sinfullykillingmockingbirds.tumblr.com

he pulled me close for a dance
air crisp in the November night
our bodies flow in one motion
skin lit by the moonlight

his lips tasted of peppermint
subtly drenched in wine
he held me tight and whispered
light that he'll forever be mine

but as the months piled on
our bodies began to part
our ties stretched far
forever the tug at my heart

i'm afraid your hands disappeared
along with the rest of you
my feet begin to stumble, unknown
different dance to the same tune.

he told me that something’s changed,
that I didn’t look at him the same.
the light in my eyes has faded away,
darkness taking its place.
he begged for her to come back,
the young girl that smiled and laughed,
running through fields
without a care.

existing in pictures and memories
I’ve been told that girl was me
but she is no longer here.

touch his lips
flesh underneath my fingertips.
diving into blue waters
lit by stars that guide the way.

kiss and touch flow together
with the hours spent in bed
and the days scarred forever in my mind.

He told me:
If you want to cut yourself,
then you're going to have to take my arm,
look me in the eyes,
and cut as many times as you would yourself.
I told him:
I couldn't hurt you like that.
and then I understood.
everything.

So here I am, drunk out of my ****** mind, legs wobbling like a fawn just learning to walk. I can barely slur the words I want to communicate with the nameless guy next to me, seemingly incapable of speech. Yet your name rings loud and clear. Landon. My mind in a foggy haze, trying to collect itself yet there is only one thought that is as stable as my most sober thought. You. You are always there. In my minds most vulnerable state, I always circle back to you. It will always be you. Don't you get it?

he’ll take his whiskey off a drip
yet still winces with each sip.
says he’s got things instilled that ought be killed,
but this pain he can never rid.
he says he dreams of god
maybe that’s why he spends so long
with a drink at hand between one night stands,
catching each hour as they run.

he sleeps less each night,
spoon and needle at his side
as they rock him to sleep with a mother’s ease
kiss his head then turn the light.

he’s got no plans and too much time
counting each minute until he dies.
says his years’ been filled with tears and pills
it would be nice to just unwind.
his friends are concerned
but don’t say a word
they can spot a lost cause and what are the odds
that he’ll be successful this time?

my mind is troubled by the emptiness,
having only the mess you left behind.
perfect the art of saving what is left,
trying push past the finish line.
I can never seem to burn away the inside
to clean all that you have touched,
erase the stains of your hands, believe me, I’ve tried.
the floods washed away this home,
left me alone with the words
hanging from the ceiling you broke.
I swear I was going to ask you to stay.
it was on my breath when you broke my chest.
wrap up these bones,
they’re no use to you.
splintered, shattered,
like a present.  

how can hate still spit from your lips?

it seemed like the other day
I snuck into my parents' room
grabbing whatever I could reach.

placing my feet in daddy's ginormous shoes
suit jacket drowning my little frame
but I looked just like him.

longing for the time to arrive
where I would pick up the suitcase
and get behind the wheel.

thirteen years have passed
and I'm still that little girl
playing dress up in her parents' closet.

trying desperately to fit into the adult world
setting down the Barbies
and picking up the suitcase.

Only this time it's not willingly.

that was when my habits just got worse. i was so incredibly angry with everything. i was so confused by my feelings and wants and needs. i became so self destructive that even others who didn't know me could see the effects. one day, senior year, a blonde girl in my photography class grabbed ahold of my arm for closer observation. the gashes stung and they ripped open anew.

"why do you do this to yourself?" she asked. it was so blunt. this girl i didn't even know asked a question that my closest friends were too afraid to even mutter. i was so shocked, i did not know how to react but gather my belongings and leave.

i became someone other than myself. i no longer recognized the reflection in the mirror. the eyes hazed with indifference, body aching and weak from the constant loss of blood. for safety reasons i will not describe everything i did out of confusion. but it got to the point where sobriety was like an itching wooly  sweater, clinging to my neck.  

i was called to the office by three separate teachers over those two semesters, i was able to beg two of them not to call my parents. they were 'concerned' because i 'was not acting like myself.' i was such an angry, hateful person. angry that the man i loved didn't want to be alive, to stick around for me. angry that my parents never spoke up. that was all i needed. just for them to tell me to stop.

nothing particular sparked the suicide attempt. just a continuous dissatisfaction with the world, i suppose. so vertically i drew the razor blade, releasing me finally.

