I wake
from dreams of you
like ocean waves
that crash
upon the shore

forgetting
a second
before I remember
you're
no longer mine

I don't want
to be

awake

maybe,
if I
keep my eyes shut
these waves will swallow me again,
drowning me
in memories of you

but memories
become regrets -
and my mind is a hurricane
with rain like
a storm of thoughts

thoughts like

how
this could have
been avoided
if I didn't let my emotions
play me
like a puppet

how now
our days together
will be replaced
with somebody else
and the sun will set
all the same

no longer
a person
in your life
but a story
you tell

I'm
trying to say,
I’m sorry and
you're right
it’s my fault
I was wrong

I'll be here
when you want me

when I was younger,
when I felt low as I do now
I would lash out
try to hurt others
try to make them feel
the pain I felt inside.

now,
when I am depressed
I try to be as kind as possible
to anybody
who treats me nicely.
I dont want another soul
to have to experience
the pain I feel inside.

every kind, honest word
anyone has ever given me
resonates
inside my hollow chest
I think of these words
when I am feeling down
sometimes,
I repeat them to myself
to drown out
the negative voice of anxiety
that is screaming
all of my faults.

I
would suffer in my depression
alone,
and eternally,
without a second thought
if it meant
that other people
would never have to feel
the pain I feel inside.

I want to tell you,
you have value.
your life
is paramount.
you are beautiful
even if you don't see it
even if others disagree
if you are feeling low,
tell me.
I will send you a message
of every beautiful thing
about you.

and yes,
you are loved.
even if you feel
nobody loves you.
even if
nobody else loves you
I do.
I love your personality
your face
your flaws
they make you
exactly who you are
and,
I love your existence.

I may hate myself
but I refuse
to take it out on others.
let me be your escalator
get on my back
and I will lift you up
to a higher destination.

no one,
besides me
deserves to feel this low.

in my dream last night
my favorite poet
Sam Pink
wrote a list of reasons
why I ****
and why
he hates me

reading it
was probably the coolest thing
that's happened to me
and it wasn't even real

I've been saying
my depression has been
getting better
but has it?

does it matter?

does anything matter?
(nope)

why do I care
about my emotional health
when everything
that occurs to me
has no value nor importance

the only impact
I will ever have
will be
to other people
other
mortal sacks of flesh
whose lives
are equally as meaningless
as my own

all of my words
and thoughts
and lack of emotion
exist for less than a nanosecond
in the entirety
of the universe

I'll just continue
distracting myself
from humanities
inevitable fragility

each human life
each of our
manifestations of consciousness
are as irrelevant
as a grain of sand-
tiny
bland
and irritating

together we form
a beach
the kind that nobody wants
to spend a day at
scattered with trash
and a pungent smell

bury your head in the sand
and ignore reality

write me a list of reasons
why my existence is pathetic
I will agree and nod along

everything that is in myself
is inside everyone else

death is inevitable
so get used to it

I just feel like
an empty shell*

those were
the only words I could find
when asked
to speak more
about how I've been
feeling

how can I describe
the way I
feel
when I don't even
feel
real?

an empty
egg shell
split in half
and lying in the trash
whose insides
were fried
to be devoured
by the devil

devil
or
lucifer
or
negativity
or
my own mind

all the same
thing
(being?)

the fragile
discarded
snake skin
leftover from it's owner's
moult-
the snake
is nowhere to be found-
just the shed
old skin
of who it used to be

the remnants
of the caccoon
after
the butterfly
takes it's leave

the box
that your Amazon order
arrived in
nothing left inside,
except packing peanuts

I no longer feel
like a human being
though that statement
implies
I've felt like one
before
(I haven't)

talking to others
makes me feel real
when I'm next to you
I pretend
there's something inside
of this empty
vessel

someone tell me-
what makes me
who I am?
as of right now
I feel like
all I am
is
a sack of flesh

a lump of meat
with the ability
to be aware of it's
self
unimportance
bad decisions

no soul
there's nothing inside
I have
never
felt whole

it's not just a
piece
of me
that is missing
it's the
entire
*******
thing

the soft,
farmiliar
fuzziness
of your blanket.
the humbling
wall art
comforting
house
a place
where you feel
safe.

the movie
starts.

walls
become tall
narrow,
you never noticed
the way the
darkness
lingers
in the far back corner
so that you
are never quite sure
of what
could be hiding there.

even after
you turn on the lights
you still
tiptoe
through the hallway
peeking
at every turn
swear
you heard something
swear
it's hiding
waiting to get you
scamper
to your bedroom
lock
the door
fall asleep
with the lights on

little did you know
it appears
when you are
asleep.
lurking
watching your every
toss and turn
waiting
for the perfect chance
to strike.

