymphaea nelumbo, a cherry blossom, or cacti

Or would I just get carnations, the boring ones
Would people give fake speeches about how they knew me
How "great of a person I was" when they'd never spoken to me

When I die, this poetry is the only thing that will suggest the truth
It'll be my defensive to the "I had no idea" argument people love to pull out
When you did, everyone did, I'm kind of ******* obvious

Yet I'm still holding onto our secret
I'm still shut up about your crime
I'm still pretending it never happened like a good little victim

But no one gives a ****, I doubt you even know my name
I doubt you even remember what you've done
And I hope my death makes you feel guilty as ****, well, if you remember me

The world doesn't care about "victims", "survivors", or "warriors"
or whatever else the world decides to call us
They care about making a quick buck, and getting a bit of fame

Shove us into the spotlight to make you look good
Use us for attention, money, and publicity, but I'm sure
It's all out of the goodness of you heart, right?

The truth freaking *****
But I won't apologise for speaking up
Cause I'm the one no one notices anyway, right?

A man drifts near in a cloak.
All black, ghastly looking.
Move closer to the man.

Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?

Reach up to his hood.
Pull down.
Nothing but a pitch black void resides where his head should be.

Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?

Reach into the void.
Swarms of fear, sadness, and anger engulfs the mind.
Screams, matched with whispers flood the ears.
The internal voice drowns, and dies in the midst of the noise.
Pull the hand out.
Cold, grey, silence strikes.
Unnerving silence in the absence of the chaos.
The void drifts away.

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?

First couple days back from the hospital
And already I am hostile
I see razors and want to bleed out
I see rope and want to hang

This is probably going to be a bad thing

I see socks that make good chokers when knotted together
I see paint that makes good poison when drunk
I've lost my innocence
I've found the ugly side of life

I used to see things as mere objects, not weapons

Staples, used to be just a utility for a stapler
Glass used to be something you sweeped away
Detergent used to be a laundry item
And knives used to be eating utensils

All I see now is suicide

I dream about slitting my wrist open
Watching the red spill from my arm
Smiling as I bleed to death
Sweet serenity

I've been writing notes

One to my friend
One to my brother
One to my teacher
And one to a ex-lover

I've become what I once thought improbable
I've become suicidal