"I told you I loved you. It was the first time I had said it out loud, but I don't expect it to bring you back to me. I say it more like lighting the last match just to watch it burn."

He was like reading a book
at the kitchen table, while waiting
for the kettle to boil, and the
blinds letting in just enough light
as to not disturb the cat (if you have
a cat) in its peaceful slumber
on the counter, next to the flowers
you have set out.
That overwhelming sense of
home before the eeriness of too much
silence crept up on you, and you’d
have to move because suddenly the
air no longer held the serene
feeling it had only a moment ago.

He was danger. But you loved it.
Because he kept you on edge,
that alert he made you feel.
Your sudden awareness to everything.

He made you feel so ******* alive.

But he leaves, almost too quickly.
Like sunlight behind the clouds,
and as abrupt as the screeching
of steam as water boils.

And you realize he doesn’t
quite feel the same way you do

Our generation is the victim of deceit. Misled by the books and poems and movies that has seemed to become our diet. Our form of entertainment eventually becoming the subject of our daydreams.

I am so sick of this romanticization of suicide. This dark artistry that seems to allude this picture of choosing to end ones life. That there is love in pain and martyrdom in the death of someone before their time. And so we thought ourselves saints as we drew the blade across our skin. We envisioned a gallant setting of roses and candles at our funeral. We thought that the hanging of the noose was some form of metaphor, some elaborately constructed final act that we must abide to in order for the 'perfect ending'.

Through this journey of recovery, I had reached an epiphany. Calling ******* on this obscene lie I had been feeding myself since middle school.

There is no beauty in suicide.

Suicide does not make a saint or a martyr or whatever gold painted character you imagined yourself to be after you had passed.

Suicide is the end. That is it. It is death, and for all we know, you may cease to exist. Total abyss. You won't even be able to realize you are dead because your mind will no longer work. Just black.

When you draw the blade vertically up your arm or put your mouth around the barrel of the gun, you better be committed. Because once that trigger is pulled, there's no going back. El Fin. There is no hope of waking up in the hospital as you pictured. Your story will end right there.
There is no beauty when your parents or your lover walks in to find your dead body, trust me. I know. There is no beauty in this complete devastation, just inexplicable pain. And that pain will last them years. Even 15 years later, as she is washing the dishes, your favorite song will come on the radio. She will stop, close her eyes, and imagine the 'what if'. What if you were still alive. What if you were standing next to her, enjoying the little pleasantries in life.

Imagining your funeral is useless, because you will not ever know how it will be played out. You will not be some floating spirit in the back of the church, watching your mother weep over your corpse.

I agree that there are reason's to end ones life life, and that people are entitled to them.

I just believe that the youth today should not be fed this ******* romanticized picture of suicide.

if only there was a warning
of your arrival, of the havoc
you would wreak. the trail
of broken bones and
absolute despair you would
leave in your wake.
how good does it feel
to know the power that
you hold? ripping the
bark from the trees,
exposed and vulnerable.
warping and withering
foundations and frames,
the home we were supposed
to have together. it was never
your plan, was it?

you could store water
in the wells dipped deep
into my neck where
your grip once was.
your hold is too strong,
its weeds choke my lungs,
steals my own words
to replace with your own.
I was your garden
and I felt your hands
uproot my ugly, but you
took the flowers away too.
I stand now, an arboretum
of almosts and painful potential.
you leave me barren so
I have nothing to offer,
nothing of my own.
I wait to claim back
myself, all that I have,
and I am almost ready.

“I hate when people ask what I am thinking. I never really know how to answer that question because, quite frankly, I don’t even know. Over the years my mind has seemed to transform into this hive, thoughts flying around in a gray cloud, each one having their own separate buzz. And all of these sounds fuse together into one confusing and paralyzing hum to where I can’t identify a single thought. So I don’t know how to answer the question as to what I am thinking because there are so many thoughts crawling on top of each other to get out. And so I choose to just be silent. Being silent is just so much easier.”
I looked up at the man. He appeared to be only a few years older than me, maybe in his mid-twenties. His hair, dishwater blonde, was swept to the side, the kind of style fraternity boys at my previous school used to always wear when they had to dress up for chapter. His eyes were so vividly blue. Every time that he looked at me I would stay still, purely out of fear that he found me transparent.
But he had an amused grin spreading across his face, dimples carving into his cheeks. It was a common smile of his: one not of understanding, but of assumption. “And what are you thinking of right now?” Dr. Smith asked.
I rolled my eyes, accidentally releasing two unknown tears that rimmed my lash line. I met his eyes, gritting my teeth. “You’re not listening.”