don't
close your eyes
don't
sleep
it will
devour
you.

every year i mature
and age
feels like
a million more realizations
that this life is
depressing
and a waste

maybe depressing
is the wrong word
should use
miserable
agony
despair
like HEY
you there
consciousness
or
soul
whatever you call
the me that is me
before this body
here
latch onto this vessel
this insignificant
organism
in the grand scheme
of life
and
**** IT UP HORRIBLY

wish i had
someone other than myself
to blame
for my own sadness
the tears that fall
are not from another
hurting me
they are from
the me that is me
that is hurting
myself
daily

how else
to live
how else
can i
survive
i do not know
another way
do not think
i could learn

just
depression
with
distractions
distractions
distractions

have another ******
play another game
talk to another person
person
who is more human
than me

i do not feel
human
i do not feel
whole
i feel
like
the bottom
of my cup
of tea
just
remnants
of sadness
and bits
of
the tea leaves
the essence
of myself
only to be
washed
down the drain

The rainbow
Of you and me
Would start with white.

"But Beck -
white isn't a color
it's the absence of them,"

Before I told you
that I loved the way
your words flowed across the page
we were whiteness.
You: oblivious to my existence
doing what I imagine
as respectful activities
of a father and husband.
Me: in a nineteen year old haze
loving a soul passionately,
playing video games, while discreetly
******* to your novel.
Which reminds me -
if you ever write erotica,
(you should)
please include the *****,
naughty,
gritty details,
that make my body rise and fall;
that make my wings flutter
in fleeting ecstasy.

We passed yellow
awhile back
intrigue, curiousity
you told me
you would never cheat
you can't help it
that you want to see people naked.
Lucky you -
I adore
showing you my naked body;
I touch myself
and reach my peak
to the thought of your eyes
caressing my curves,
your gaze
pinching my hard *******
as you explode
on my pixelated body.

I may have left you behind
as I reached green
a few weeks ago.
that's okay,
cause this place is a garbage dump.
envy
of the woman whom you belong to
who can feel your skin
who gets all of your words
all of you.
that's okay,
'cause all I really crave
is your body,
anyways.
I want your thickness
in me; but
I've said that enough times.

You've spent enough time here
Please wait in the car
I'm not the me you like
When I'm drenched in blue
Anxiety and
Self critique
Has brought me to be
Drowning
In depression
In my self loathing
I make pit stops by blue
All the time, it seems
I never leave
Used to be once a month,
Then once a week
Once a day
All day.
Days go by and I cannot breathe
Engulfed
In the blueness of never
Never have been
Never am
Never will be
Happy
Or
Satisfied?
I see your hand
And grab on
You pull me from the murky depths
You buckle me up
And drive us
To

Orange
Craving you
I want to know how you taste.
The budding sun
That rises
The daylight
The hand that pulled me
From the dark blue
Affection, a bit, but
Mostly
Intense lust.
**** me in orange.
Pull my hair until I scream
From the pleasure
Of feeling you inside me
Of you
Clawing
At my back
Orange, is just a vision
of ecstasy
close to the suckle enchantment
Of red
Deeper than
The innocence of yellow
I am writing this in orange

But I want you in red
All of you
The taste of passion
You've been teasing me with
I want it all
Spank me red
****
Me
Red
Make my sore
Tight
Passage red
From filling me until I collapse
I know you will never
Leave me unsatisfied
I am your pet
Of pleasure
Of anything you desire

Empty into me
With purple
Collapse onto me
Your satisfaction
Gleaming
Deep
Pure
Evil
I will massage you
Work away the stress
Of your successful
Life
Wash it away
In purple
Wash me away
In purple

there are
three states of matter.
three
states
of Becky

solid.
i am sturdy. i am
for the rare times in my life
responsible
respectable
hard
to crack
but if you do
I am like glass
i shatter
it takes a long time
to fix myself
I crumple
I realize
though I thought I was
indestructable
one short fall
on to the
rock
bottom
and I am
everywhere
a mess
a pain
to clean up
I promise
even if you vaccuum
I will still stab you
in the sole
of your soft
foot
when you are least
expecting me

turn the heat up.
I am liquid.
emotions
freely
move about within me
they are
controlling
my decisions
controlling my life.
I am
liquid
most of the time.
you cannot
break me
for I am already broken
into
tiny
molecules
of who I am.
I float
along
in my
state of being
rising
with the temperature.
who I am
makes me angry
it bubbles up
inside of me
popping
splashing
singing
hurting those around me

dont
get close.
dont
show me your skin.
your real self.
I will burn you
when I boil
I will hurt you
stay
away
even though
I ask you
not to leave

my gasseous state
is nothing at all
numbness
i feel
less
than air.
less
than anything
that exists
at all.
I drift
through life
but I have no weight
no passion
nothing
just
a reminder of what I was
who I am
the people I've burned.

