I will not be this young forever
my bones are bound to weaken and tatter
yet here I am trying to mold myself into something you’d rather
instead of just being me

I remember my own incessant laughter
while I was eating myself up about turning grey
what will become of me then I wonder
will the tongues of people become a predator & I their prey?

I look at myself in the mirror & think
about the times yet to come where I lose and sink
with the weight of my existence drowned in pink
with a childish dream of a future where I sing

tears do not turn back time
regret will only sting like lime
on memories I try my best to suppress
of the times I killed my self
little by little,
just to impress

I seem to loose the essence of what all of this is about.
it before gave me a way to express what I desperately wanted to shout,
or maybe this is just a common case of a poet's drought?
I can never be certain.
I am my own worst critic,
could you say that  I'm harsh or bad at doing my job?
is my self loathing so blinding that I have to look no further for the reason of lost essence?
I don't know what to think anymore
should I quit?
or should I try to live through this tiring phase?
I'm not one for holding on to hope for too long,
and neither am I one to pray.

I wake day after day with the same lingering dismay of what my life has become & of what is supposedly my fate

synthetic happiness works no longer
& I find the craving for death inside me growing stronger
old habits come again disguised as friends that like me better in cardigans that never let my scars show
this might all go away, maybe after one more blow?
songs and trees and mysteries are not enough to keep me intrigued and the bridge I walk by everyday is so appealing to take a leap and end it once & for all
The idea of living much longer makes my skin crawl
& so I am restless and I get into brawls & succumb to my sadness as it became my downfall
I can never quench it for I don’t have the gall as I hit my head against the wall

Artificial honey used to do the trick you see
a simple lick made me forget my misery
even though it sometimes made me jittery
it was also my only escape
It is my high and it leads me to my low but who cares! The tears always flow
wether I’m joyful or filled with woe
this illness sits on my shoulder like a crow
& I have to accept that I am shackled and it truly has me baffled that I can only set myself free by slitting my wrists or drowning in a sea.

I look at my dad and I know that he loves me in his own twisted, conditional way. I can’t help but refuse the love he gives for it is not true but can’t help but yearn for it at the same time.
You see, I’ve never been loved so I wouldn’t know how it feels.
And that goes for everyone I know as well.
We grow up and look and wish we were born somewhere different, somewhere less suffocating, somewhere we can love and feel freedom without lingering fears of getting caught.
Somewhere where our existence isn’t a sin.
Glimpses of said freedom is what makes us happy but at the end of each night we go back home and reality creeps in. We feel so trapped and restricted and all we can seem to do about it is cry.
We grow depressed, we dream of a day where our parents accept us. (For me it’s just the day that I leave this place)
I want to leave this place
I want to go and see the world and wear whatever and speak my mind
I want to feel as I am my own person
And yet I can never leave
And so all I can do is **** myself
Life’s a dead end anyway
I can’t seem to grow the ***** to take it back
And yet it hurts me immensely that it is in the hands of my father
In the hands of society
In the hands of family members and everyone else
Just because I was born with a ******* ******.
and so I will take my life someday
Not tomorrow or next week
But someday when I am brave enough and weak
maybe then my life will reach its peak?
I know for certain that even when I leave people will still speak.
i still can’t say goodbye even when I have nothing else to say
So until I finally do it
I’ll smile at you and tell you to have a good day.