The naïve hold letters, light on their tongues
Afraid to set fire, watch wars have begun
As long as their hands are clean.
And the depressed drown their lungs
To muffle the screams they’ve cried
Since the years of youth.
And the vengeful will live since they have reason
While the sad mourn over the turning of seasons.
They’re both standing in line for their turn to die.
So kiss my lips, since we are guaranteed tonight
Since I am your ease and you are my high
Tugged habit bound come back with the light.
I felt them try to pull you back
But please stay with me dear, till I draw my last.
The bitter are screaming, heard off in the distance
Sharpening their words, claim their victims
In the name to collapse and conform.
The desperate are trees, they long for your after
Arms yearning north, I found myself under
The shade. Waiting in our meeting place.
Please don’t leave me with my reflection, she doesn’t play nice
Surrounded by haunting documents of time
She never goes to sleep.
As she watches me die, I hear her laugh
But please stay with my dear, till I draw my last.

I cannot forgive you
for your past mistakes
because they are wrapped up inside my chest,
burning like the summer sun.

I cannot forget
the nights when I felt like nothing
and I held a bottle of yellow pills in my hand
because you pushed me over the edge.

I will not forgive
this feeling of absolute sadness
wrapped up inside of me,
I will not forgive
the stab wounds to my back
that the words you couldn't speak to my face left.

I will not forgive the person I became
because you said I wasn't good enough
(and I still never will be).

I'm sorry my words come out
when I'm neck deep in alcohol,
but drunk words are sober thoughts
and I've never been known to keep my mouth shut.

You are everything I never wanted to be around,
a disease of the mind, body, and soul,
and I cannot forgive you
for being the decay that is my demise.

I remember Mondays in Coach Mac's class. How I loathed yet loved this occurrence. During the period of poetry, each student was asked to write one of their own and read them aloud in class. To write your feelings, your thoughts, onto lined paper and stand in class constructed spot light, asked to peel the skin off of your body to display.

Others mastered the art of avoidance. Of detachment. They often wrote about how fall was coming or an ode to another classmate. But I was never good at running. So I wrote. Not of happiness because he is a stranger to me. I wrote of what I've known for the past five years of my life.

They told me I had talent. And each Monday they anticipated the moment that I would stand up and read.

They wanted to hear my words. They wanted to know the hopelessness of depression and the consuming sadness that I have only known. They hung on to every syllable of my heartbreak and every stroke of ink of my depression. They wanted to know. They wanted to hear. They held on because I wrote words that discomforts, subjects tucked under the rug. I wrote about the raw experiences they themselves could not verbalize. Yet they were familiar.

They wanted the words from someone else's mouth.

They fell in love with my depression but they never wanted to help.

i like to play with fire
but that of a different kind
the one that engulf bridges
to light the nighttime sky.

I crushed the love that was holding me up
it fell through my fingers effortlessly.
I broke your spine, my dear,
and I’m afraid I cannot piece it together.

the bones of it hung in the wind
suspended in kaleidoscope expectations.
I wanted to see things that were simply
not there, grasping at the air.

desires disfiguring the innocent implications,
the shattered glass words cut my mouth.
and there they laid on the table before you,
mangled, mutilated yet beautifully clear.

I almost heard you reason to
prolong this painful charade,
and I almost could not stop
myself asking you to stay.

I wish I knew why he left. What his reasons were.
Why he changed his mind.

For all these years, I have turned it over in my
head--all the possibilities--yet none of them make
any sense.

And then I think, perhaps it was because he never
loved me. But that makes the lease sense of all.*

-Lang Leav

cold shoulders crack under pressure;
just shield your eyes and look away.
it’s easier to deny you are lost
when you never see the light of day.
learn to love the tears in your seams,
the pages that withered in time.
healing has a beauty of its own.
be gentle with the time it takes to grow,
to embrace the spaces in between,
the process of learning how to be free.

