I can feel it.
It's constantly perched on my shoulders.
Breathing down my neck
Icy fingers dragging down my cheek
Sickeningly sweet
I don't let myself dwell on it for long.
But when I do...
When I face the inevitable, I know
There's nowhere I can run

You look at her and see her beauty
I look at her and think what you think
I see her creative spark and the way she smiles.

Though, what she does not tell us
is that her mind
has ran out
of words
We have lost our window into her mind.

When I was a child
I was scared of the dark.
Of the monsters that lurk in it
The monsters ready to get me.

When I was a child
I was scared of the monster under my bed
Scared it would come up, grab me by the ankle
And drag me down
Down
Down.

When I was a child
I was scared of ghosts
That they'd haunt me
I thought they were real


I'm not scared of the dark
It's different now.
I'm not scared of the darkness that has embedded itself around me
The darkness I breathe in
Not scared that one day it'll suffocate me.

I'm not scared of the monster under my bed.
I want it to grab me by the ankle
Climb up next to me
And hold me.
Because there's no one who's held my like he could.
No one who knows how broken people need to be held.

I'm not scared of ghosts.
I'm not scared of the silly tricks they pull to scare me.
Now, I want to be one of them
Fly free from my troubles into the afterlife.
Finding my rest in peace.

Do not leave me alone with a pen and a scrap of paper.
For I will bleed.
For my mind will spill through my eyes.
Eyes that have seen more than they should have in fifteen years

Do not leave me in the kitchen.
They say it’s the most romantic room in a house
In a home.
But this is not a home

So here I serve
I serve you dinner
Dinner with a pen and a knife.

Trust me, I know it.
I knew it before you said it
before you knew it
before you even thought it.

I wasn't always like this and you know that.
I was vibrant and happy and free and reckless and joyous and dramatic and full and...
and...
and everything was beautiful.

But I know I'm not like that anymore.
Life has pushed me to the ground, held me there and made me watch.
I watched the life disappear from my eyes.
You didn't see it.

You didn't see me looking at myself in the mirror everyday.
Watching the confidence and light drain from my body like water running through a riptide.

So, yes.
Yes, I know I'm not, in your words, "The right head, no offence."
The polite way of calling me ****** in the head.
I know that.
I watch it get worse and worse evey day.
Until my clock stops ticking.

Sometimes, I tend to
watch blood
as I make it gush
out of my body
like it hates me
too.

I used to scream for fun
And listen to my voice
as it bounced off the walls of my room
and came back to me.

Until the day my screams came back
They planted themselves in my head
And now, they live there

I haven't known the peace of quiet since then

Eyes like diamonds
Deep and beautiful
Capturing my soul.
If a siren's voice were a tangible creation,
it would be her eyes.
Like a void.

I would leap in without a second thought.

They come to me as whispers in the night
Though they don't strike at night
They catch me in broad daylight

Large hands that wrap around my throat
And they drag me back

When I try to run, when I try to escape
They grab me by the ankle and drown me in the dark and murky waters they reside by

They've made it very clear they don't like me
The people in my head... they don't like me.

I know what i have
I'm aware it should feel like the moon and stars were hung.
Just for me.
By her.

That doesn't stop my heart from wanting more.
My brain, my sanity, my focus
They've been tied to my heart's hip as it runs
Head first into the cyclone

The cyclone of wanting more

You can't see it
And I want to tell you
I want to look into your diamond eyes as I say,
"Can you hold me a little longer? Please?"

I don't know either.
Maybe I am drifting
Maybe I did something wrong
Maybe I'm losing my mind,
my sanity, my worth, my sense.
Or maybe I opened my eyes
And saw the thorns on your roses
through bleeding eyes.

It was real.
I can feel it.
Like fingers wrapping
Around my wrist.
Wispy and delicate...
Or rough and jagged?

You tell me it never happened.
But why is my pillow stained with my tears?

Because I know my tears were real.
But to you...
They were just phantom tears.

Somebody told me I could fly.
I believed them.
Somebody told me I was worth it.
I believed them.
Somebody told me I had a purpose.
I believed them.
Somebody told me I was beautiful.
I believed them.
Somebody told me I was loved.
I believed them.

Or so I told them.
Because the demons in our HEADS never shut up.
They never rest, so in turn, neither do we.
They draw out their ugly claws.
You feel them dig deep into your skin, locking into place.
They see you as their first love.
The kind of love no one ever forgets.
And they SCREAM.
Ear piercing screams driving straight down into your SOUL.
And silence...
Then...

Someone tells you you can fly.
"You'll fall."
Someone tells you you're worthy.
"You're worthless."
Someone tells you you have a purpose.
"You're useless."
Someone tells you you're beautiful
"You're uglier than us."
Someone tells you You're loved.
"By the darkness lurking in your head. Grab the knife, honey."

I find myself awake at night.
Unable to sleep.
Lost in my thoughts.
Talking to myself.
Or my best friend - my notebook.

I've known it since I could talk: freedom will never be mine.
It was never my mother's.
It was never my grandmother's.
It was never my great grandmother's.

When you are raised like I am, you are taught from the moment you can walk
that you will need to be someone's wife.
You know that some day, someone, somewhere will come looking for you.

Sounds sweet, doesn't it?
It is.
Sickening and unsettlingly so.

If you are raised the way I am, love exists.
Just not for you.
It's not something you will get willingly in the end.

Yes, you may find it when you're young.
But in the end
the inevitable is that you will need to force yourself to love him.

And he has to be "him"
Rich, smart.
Who gives a **** about if he's a good person?
Who gives a **** about whether or not he cares?
the whole point is to multiply.

So, slowly,
I've come to acknowledge
that this isn't a Disney movie
No one will come looking, no one will accept
Nor will I be able to look for them
the broken and insane mess that is me.

Sharp heat sears through the layers of my skin.
White hot and blinding, leaving an echo in the room I once called my home.

Then follows the deafening silence.
Enveloping the shell of what was once a free and happy child.
What is now empty and lifeless.

Because you can hit her.
She's your punching bag.
The kind that won't swing back.
So, go on. Do it again.

And kiss it better just to shatter it again.

I understand what I used to be
I understand I used to glow and laugh and smile
Everyone loved that
I was carefree
Feeling like honey bathed in sweet, warm sunshine

And now...
Not even a stalker can pinpoint
                                                        ­ where
                                                           ­               it
                                               ­                                   went
                         ­                                                                 ­   downhill
But telling a drowning person they used to be on land doesn't save them.