Simple fights,
Sleepless nights.
I can make her hate me,
I got that in my sights.
So,
What is right?

I'm here, on a plane,
Miles away-
Ready to cry because
I can't be better.

I disappoint
And disjoint
As a way to
Disrupt, destroy, destruct
Our happiness.

This is the suicide
Of a good time.
My emotionality
And neuroticism
Is the cyanide.
Swallow down the pill;
Drink, drink, drink-
Don't spill.

Pull apart me,
Limb from limb
Because the pain I hold
In my heart each day
Is worse than what any
Torturer could have in store.

My emotions haunt me,
Scare me,
Caress me,
Love me,
**** me over,
And **** me.

I am the one who kicks
Myself when I'm down.
I have an internal battle,
A war
Of the mind,
Heart,
Soul-
Psychology.

I am a bit imbalanced.
I make people hate me.
I hold this in everyday,
This simple fact-
Something that can make me blow up.

I am the nuke
And this time, I explode
Like a kamikaze,
I take myself.

Sadness overwhelming.

Espresso shots pour,
And I'm mainlining caffeine.
The taste of coffee tickles my tounge
And I feel at ease.

Milk steaming,
Eyes gleaming
Smile beaming.

Then the espresso shots die.
I let them sit too long.
Didn't down them quick enough
Or craft a creative caffinated drink
To keep me awake.

I too fall dead asleep
Weak
By the bleak
Black eye
And frowning face.

Uppers and downers
I am the latter,
Flattering to be the the stimulating
Drink that drowns her.

I'm no longer interested in espresso.
A barista falling
Like my fortísima not running
Now crawling.

I'm not caring,
Unawaring
Becoming wary
And scary.

I lost myself
And esteem
To be the milk that was once steamed
And sweetened.

Dead like espresso shots
On a lonely bar.
My head is clouded by knots
Of why I've strayed so far.

I am cold
With a stone body.
Rugged,
As a rock.
I am a sculpture of
Myself.
Blank face,
Carved slate.
I am hard to love,
With no embrace
From this faceless rock.
Tuned to stone,
And a heart so cold.
You flail your arms
And wrap them around me
And wail.
Because, I failed
To maintain my humanity.
As the worst body to love,
I become a rock,
And stay stone faced
And hard to love.
As a sculpture I stand,
Not as a human,
But some terrible stone creature.
And I wear away,
Erosion.

Not a poem, but I'm back from a hiatus and I wanted to let this amazing community know that I will be writing more!

I'm working on a long-form narrative poem so some of those passages will be up here..along with my usual "sad boy" stuff.

However, I'm not so sad anymore so it might be less sad ;)

You first feel it in your face.
There is an uncomfortable
Warmness,
As if all of the heat in your body
Has condensed in your head,
****** from your feet -
Extremities grow cold.

You then tense up,
And shake a bit.
Afraid to talk.
Things look hazy,
And people's words go
In one ear, out the other.

You might not notice it,
But your jaw is clenched.
You become scared and trapped.
You are trapped in your own head.

Your breathing either slows,
Or speeds up.

On the outside,
You look emotionless.

It hurts the core,
And you feel more afraid.

Rinse, repeat.

Plug it into the amplifier,
Record the data.
It's easy.
I wish it really was.

EEG labs are bland,
Boring -
But mostly
Anxiety-inducing
Stressing
Centers for science.

My dream was broken at one of these,
As I came in each day,
Expecting to do great research work
And learn -
Work with data first hand!

That's not how things play out.
I was left without guidance -
Or at least not the guidance I resonate with.

I graduated university bright-eyed and hoping,
Just hoping,
That I could make something of myself.
This is how I felt when I started as well.

I had a dream of helping people.
It feels like I can't get there now.
I walk into the lab
And the others,
My "colleagues"
Speak down to me.
As if I don't have a degree,
As if I am not trying so ******* hard
To do something here.

I want to be part of a project,
I do.
I want to work with data,
I do.
I want this experience to move
On to my PhD
And do my own research
And help people -
I really ******* do.

But this topic is as sticky
As the gel that glues
Electrodes to the participants
Abraded scalp.
I feel trapped,
Not able to convey this to the supervisors -
I could be judged,
I could possibly be looked down on even more.

So,
I re-read the training protocols
And try to get the one more sign-off
To run appointments.
And fail again,
But then try again.

What else am I supposed to do without guidance?
My professors at UIC saw something in me,
I wish the researchers I work with now did.
I wish I saw something in me as well.

Who am I.
Someone
Who attempted suicide
Maybe took one too many psychedelic drugs.
My brain is ****** up now
I lost my smarts.
I once was intelligent.
Now I'm nothing.
A depressed,
Obsessed mess -
Straying from the path
I originally had.

I once was straight edge,
And took my life seriously
With a goal,
With a proactive mind.
Now I try
To be fine.
Turmoil comes in many ways
But it's different when among the days
You think about how you
Could die.

Maybe I still want to.
Who am I.

I forgot.

I don't even know how to write poetry anymore.

Goodbye.