My hands are in fists
and the red has been painted
across the cloth once again.
I broke more than just skin in this instance-
broke more than just the wall.
I can't remember stability
can't remember consistency
but how are you to remember the things
in which you've never really been subjected to.
Taking too much time trying to see myself in the light I need
and not enough trying to fix me.
Bandage upon these hands
no remembrance of how exactly
they got to this point in the first place.
Place me upon a crowd and I will flourish
but alone is a place I no longer want to reside
because I wither and fail and break.
I need the sun to grow
but I was thrown inside darkness.
Not even five hours ago
the top of the world was just a car ride away
but eventually the sun fades and so do I
eventually I am reminded the darkness
always seems to find me here.
Trapped inside this mind
that isn't too familiar with this facade.
Trapped inside this facade
too long now to know what I look like anymore.
Wishing third person was something I could switch to
just to be able to control who I am again.
She has been withered and worn
and she will not return.
Even if I could change things-
take myself out of this equation
there would still be problems to solve.
But I don't want to be that problem anymore-
because I don't think I have an answer.

my pills smell like a hospital
this bookstore smells like my grandma
the faint reminiscence of old memories
cloud the only five senses I own.
I start to wonder if this life is becoming idle
if this IV lining my arms is broken again.
If I have enough will to stay.
These pills smell like a hospital-
and I'm worried you will find me there someday
withered from this world I can't tolerate enough to stay.
But these pills seem to help me stay.
Remind me why I'm alive-
this smell reminds me to stay away.
When the blade calls my name I don't listen anymore
when you call my name I don't listen anymore
I've been seeing your face too often
and not hearing my own voice enough.
I start to think nostalgia and you share the same interests
like you both started a google drive document
and shared the file with me and now it's all I see.
You can edit my life for me
and no matter what I continue to write
you change the font
and reformulate my sentences.
I wish I didn't exist.
Then I smell my grandma in this empty bookstore
and feel the pages against my fingers again.
I'm here whether I like it or not.
You were here whether I like or not.
Paying too much attention to madness
and not enough to bliss
I take up too much time thinking
and not enough doing.
25mg isn't enough anymore
and each time the clock strikes 9
my mind likes to contemplate quitting you.
But I smell the hospital again
convince myself to stay away from that place.
The pill hits my tongue and travels down my throat.
I don't think anymore.
I don't want to know.
I am home-
here in this bookstore
with the smell faintly touching my nostril
with the pills lining my nose
with you writing me apology notes
that sound too **** familiar.
I wish to erase you from my retinas.
I don't want to see you anymore.
I hoped these pills would help-
but they make things more clear for me.
You're face has been all I see
now I seem to be losing me
where did I go?
where am I again?
why are you the only face I recognize?

Little control is had nowadays
and my head is the only thing moving.
The transient state of mind
leaves me motionless again.
Constantly trying to rid of these thoughts-
but the mocking in my eye reminds me they live.
The pangs in my chest remind me they mourn
and the pains in my head tell me they're here.
Waking is the hardest part
because you wished it a dream.
These steady hands and clear thoughts
were only for a short moment
before they were pinned to your neck again.
Taking something with you
that does not want to stay.
Fighting the refuge demanded in your chest
the way it itches it's way out
too much desire to be felt.
You can learn yourself well-
all too much can be an ache of the withdrawn
and you can teach yourself to be better.
That's what they tell me
behind soft words and vacant empathy
they try to convince me of this pain
try to learn it themselves and map ways through my mind
like it's a shortcut I've never really paid attention to.
But there are no secret pathways here
no ancient secrets of the unknown
Walking this cobble road has become
my sanctuary, I know it all too well.
Feed the lines in your head with the lies
they spill upon tv screens and convince me
over and over again that this hidden agenda
behind my eyelids is not masking some sort of pain.
They pray on the weak but that is not me
no I will not let them win they will not defeat me.
The jolting of my mind awakens me
coming to terms with my reality, I smile.
Knowing the only control I had were in dreams-
painting clarity on the background of each scenario.
It seems I have awakened. It seems I can be in control.
Only for a moment. Only with my eyes closed.

I have days I wish these pills
would have never entered my throat
and then days where I wonder
if I could possibly function without them.
I'm tired of being off the rails so often
that I cannot find where I'm going.
You can try to put yourself into my shoes
but I've been running around looking for another option-
they would be too worn out to trace over your callused toes .
Stopping is not an option for me
there is only forward, and on and heading in a new direction.
This life for me has never equated to complacency
or consistency or anything in relation to repetition.
I have no cards to play in that regard
no, not anymore.
The hands have all been dealt wrong and I have lost too many times.
Swallowing my hell whole in hopes to fill this void within me
this never-ending shame of guilt I have put upon my shoulders.
I can only be strong enough to hold myself up
but everyone around me wants my shoulder to cry on too
and I can't give it up anymore
it's too busy holding the things up, I try to hold back
so many times the chip upon the left one
has turned into a crack right down my middle.
As I am staring at myself in the reflection of the tinted glass
my smile makes a mockery of my current travels.
It reminds me that even the best things you can miss,
even the best things are sometimes almost too worth it.
My eyes meet in a mirror and I'm having a staring contest
with someone I don't even recognize anymore
where is her full cheeks and dark brown hair.
Where did the sunset in her eyes go? Away-
just like everything and everyone else does.
Stop staring for two seconds
place yourself where you are.
Do not look back, do not look too far ahead.
Just watch where you're going,
distraction can make you lose yourself.
Keep going-
you cannot crash when you're not in a vehicle.
Keep going-
until your soles are worn and you feel your feet are tense
from trying to put the broken cloth back together again.
Keep going-
you can get new shoes on the way.