the scars i have left
hold more of
who I truly am
than the me that
is myself
in this state.

the smell
is the worst
potent
dank
lingering
long after
I have begun to form the moisture
on your upper lip

you will lick me off
swallow me
please
don't wipe me away
let me
inside of you
I won't hurt
you
anymore
I promise

in my dreams
something is always
chasing me
that something
changes
sometimes
a malicious ghost
sometimes
nothing definitive at all
just something
to run from

I spend most of my
dreams
coming up with plans
to escape
to hide
if I crawl inside the
computer
and become one
with the technology
the lady ghost
will never
find me here

until
she decides
to use
the computer
she always does

if I sneak into
this auditorium
maybe
I can blend in
and whatever
I am running from
will give up

climbing
over rows of unoccupied
seats
think I am
safe
until I look around
surrounded
by amish women
I am like
a bright red button
in a mound of dust

my attempts
always futile
I will
never succeed
never get away
it will
find me every time
but what will?

the dream
changes
as soon
as I am found
my eyes
open
before I can ask
why

five years
dreaming
of constant pursuit
it's no wonder
my
waking life
is filled
with exhaustion

when I dreamt
of an armed man
chasing me
through fields of wild grass
I turned on him
grabbed
the gun
and shot

one
two
three
still trying
to grab me
hundreds
of bullets
pierce his
dreamt up flesh
and he does not stop

I've been told
in these dreams
instead of
running
to ask
what they want
why am I
being pursued

I dare you to try
my dreams are nightmares
if I ease my flight
for a second
the darkness
will consume me

the sun
which finally brought an end
to the teeth chattering
winter
the warmth
I feel on my skin
the reminder
that summer comes
again

is blinding
my *******
eyes

seeping through
the window
no matter how many
different ways
I adjust the shades
or how many
sheets
I drape over the window
it still manages
to burst through
it's brightness
the most annoying
pestering
obvious thing

that which gives me life
I curse
and wish didn't exist at all

once I get
the writing juice flowing
it never stops
pouring
over me
into every part
of my life
every conversation
I find myself
making art with my words
or, trying to.

literature,
specifically poetry
has become an escape for me
instead
of substance abuse
or video games
or seeking
attention
I write
my thoughts down
make them
real
take them
by the hand
guide them to the door
and close the door on the way out.
but
I love
watching them leave.
it is the best part.

poetry
is the woman for me.
I have been waiting
for her
searching
for someone
who calms me
pleases me
inspires me
for what seems like my whole life
and we have finally met.
I will hold her close
I will love her
and I will
explore her body
with all of mine
caressing
her smooth skin
with my fingertips,
my mouth
my tongue
I will taste her
and savor it
I will appreciate
all of her curves
and beauty
the flaws, too
she never leaves me unsatisfied
I promise
to never leave her
I promise
to appreciate all of her, always

I never was keen
to the concept
of an open relationship
but she has me experimenting.
I am content
if she sees others
and lets them
appreciate
her delicate, perfect body
the way
the ***
is better than anything else
I would have expected
I'd be jealous
but poetry
is always surprising me.

I have not found
another
I want
nor desire
more than her
but should I ever,
I am allowed
to explore their bodies
as well.
as long as
at the end of the day
she is the one I fall back on.

I have always had a crush on her.
when I was 15,
I tried flirting
but
gave up
when I saw
how others wooed her
so
much
better
than me.
it took time
for me to get enough courage
to try
for her love
again.
she never left me.
she has always been here
waiting,
with open arms
for me
to fold into her embrace
and touch
her *****
making me see
contentment
in her eyes
as they roll
upwards
and she arches her back
in pleasure.

it is
and never will be
better
with anyone else
besides you
babygirl.
you give me a reason to live.
beauty
to this life.
my
wife

caress me with your words
they are honey
that drips over
all of my existence
coating me
turning me into something
more sweet

I am tastier
when dipped
in your sugar
savor me
devour me

but often
you enjoy me
raw

I try to be kind
but.

it is Tuesday.
I am crying
smoking
alone
outside my work
I am quite obviously
trying to keep it
on the DL.
there's no
loud,
dramatic weeping.
if
I wanted a random strangers
fake
caring
I would howl like the wind

I
would flail my arms and legs
against the ground
kick
scream
make it known
that I want
your words that drip
with fakeness
and your selfish
motives.