Where are you?
But, my dear,
You are in my dreams,
My nightmares.
You are there
Laying in the empty space
On my bed
As I wake up.
You are in the mirror,
My tired, defeated reflection.
Every heavy footstep
Reminds me
Of the many more
I will have to take
Without you next to me.
I see you in the crowd.
Everyone has your face.
Everyone has your voice.
Everyone has your stance.
You are in the words
I write down
Every stroke of ink
In every syllable.
You are in my salty tears
And forced smile.
You are in
The three scars
On my left wrist.
You are there
In my mind
As I close my eyes to sleep.
You are in my hope
That of you I'll dream.
Where are you?
But, my dear,
You are everywhere.
You are my existence.
You are life itself.

Happiness, you liar!
Hope, you thief!
Wasting away my thoughts
And my time.

I could run miles and miles
Feet gushing blood
In pursuit of you, Happiness,
Never within reach.

As Hope whispers in my ear
Painting a world that is not there.
Building me up
Only to be blindsided by reality.

They team up,
Taunting me.
So naïve
For ever believing them.

The world can keep its happiness
And silence its hope.
I don’t desire either one.
Thoughts built on delusion.

If I never climb,
I will never fall.
And sometimes,
That seems best.

I plucked the blood soaked
molars from their bed,
witness the decay
growing in my head.
cavities collapse
on themselves, and yet,
I am here, standing.

scabs scratched under my
fingernails, scars made anew
stung by the sunlight,
I am on display for you.

take these shallow bones
and the hollow words,
carve my jaded eyes
and relieve this hurt
you caused when you touched.
you caused when you let
me love you this much.

if it would put you at ease,
I will strip myself down,
baptize myself in your sea,
by your hands I will drown.

if it would quiet your mind,
I’ll sew my own mouth closed.
actions grow louder with time,
hollow intentions disposed.

you are the air in my lungs,
the god to which I pray
the religion on my tongue
I return to each day.

save me from a life without you,
give me a love that will consume.

he took my hand
carried me to where the cold
hugged my ribcage and
sang through my lungs.

our fears on our backs
to godly heights, there
the world turned at our feet.
The sun kissed your cheek.

our bodies melted into the snow
and the trees reached over,
cradling our shut eyes
and heavy breathing.

whisper me your sorrows
and I’ll kiss each one
from your lips. Your smile
is far too beautiful to hide.

Your wine-drenched kisses
Turned tangled feet under covers
And cigarette taste

now you’re just a reflection, the anxious
itch of addiction, the exhausted ache of
alcohol drowning my veins into a subdued
state. you are the moaning of each muscle,
reminding me of how difficult it is to simply exist.
you are the inferno engulfing my chest as
bourbon fuels the flames of the hell that
I am. you are the angry, crimson cuts collecting
over my arms and legs because physical pain
is so much easier than the empty bed you
left behind. you are the approaching decision
of whether to sink or swim. and I am so scared
of choosing either one.

i must confess something that neither my parents nor my psychiatrist knows. one of the most important moments of my life that i have been too afraid to even speak aloud about. the darkest yet most positive instance, the turning point on my road to self ruin.
i was fed up with life, but that was nothing new. i had given up on people long ago, decided to go detached from anything and everything because losing them was inevitable. and overwhelmingly painful.
i swallowed a total of eighteen pills. there was no trigger to this suicide attempt, i was just following through on a decision i had made long ago. at first i was upset because it wasn't working. i was still conscious.  i was still alive.
then they hit like a ton of bricks. waves shook my body so hard that i collapsed onto my bedroom floor. the weight of the pills was pulling my body to the ground. anchored down, unable to even lift a finger. the world was spinning and pulsing, my body covered in a cold sweat.
it was the most beautiful moment of my life. why?

because for once in my life, i was scared of death. for once in my life, i wanted to hold onto my life. in those numbing hours, i could feel my life slipping out of my fingertips and i wanted so desperately to hold on. i couldn't even call out for help.

that was the moment i decided that i wanted to live.

you hold me with your sweater
on lonely winter nights
Whiskey repeats your name
but it never sounds right.

and I’m no more for divinity
for this course we’ve been through
the hell that is you
what I could do to deserve this.

now your just words
an intricate design
just continue to stare
you lose meaning in time.

the girls that took my place
the title meant something then
but there’s so many of them
I learned I was never different.

and you call me hateful and jaded
which is probably true
but it’s the only way I know
to survive knowing you.

