i struggle
thinking about the difference between reality and what i've made up in my head
sometimes i get confused about whether I'm real or...
- the obvious word choice is dead right?
but **** that because i'm not.

i'm so alive i can feel my heart beating all the time
i can hear my blood gushing through me
this isn't some 20 year old shyster declaring death
this is a tirade against every black cell in my glowing body.

i don't want to feel nothing
but i don't want to feel this:

a hopeless sense of nothing where you can't attach to anything
a feeling that you have so much to say but you can't get the words out
and you have no one to tell
a holding back of tears all day long until dark when suddenly
you feel ok again
but you have a sense of dread, because you know that it will be back tomorrow.
i wrote a ****** poem about the night for my english class and my teacher looked concerned
i told her it was a joke
because why the **** would i tell her anything else

every word i've ever written anywhere i want to erase
every single thing i've said i'm wincing at in embarrassment
if i could eat words i'd be fat, gorging on the humiliation that found its home in my vowels syllables nouns adjectives verbs and mutterings

i feel quite sick at the thought that it's only 13:51 and i have a whole life to lead.

I wish life would just finally decide to let me be happy or just leave me to die. How many days and how many times do I have to just deal and let these suicidal thoughts subside.
There's no magic in our hands there aren't any more sparks in our eyes.
Silly boy don't cry.
Everything is another ******* lie.

I'll decide if my life is worth this or if I'd rather die.
But will I have the courage to change everyone's lives. Leave you all behind
If given the choice, I choose to die.

i still have
feelings for you
i'm sorry that
i left you
but i had
no choice

i couldn't tolerate
with your behaviour
anymore sigh
you are so selfish
you only think
about yourself

do you know that
i started to self harm
and i cry every night
because of you

you leave me with
no choice but
to leave you

once again
i'm sorry
and i still
love you

The outer edge of a poem looks like a heartbeat
have you ever noticed that?
It's a unique trait-
it's art
The outer edge of a poem looks like a heartbeat
of someone who has maybe
skipped too many
beats
The outer edge of a poem looks like a heartbeat
not a bit like mine, though
mine's jagged
all the time
from looking at people not meant for me
and wishing they were
written into my
story
The outer edge of a poem looks like a heartbeat
the inner edge looks like
someone already
dead.