"hey-
are you okay sweetheart?"
do I ******* look okay?
why is it
any of YOUR business.
old man
stranger
I am sure you meant well.
but believe me
I know that
anything "comforting"
on your part
will just be regurgitated
lines
that you read somewhere
or heard someone say once
do not
pretend to give a ****.
keep your
unwanted
unnecessary
words

like,
it will get better
(thank you, all seeing being of the future)
don't cry!
(******* and don't tell me what to do)
but you're too pretty to be upset!

so since
I am physically attractive to you
Am I not allowed
to feel?
I am prohibited
from having
any emotional depth
any
substance
that would make me
a human being.
you make me hate life
ten times more.

maybe that's somewhat unfair.
maybe he was only trying to help
maybe I should
appreciate that somebody
wanted to make me feel better.

no, he wanted
to make himself feel better
a pat on the back
so he can pet his ego
and make himself feel
like someone who is
real.
good.
kind.
I don't care
for your half hearted sympathy

*******
I don't want to be
something
that helps you sleep at night
that makes you feel
like you are worthy
of the things you desire
worthy
of the women
you ******* to
worthy
of devouring
the grilled
carcus
of what used to be
a living being
that is sitting in front of you
with a bow on top.
you are worse
than the animals you eat.
you are worse
than the spit
that I launched at your feet

which to you, was
"way out of line"
good.
think about why it happened to you.
learn from my spit.

my words of advice
to this man:
next time you are out
and you see a stranger
who looks sad
or someone
who is crying
silently
to themselves
leave them the **** alone.
if they're making a scene,
that's something.
but there's a reason
I was discreetly
crying.

you are not entitled
for me to share my pain
my thoughts
my feelings
with you
if I wanted to,
I would.
me spitting
at your feet
is nicer than any words
that would have exited
my mouth.

hibernating
for two days
good morning
is at
4:30
in the afternoon.

let me hold you
while I hibernate
let me
wrap my legs
around you
become
one
with your body
our dreams
intertwining
into the same
cloud
above our heads

the same
cloud
above me
right now.
the drizzle
from our dreams
speckles
my head
the pieces of them
raining lightly
on me
as I wake myself up
with the afternoon air

let's run naked
in our dreams
soak
ourselves
in the rain
I always thought it
to be
relaxing

good morning

a forgotten cardboard box in the garage
filled with your childhood toys
after the basement flooded
my edges are soaked and moldy
and when you pick me up
I will break
and my stuffing will fall out.

the unfinished scarf I started to knit
when I was eight
and quickly disposed of
for something more entertaining

the dry, crusted ****
from my sister's dog that
consistently, and unfaillingly
is on one of my favorite shirts
whenever I come home.

the moldy cup of orange juice
that sat on the top of my dresser
at my dad's for maybe two months
when I was 12
that I was too disgusted
to clean and wash down the drain
so it just sat
until finally I just opened my window
and threw it as far as I could
letting
nature make something of my trash.

my best friend when I was 14
told me she didn't want to be friends with me
because her mom thought I was a ****
and because
I ate her french fries
without asking.
earlier that year she wet the bed
when she was sleeping over my house.
I didn't make fun of her for it.

the sheets with her ***** stain on them that I threw into the wash.

the paper towels I used to soak up her ****.

I make jokes about how I starve myself because I am starving myself

if I didn't make it look
this good,
someone might think
there's something wrong

after I stomped on your heart
and smushed it into the ground
so that the pieces of it
smeared
like graffiti
I then
spit on it
and laughed
and kicked the little bits
that were leftover
into
the drain

so
why is it that
you still won't let me
be alone
when I am depressed?
why do you still
offer me your arm
your company
and conversation
when everyone knows
I deserve none of it

in a way
it makes me hate myself
even more.
like hey,
you totally wrecked
this really awesome
and kind person
hurt them in ways
physical pain could never match
but they still
offer you comfort
and warmth
and somehow
can accept
what you caused them.

maybe,
it's because I was finally honest
when you confronted me
with evidence.
maybe
it's because
I poured my miserable soul
into a glass
and let you drink from it
so you could taste
my depression
and realize it was not your fault
all of it,
everything,
was mine.