I hope their brown hair eases your pain
and their blue eyes help you forget.
and have unbelievable ***
and forget the hearts you posses.

but don’t worry about me
not even years from now.
I can look back and say
I know how a bullet sounds.

i cannot seem to comprehend...
a loss for words every time i begin
choking and cracking
welling of eyes
shaking, the uncontrollable
wail that was caught in my throat
no longer could hold.
confusion. dumbfounded. phased.
what went wrong
what went wrong
cause this was not meant to be.
we were love.
we were the ones that deserved to make it.
it's unfair
no one looks at another person
the way i look at you.
no one hold another's body
the way that you do.
please.
you are a part of me.
you are my identity
and i don't know what to do.
i cannot think of beautiful words
because i cannot think at all.

all you had to do was ask. simply say the word. swallow your pride just this once. dismount your high horse and meet me face to face. admit for once that you need me just as much as i need you. all you had to do was reach out your hand and i would be right there. i watched you drown. flood your lungs. i dove and swam in pursuit of help. but you were gone. you descended into the darkness, chained by your own arrogance.

when people are gone, they are often illuminated as those sitting amongst the saints. but not this time. i see you for what you really are.

you're too in love with your own misery to every possibly love anyone else.

your skin tastes empty, my love,
sweet fallacies on my teeth
pulled your words from my tongue
how bitter they could be.

I memorized the curves of your back
and the rising and falling of shoulder blades.
what I remember most of all is the
sound of my voice begging you to see me.

the air was cold
you never turned around
scratching your spine
biting your collar
please see me.

document  the hours passed
with the emptying bourbon glass
you told me that you don’t like bars
so I left in the back seat of your car
I told myself that I wouldn’t drink this much tonight.
but tonight you won’t stop looking at me
you won’t stop tracing my cheek
and I wouldn’t want you to anyways.
I wonder when the neighbors will wake up
will they still have rings of their makeup
pressed onto their lover’s neck?

I thought I wanted to stay 18 forever
but then we wouldn’t have a forever
in the living room, sipping whiskey on your couch
waiting for the world to just slow down.
but if you could stop to listen
you could hear everyone’s existence
balancing delicately on the seconds running by.
our forever is tonight.

homes built on gray space
balancing on lover’s grace
I retract and confine,
soothed by the mercy of time.
they have their marching orders
and their detached constraints.
the shattered stained glass ceilings
portray them all as saints.

I painted you in gold,
your crown was set in stone.
cracks collected in silence,
crumbling once alone.

bruises under my eyes
scars on my wrist
weights on my feet.

unbearably difficult
to function normally
as if i know what normal is.

i relived your death
your funeral
every single day.

i've dreamt of your face
to be harshly woken
by cold reality.

I’ve felt like something was wrong with me
for not feeling at all. this flat, heavy indifference
that sits in the pit of my stomach, like whiskey
I haven’t even tasted. so uncomfortable in
this body, this state, like my skin is an
itchy, irritating sweater that I can’t seem
to pull off. I want to feel again. I want
to know what mornings are again. I want
to have this longing for life and experience
that had once made me want to actually
be awake. I’m sleepwalking. constantly
in this blurred phase that makes everything
slower, everything distant. maybe my body
is in shock, protecting me from the flood
of emotions from the empty bedroom you
left behind. maybe this is for the best.

the red wine slurs
that stain my teeth
boil behind bones.
your crimson hurt
and clumsy feet
shake this glass home.

the cracks creep up
and take their hold,
crush the veins that
had gave them gold.

you are not mining for coal, you
take what you want and now you'll go.
my blood underneath your nails,
secrets that were not mine to tell.

I could feel your bones as they ache
and fell in love with the sound
that they make, stretched over mine.

their moans and their whispers told
all I’ve ever wanted to know
without a word escaping your mouth.

could you love me, bare and true
without the reflection of you
etched across my forehead?

could you take these broken bones and
fix the mess that was never your own?
Because I would love to be yours.

let the edges blur,
easier to see
muted silhouettes
with your amber hair.

your words, once easy
to swallow when you
stained my lips crimson,
leave a bitter taste.

like the aching in
my outstretched arms,
clung to expectation,
fallen in defeat.