I feel so fake.
I'm full of lies and deception and hatred
and everyone just sees my **** crooked smile.
When will you finally realize that
I am a horrible person?
Get it through your head:
I do not care about you.
It must run in the family because
I'm only capable of caring about myself,
and I even fail at that.
A failure in every sense of the word.
Pathetic. Weak. Forgotten.

An all consuming feeling like that of
being buried alive, when every bone
feels as if it will snap in half the
next time you breathe. Your
brain feels like it is going to break
out of your skull and bounce down
the hall to the room you cried yourself
to sleep in every night since you were
twelve. Every thought runs into another
and there's a seven car pileup inside
your head. Your nail polish is chipped
an hour after you paint them because
you've found something that is easy to
peel away; you pretend it is your skin
with every rip, tear, and scuff. The only
thing that seems to be going right in life
is that your bed still feels like home even
after you wake up from the same nightmare
four nights in a row. You keep your door
closed to keep the darkness out but it only
serves to trap the demons in. Your fingers tap
at a dimly lit keyboard hoping that a string
of letters and syllables can release you
from the grief. You inhale someone else's
problems and exhale their smile, but the
curve on your lips always seems to be
facing downwards. Stop trying to fix every
single thing around you, and start with
yourself.

A whisper in the wind;
a butterfly soaring too close to my face;
a penny in an impossible place.

I feel you beside me with every breath
I take, every time I move, every blink.

Yet I question your existence beyond
existence, I struggle to fully accept
that this isn't just my overactive imagination.

I never got to say goodbye, and maybe
that's why I don't utter those two syllables
anymore--I missed my chance.

"I wish it had been me"
"I could have prevented it"
Shameful thoughts, yet they exist
just the same.

I'll never have the strength to listen
to that final call; I know the last
words but not the fleeting thoughts.

"Hold on and pray"
either ironic or powerful,
however you choose to look at it.

Did you spend your last moments
praying to someone that would let
you down? Or did you just
cry out for help?

Did He save you? Or is that what
we tell ourselves to stay sane?

Even when I tell myself the best,
there's no chasing away this insanity.

I yearn for your comfort.

I'm not praying right now,
(I don't anymore)
I'm crying out for help.