I know I've told you
how much I appreciate
the company
and acceptance.
if I were left alone
with my thoughts
I wouldn't be able
to stop crying.
even if we aren't speaking
even
if I am writing
and you are playing video games
your presence
relaxes my anxiety
and silences my depression.
without trying,
you pop a pacifier
into their mouths
and finally,
they stop crying.
I stop crying.

you are a friend
to me
when
I don't deserve it.

you are a friend
to me
when
I need it most.

the sun rises
above me:

a display of vibrance;
colors red,
pink,
and orange
sink into the sky,
pouring into it
a new day

my world
changes before me,
from one of darkness
into a world
spilling with light

a performance --
a transformation --
fleeting, yet
always
a humbling experience;
one as wondrous
as it is
consistent


the sun rises
above me,

and

honestly?
I feel irritated
that it had to come up
at all


I think if heaven is real,
then undoubtedly,
mine
would be our night
if it never had to end.

or,
it could be
any night.
honestly,
it's anywhere with you.


fruitless?

maybe,
if it were lust
calling me to you

it's like,
I could care less
about the fruit -
I just wanna be with the tree
they grow from,
maaan

dont ever stop.
do it, when you're bored,
when you're sad,
lonely,
or *****
don't stop.

save all of them.
keep it somewhere
safe
when you grow
a bit more
you can look at them
and watch
how your writing matured
as you did
too.

this world *****.
like, 95% of the time.
know you are beautiful.
know that there are
hundreds of people out there
who would worship the ground you walk on
so if
someone tells you different
know it is just their opinion
one
out of
billions of others.

know that if you suffer,
you are not alone.
but,
just as importantly,
know your suffering is unique
and just as important
as anyone else's.

put yourself before others
but consider others
while doing so
if you are jealous,
understand
that it is admiration
and as much as that person
may be everything you wish you were
they are not you.

you
are also me
I wish I had someone to tell me
when I was younger
that life is really ******
a lot of the time.
but that there are things
that make the shittiness
worthwhile.
feed your passion.
don't let anyone tell you
you can't do something.
because you
can
at least
try.

your thoughts
matter.
your opinions
matter.
you
matter.
if someone tries
to belittle them
because of your lack
of life experience
let it
inspire you
to prove them wrong.

be yourself
share yourself
with those that deserve it
blow
the seeds of who you are
into everyone you meet
they will grow
watch them grow

you
matter
because you change
every person you meet.
you are an important piece
to the puzzle of life
and one day
you will find a place
that you belong
with other pieces
who fit your edges
perfectly
and who stay close
and comfort you
and who recognize
and appreciate
the beauty
of who you are
like I do.

funny how
I lie to myself
and pretend
everything is
okay
getting better
when I am really
just shoving my
depression
to the side
ignoring her
and pretending
she is starting
to wane.

I am not
getting better.
I am still
hurting those who love me
and getting upset
when they speak
on how
I have hurt them.
it's like,
I know.
I know I am horrible.
I am stupid.
unthankful.
so why do I
keep doing it
why won't I
change
I'll wait
on these steps
in the cold
rain

the rain that earlier
seemed peaceful
relaxing
now to me
it seems
crushing
bearing the weight
of my faults
with each drop
that hits
pushing me
farther
towards the ground
until I am nothing
but the pile
of snot
tears
and rain

I want to be nothing
yet
I want to feel
love
and intimacy

why don't I just
give up
why don't I just
stop
talking
to anyone in my life
maybe
if I disappear
from others
I will begin
to disappear
myself.

I just want to cry.

you'd think
in the state of mind
that I've been in lately
sleep
would be a relief

nope

guess not
'cause
I've been forcing myself
to stay
awake

two days now

it's not
that I even want
to be
awake

when I am
conscious
my loneliness
and the
weight
of my
empty
soul
are exhausting enough
that I never
want to leave
my bed

yet
I force my eyes open
drink
my eighth cup of tea
strain
my body
and mind
to keep going
without
rest

I don't want
to dream
again

I can never
seem
to recall them
as of late-
however
the feeling
of what they were
their presence
still lingers
after I
wake up

the emotions
within them
randomly
stab my brain
while I am
awake

more often
than not
the leftover
remnants
of my forgotten
dreams
make me feel
worse
than my
waking
feelings do

never been happier
to be home
never been more miserable
to be home
throw
my bags of crap
material possessions
kick
the eternal
mess
that is my room
that is me
make a path
to my bed
lonely
twin bed
one
pillow
one
blanket
not much
but enough

enough to hold me while I cry
my blanket wraps her arms
around me
my pillow
lets me vent
I will pretend they are my friends
I have
no
friends

the ones
who would be the closest
thing to a friend
I have
do not answer the call.
do not answer the message.
it's okay, 'cause
I isolate myself
from them anyways
do not answer their calls.
do not answer their messages.
if I had any
remainder of myself
left in me
I would laugh
because
my bed is my only friend
and I am my worst enemy

writing.
write
down
the pain
devastation
realization
that this is what life is
it at least
feels like I am talking
to someone.
maybe
no one
but I am venting.

my tears
are sulfuric acid
they have melted my skin,
who I am.
right
through
the bone
scar tissue
weak tissue
tissue that will break again
I am no longer myself
I am the remainder
of what is left.
ugly
wrinkled
mess
unrecognizable
as human
I am not real
I am not a person
at all
just the
acid tear drops
that fall
and the scars
they have left

wouldn't call it
insomnia
I haven't even
tried
to rest my head
and sleep.
forcing
myself to stay awake
because the time
before drifting
asleep
is the worst.

it's easier
when someone
is next to me.
I could
hold you
feel your heat
against me
hug
you
cuddle
you

even though
I am small
being the big spoon
is my favorite.

craving intimacy.
but when
I receive it
I end up
pushing
it
away.

I used
to search
for attention;
anyone
to talk to
anyone
so I wouldn't
be alone
with my thoughts.
I've stopped
looking for
my
satisfaction
in others

"love yourself,
or no one
else
will,"
that's a lie.
others
can, and
will love me
but I can't
accept
that love
return
that love

it's just unfair
to them.

I don't want to fall asleep.
not
the sleep part
but
the falling.
the time with my mind
alone.
although I lack
an internal monologue
I still
feel.
my thoughts
are not words
they are
feelings.
when I write
I make them
words.
when I
am falling
asleep
alone
those feelings
are
unavoidable

wouldn't call it
insomnia
just
forcing myself to stay
awake.

wouldn't call it
an eating disorder
just
not making myself
eat.

wouldn't call it
addiction
just
the way I miss you
sober.

wouldn't call it
life
just
a tragic comedy
the
lament
of
me.

body and mind
without soul
I search for her

no trail of breadcrumbs
for me to follow
to find her hiding place

no reply
when I call "marco!"
just empty silence

left me cold
like
being broken up with
by having
your calls and messages ignored
cut off from their life
with no reason or answer
as to
"why?"

I search for her
in my writing
in my hobbies
I know our interests
are the same, at least
I have comfort
in that

hoping
she'll show up
on my doorstep
with a smile and a hug
explaining
she just went
on an unexpected trip
but that
she always planned
on coming back to me

to us

how do I live
without her
I am nothing
without her

calling her phone
to no avail
answering machine
turned off
if I could
leave a message after the tone
I would say:

dear soul,
without you
my life is autumn
and I am the
dead leaf
that has fallen
from the tree of you
the breeze carries me
but I have no home
I will be crushed
by a single step
swept up and
incenerated
when I become
a bother

please come home
please give me
a call
let me know
what I did
what I can
do
to be with you again

until then
I'll be looking for you
around every
street corner
I walk in the
daytime
and in every
shadow
the moon casts
upon my bedroom
while I am
lying awake
wondering
how to do this
without you

if I told you all of the
horrible things I've done
would you still be nice to me
would anyone

if everyone in the entire world
told me all of the
horrible things they've ever done
would there be a single person
left
that I still liked

are we all just
lying to others
and ourselves
painting on our fake
masks
everyday
careful
yours is peeling off
and I don't like what I see

please **** me

Clouds like smoke fill the sky,
Pearl white ash becomes grime.
Sleep beckons me with its embrace,
Dreaming to strangle me
Under blankets of black.

Time devours feeling,
But death consumes everything.
I am the dirt underneath your nails,
Leave me to rot.
I want to decay with you.

If you know the words, sing along:
Indifferent hands control us all.
Chaos, destruction, escape -
As it begins,
So it will end.

here I am
crying again
at 5am
what a joke
how pathetic
what a waste
of existence
air
time.
better off
dead

my worst habit is my tendency
to binge
on absolutely everything.

“moderation”
you remind me, constantly.
to that I say,
my precious
as I consume
   consume
        consume


i don’t like my sober mind.
i feel too much like
my mother,
whose worries eat her alive.

inebriation gives me
the power
to not give a ****!
something i lack when in sober thought.

****,
it’s like anything and everything
causes a stress and worry
i just want to be away from it
for a little while.

that little awhile
being every day
at every chance i get.