I hoped I would be okay-
I realize hoping is all I ever seem to do.
Repeat each line until it sounds good enough,
none of them ever seem to.
The formation is the same
like the kick-drum rhythm that encompasses
each stanza until you can tell-
fully, which writing is mine.
I'd like to think it a stamp
or a sign of some sort
where I sort out my mind
instead of snorting
or taking scissors to my wrist.
You can kiss your own skin
with a blade only long enough to realize
how badly it hurts to bleed
how much worse the warm water feels
when you're showering at 2am
trying to wash away the nightmares
of the one who used to take advantage of your youth.
I'm not asking for an apology letter from God-
just some sort of proof he exists
and when I asked him one night
why I ended up the way I did
he never really responded
I don't think he knows any better than I
and that's the black sheep epidemic-
we expect our problems and issues to have a reason
we disregard their existence like a disgrace
that cannot be seen in public.
But I will stand in front of a jury of my peers
and tell them I am not guilty for who I am now-
only a mere accomplish in life's premeditated ******.
I will serve time anyway
I'd like to think this life now is that punishment
but I know I still have hell to pay.
Pay homage to the broken home
she doesn't live here anymore.

I broke again today-
and then again by starting another poem this way.
I wonder when the repetition will stop
and the consistency will start.
Frozen in time-
constantly running into this art form
face-first and feet last.
I am head over heels again
but not in the romantic comedy kind of way.
In the way that my head travels faster than I can catch it
these emotions flee past me before I can process them.
Frozen in time like I am an old desktop computer
waiting for the signal to go through-
just waiting for that connection
that eventually gets lost in space
and you are defeated by technology again.
Well my mind is the processor-
it has malfunctioned for the last time
and I cannot compute really anything anymore.
I am alone-
a hard drive that only contains one component,
you could try to fit more on but there is no space left.
Nothing left to secure me
and you didn't eject me properly this time
you took me out before I was ready to disconnect.
Now I slow you down-
every time I am used for your gain.
All because your unwarranted rejection
caused a malfunction in my process
so now I am the one slowing down.
They tried to fix me.
But I just won't work anymore.

My heartbeat ticks like a clock on most days
the pounding of my chest reminds me I don't have much time left
I start to wonder why being shaped like an hourglass is such a good thing.
We are always running out of time.
So much so that we don't even count when we reach a mile-
in high school they train you to keep time
but somehow you always end up running and running away from it.
Other kids shamed you for not completing the mile fast enough-
but your body thanked you for not pushing it so hard.
There are days when my alarm wakes me up before the sound comes
like my body somehow knows my time for sleep has ran out.
Things are constantly running away from me-
kind of like you.
I try to slow down the hands to this clock
but as yours wrap around my waist
it only speeds things up for me
because I no longer pay attention to the sound of my heartbeat.
Yours is the only ticking I can hear on those days.
I find myself using too many metaphors
and not enough alliteration or sibilance-
or any other methods of poetry for that matter.
I am too busy organizing these thoughts too quickly
so they do not run too fast away from me.
My mind is something I'm always trying to catch-
trying to keep these emotions in order and on cue
so I don't run out of time with you.
But somehow I end up losing it,
all of it and I am on the brink of insanity again
because how can you feel secure
when you don't know how much time you are wasting
I do not want to waste all this time with you.
If I am just another hour on this clock of your life
it will be the best **** hour you will ever encounter
because the rest of mine are spent trying to place
these emotions that have run out on me.
Spent trying to learn how to keep time,
how to keep them in mind
how to not let them change who I am again.
But see these emotions are not an alarm clock-
they are a pop quiz
an erupting volcano that has been dormant for years,
a hurricane you knew was coming but you weren't sure when,
an hour of detention that goes by so painfully slow
you contemplate your entire life.
These emotions don't come every other sunday-
they don't become planted in the soil inside of me
and sprout when I water them.
They are the dust that collects under your bed
from the particles of your skin-
and you don't know they are there
until you clean out the things you've been meaning to for a while.
My life is all metaphor and not enough logistics.
Not enough order and routine-
the only thing keeping me is time
and the dust has settled again.
It had rested in the lining of my lungs
and sits in the bridge of my nose-
it won't be long until it collects and overflows
and I am dealing with the consequences of not keeping
this life in order, in detail, I made no room for cleanliness.
There is no freedom inside of this mess,
inside of this wristwatch that will not leave
even when I try to cut it off.
The ticking of the clock is all I hear-
it aligns perfectly with the sound of my heartbeat.
I fear it will stop ticking
I fear I will stop feeling
I fear this heart will stop beating.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick.