staying small means taking less damage
less air
less space
though your bones will creak and groan in agony, the amount of movement needed to survive becomes minimal -
like a doll, holding your breath until it becomes frozen in your chest
watching life go on without you
adapting to the complacency.
it almost feels okay

Dostoyevsky said, “your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.”

I've felt rage seething in my chest for as long as I can remember. I've felt as his talons ripped open my sternum, digging for a place to call home. this rage has nestled deep into my ribcage, devouring my will to survive while carelessly residing within my nightmares.

I've surrendered to this forsaken depression fury has vacated deep in the confines of my irises - despite witnessing myself across grey-tinted glasses; a smoldering storm rippling miasma throughout my body, manipulating my hands into a devout pyromaniac; suffocating every chance to heal.
I've known nothing but bitterness congesting my heart. My dreams were burdened dreadfully with the stench of wrath. it mutilated my arms; burrowing into capillaries, and asphyxiating my habit to vanish.

This incessant sin I've endured has brought me to my knees, existing only to ***** out my ability to be a mortal in an unforgiving universe. I am not a cosmic metaphor, the iron residing underneath my skin has become impenetrable.

I am adorned with stillness while this betrayal has bloomed into a supernova. the things in which I lack have ignited into an endlessly violent explosion -

Atomizing my bones, swirling stardust into a forlorn emptiness.
A world that was held by the unfaltering resistance I persevered against, it has ravaged my memories, my moribund existence trembled; shivering from the growl of the recoil - the remnants of creation kissed abysmal lips within the faraway distance of a boundless abyss, raining tears for the last time as the destruction leaves a life void of meaning.

The last words ever heard in this universe spoke softly as if to lull the existential bereft into a long hiatus -

"This was all for nothing, just as destitute as this vacant nothingness, human life is ill-fated to be star-crossed and powerless."

why do i apologize when im the one who got hurt?
how many times must i search for forgiveness in the hands of someone who limits the air i breathe? while they wipe their sins on my clean clothes, the filth makes me a martyr
my body doesn't feel like my own, the faded scars on my arms seem so unfamiliar
what have i given up to be able to blame myself for all the ways in which someone can hate?
my skin has become unyielding, not allowing the words i have to say spill from an empty canvas onto deaf ears
this heart has caved in, occupying the empty spaces that once belonged to functional lungs -
where have they gone?
everything has become so blue, an ocean has swept me away, and the stars have taken over the sunlight glistening within the waves
why must everything become doomed in the end?  
if i fall to my knees in defeat, face the pain of others and call the afflictions i've been given freely, as grace.
does this mean that I've been saved?

“She is a lost cause. She’s better off dead than the way she is now. She’s the single most pathetic and laughably idiotic person I’ve ever met in my life. I find you laughable for wasting any amount of time on her. She is one of the scourge that plague the earth and make humanity not worth it. If she would stop ******* about her problems, **** it the **** up, and ******* deal with it for once, she’d be better off. But she’s bent on making herself miserable and being overdramatic about everything. Anyone who tries to help that god-forsaken excuse for a person is doomed to be dragged into her chaotic and twisted game. Good ******* luck, you’re gonna need it.”

a poem

To love or not to love - that is the question: Whether its easier to remember, or to forget long memories and, by hiding, avoid the pain.

To love, to love to feel - no more - and by thinking to say I lost the happiness I had once felt and that of his own - it’s a loss I do not wish to feel.

To love, to feel -

to feel - perhaps to cry. Yes, its the truth, for in feeling what awful actions may come after when I am running from death’s call, someone must make me stop and live. That’s the thought that makes a mess of ones heart for who would want to face the truth of thine fears, the first loss of something beautiful, the crushing weight of forever, the ache of loss in your heart, the emptiness in your chest. My breath is shallow and I cannot see for the light is no longer shining. Soon the darkness will creep upon me but when will my emotions come to life?

Who would heed the threatening tears, to scream and cry through the many days, the horror of losing thine sanity to love makes me twist in agony and the demons came faster than the time went for my heart to stop beating.
I stand in a blurred daze, wanting to go back a few weeks, instead of wasting that crucial time tearing myself apart looking for answers that’ll never come.

Thus the chance of missing life makes us move on and thus the pain of love is made clear by the reality of short lives and minds made peaceful, with thoughts of a new beginning may you lose the dark thoughts of tomorrows night.

In the morning, make me a cup of coffee and cascade the emptiness with all of my regrets, salt the wounds then add a dash of mistakes.

let it spill over, burning a road map down my arm and guiding us toward every house that wasn't home. let me savor each drop bit by bit until my energy turns into persistent delirium. let the traffic lights be every person who caught you on fire, and let the stop signs be moments you stopped breathing before your lungs decayed into road rash

we're moving again

traveling on a road of desperation wondering if anything could be different had we chosen an alternate route.
my brain says, "take a back road. become lost"
my heart retorts with, "weakling, you're already lost."
unable to make a difference, this map will forever lead to the same destination.
this pain will continue, amidst the eternal return  
traffic lights accumulate, stop signs become unbearably longer while my breathing becomes the only heat I can feel against this coldness, an open wound continually dragging across asphalt
over and over again
my bones begin to disintegrate underneath defeated limbs, within the times I've told myself I'm okay, sorrow formed a foundation around my demons. these pretty lies had become my best friends, they gave wings to my broken spirit while once so bright, it had been extinguished by the sea that flowed between my grief.
all at once, the lies I've told possess mouths with razor-sharp teeth, and their deep-rooted fury has proliferated for what feels like a century that I've held them captive in my hands.

27

it has been 27 years since honesty was gifted the sun, while it burned her hands, she smiled and said,
"It is agonizing but it is so beautiful"
how much longer will I suffocate under the burden I've become?

am I uncomfortable with myself or the people around me? if I tell you how I feel then the only thing that comes out are screams -  

does it make it any less believable?

do I turn into the girl who cried wolf when I can't give you proof? i'd gladly show my veins nevertheless commit any sin for credence.
I began to ask the stars if the wounds I’ve given myself outweigh the times I've been abandoned or caused desolation to the things i love let alone touch.
they whispered to me -

"I don't think your resolve could ever be enough in this lifetime."

it started to rain.
I'm not sure if it came from the clouds above or rather my own eyes.

they all let go of my hands, only to be given the chance to surrender so they may save themselves from drowning in my maelstrom. we are humans after all, naturally born with the instinct to survive. they realize that the me they’ve come to know is as empty as my words seem to be, they disappear from view while every road leading to introspection seems to flood - I'm stranded in a convex over places I've submerged; watching in envy as the ones who chose to move forward are so far ahead now, maybe drowning would be better than being shipwrecked observing life go on without me.

the universe seems so arcane now

you’re magnificent and I’m a ******* with no understanding of how this world works - I’ll smoke a cigarette, maybe the smoke will make my lungs feel the way you once made my heart feel and this emptiness will drift out with what I’ve filled myself up with, maybe I’ll blow it in your face the way the world blew up in mine. hopefully it’ll take your breathe away till you suffocate.
suffocating doesn’t seem too bad when you’ve been dead your whole life but you don’t know how that feels, do you? lucky little boy with a lucky little life filled with everything you could ask for but nothing is ever good enough for a narcissist with a mind that fights you till you fight someone else. How foolish of me, I called that love. The bruises looked so beautiful to me, it made the suffocation feel like home -
My therapist said that I find home in every depreciating joke, every boy that hurts me, every drug that makes me fly. He told me that I’ve lost myself because my love isn’t alive. It’s buried in between my thighs.