I am the
ugly sofa
on the side of the street,
frumpy
with
stuffing coming out
of my sides

forever damp
from the multiple times
it has rained
in the months
that I've been outside
waiting
for a potential
rescuer
to come
and give me a home

for them to sit on
lay on
have *** on

no
rescuer
to come
only
mold
mold
mold

some kids
decide it would be funny
to drag me
to their backyard

not the living room
I was thinking of
nope

not even
a roof
over my head
just
a place to sit
while they smoke ****
and laugh
and shoot squirrels
and drink beer
and ash their cigarettes on

oh well
what more
can a
moldy
frumpy
discarded
old couch
really hope for
anyways

“i dont want you to think
im only talking to you
because i find you ****”
well, you are
and you and i both know it
because im ****
and because i liked your writing
and cash and *** cells
sprung your mind
to initially reach out to me.

now maybe there is more
but finding me ****
and then actually ******* doing something
about it
are two entirely different things

i want to feel you inside of me
i want to arch my back
as you **** the hell out of me
making me see angels
and moan your name.

but no -
i will only taste the idea of that
the glimpse of passion
of lust
of what i want
to be ******
how i should be
fidelity
prevents you from moving forward

now maybe my opinion is bias
but unless cheating
is the strict definition
of skin to skin
skin to mouth
mouth to mouth
mouth to lips
my ***** lips around your ****
then you, my dear friend
have already been cheating
for about two months

maybe i just crave you
and by telling you
that the highest scale of flirting
is still cheating
you will say **** it
and just come to me
and **** me senseless.

maybe not.

i hope
she
continues to satisfy you
as much as you have been
to where
youve been reaching out
to others
to get that satisfaction

i will still
sell the **** out of your books
i will still
tell people
your writing is beautiful
and timeless
and that you are
an amazing person
i will still
refuse to eat meat
though i thank you
for helping me make that decision

you are still
my second-favorite poet
the first one,
is a much bigger **** than you
and hes never even been
in a single one
of my
wet fantasies.

this darkness
is slowly consuming me
eating away at my life
I do not fear
for there is not much light
for it to take away.
however,
I would enjoy to have
a brightness in my life.
it does not have to be
quite like the moon,
or a star,
I would be more than satisfied
with something equivalent
to a dimly lit candle
or even
a dying lightbulb.
just something,
even if it is small,
that can help me see.
although,
it is likely
the light will never find me.
I guess I will
just have to teach myself
to learn to see
in the dark.

this child is screaming
like somebody has grabbed him by the *****
and told him his wife cheated on him
on their anniversary.
and she’s been cheating on him
for two years
meanwhile,
getting mad at him
and causing fights
over him watching ****
and the history of him viewing
“hot teen **** loves ******* ****”
but she’s been getting ******
by his best friend
for two whole ******* years.
and his friend
was the one to tell him this.
he is heartbroken
and miserable
he feels like his entire marriage
and life has been a lie
married to this sick *****
who's been keeping him around for what reason?
it’s not like they have kids
they have a cat,
but they both know he’d probably let her keep it
without much discussion.
so why the ****
did she keep him around
if she’s been getting dug out
by someone who satisfies her
so much more?
that’s the kind of noise
that’s erupting from this babies mouth
i want to walk up to him
and tell him to **** it up
that life always *****
and he’ll have to learn it
sooner or later.
if this is ******* me off
so much
imagine how the *******
parents feel.
i would have drowned it
by now.
this is why
when people
tell me i’m a sweetheart
i laugh
because they don’t know
what goes on
inside my mind.

old friend!
kind one,
smart one,
one with humor-
why does your mind
refuse to realize
that you cannot
keep up
with your
addiction
forever?

I am not asking you
to put down
the tinfoil
the pipe
the line
this instant

I know addiction
all too well

when it is in your grasp
when you have
your hand
on the ripe
red apple-
let alone,
your teeth
already sinking in
to the first bite-
it's nearly impossible
to release the
forbidden fruit
and climb down
from this tree

you have tasted
the knowledge
the sweetness
of the
fruit
and you will
crave it
now that you know
the brilliance of it

you are punishing yourself
you are hating yourself
you are destroying yourself
you are killing yourself
just realize
that

I will still love you
I will still be your friend
I will not
however
be around you
in your hazy
daze
after you have eaten
the fruit
of which you know you shouldn't

I promise you this-

if you
step away
from the tree
of sin

life
will begin
to look
different

find yourself
a spot
in the garden
of
life
far, far away
from the foliage
of
temptation

set up
barricades
to protect you
from the
snakes
enticing whispers
and let go

you will suffer
deeply
the first few days
without
your savory fruit
but within the week
you will begin to see
all else
this garden has to offer you

look at the way
the light dances
along the cave walls
from animals
that pass outside!

look at the way
the grass
flows
in the gentle breeze!
can you hear the wind
that is moving it?

there is so much more in life
than your addiction
so
much
more

right now,
it's got it's blinders on you

rip them off
don't let
addiction
ride you around
this garden
of life
telling you
where to go
what actions to make

be
yourself
love
yourself

no judgement
but for that
I ask
no excuses
only honesty

I am not asking you
to put down the drugs
this instant
just for you to realize
that this isn't your life
and that
you truly,
can't continue living like this

you have said
a few times
that you aren't working here
to make friends.
well,
we may not be friends
but you have helped me
more
than many of my friends
ever could.

I'm sorry -
for being late more times
than anybody can count.
I'm sorry -
for having difficulty
doing my job well
believe me,
I know it is not difficult.
I'm sorry -
for slacking off at times
for underpreforming
fairly frequently.

I always thought
you were supposed to hate your boss.
the people
who trained me
painted you in this horrible light
made me
think I would hate you
that you were unfair
cruel
and
not understanding in the least.

I know
you don't care
what those losers thought.
nobody does.
they ****
have horrible judgement
and I wouldn't hang out with them
if we were the only people on earth.
but
if I ever get the chance
I will curse them out
for saying those things about you.
actually
I will curse anyone out
for saying anything bad about you.

thank you
for giving me a safe space
for showing me that work
doesn't have to be a place
where my anxiety comes too.
thank you
for not treating me like a child
for being honest, even if it may
seem harsh at the surface.
thank you
for giving me more oppurtunities
than I deserve
and
for showing me
sometimes, not giving a ****
is the best and only option.

thank you
for introducing me
to my favorite authors
and for being a catalyst
that inspired me
to write again.
it does help.

I'm bad with words
and my vocabulary isn't large
and I'm bad
with talking about
how I feel without crying.
but I want you to know I appreciate you.
if there was a What Not To Wear show
but for like, jobs and homes and stuff
holy **** I would sign you up.
you deserve so much more
than the bookstore.
you deserve to be waited on
hand and feet
and have whatever the ****
you desire.

whenever I stop working here,
or if you need to let me go
just know
I will always hold you in the highest respects.
always.
I am also
always
a phone call away
if any of your enemies
need to be slain.

we might not be friends.
that is okay.
but just know
even if you hate me
or think I'm boring
or lame
or annoying
I don't care
I still love the **** out of you
and every part of who you are.

fly me to the moon
and let me play among the stars?
no, frank,
how about you put me in a spaceship
and launch me to the ******* end of this universe
but make sure the ship falls apart
like make sure it’s not constructed nicely
because i want to be destroyed
by the galaxies
i want my skin to tear off
while flying by massive stars
i want to be incinerated
and made to dust
i want to disappear

I don't even know where to start.
yesterday, I wanted to die.
today, I don't want to **** myself
but
that's not to say
I'd be upset
if something else killed me.

living with depression
id say
is just being a realist.
its not
some voice in my head
telling me I'm worthless
it's realizing
that unless I'm on drugs
my entire life
will consist
of
never having enough money,
never loving myself,
never loving living
how can anybody love living?
like, is my life a satire?
why am I attached to this consciousness
I didn't ask to be here
destroying
this planet
and myself
and others
while watching every other human
do the same.

when I was younger
when my family went out to eat
my mother would have to
use menus to divide
the table
so that my sister and I
would stop disrupting dinner.
we would make faces
and laugh the whole time
and be really rude
and loud.

my sister is my depression
I am my anxiety
and my mother
is nowhere to be found.

they rile each other up.
my anxiety
gets excited
yelling at me
telling me all the ways I'm horrible
all the people I have hurt
every
bad thing
I've ever done
my depression
chimes in
and says
"how about
how you pathetically
seek attention from everyone
while
being in denial of it.
do you think that if,
a thousand other people
tell you they like you,
and that you are beautiful,
you will believe it?
how pathetic."

that
takes anxiety on a whole new ride
with a billion other reasons
on how I'm pathetic.

yesterday,
they were louder than ever.
closing my store
took every ounce of effort
I had
and it's a simple job
reflex memory, even
I was reaching
far down inside of me
for the strength
to not crumple into a ball
and cry
until the custodian swept me up
and threw me away
with the other trash.

I talked to myself
telling myself

"you can do it,
you can do it,
there you go!
good job, almost there -"

"look at how pathetic you are
have to talk to yourself
like a ******* child
to get yourself to do
the most medial -"

"NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.
SHUT UP. NO.
SAVE IT FOR LATER.
BEAT YOURSELF UP
LATER
BECAUSE RIGHT NOW
YOU ARE DOING
A GOOD JOB"

afterwards
I cursed myself
for judging
any crazy person I saw
muttering to themselves
because now,
I am the crazy one.

my fourth favorite poet
Andrea Gibson
said,
"I thought I hit rock bottom -
but then it hit back."
same, girl.
I can't fight well
but I will try
to deflect these punches
as best as I can
until I can get my legs
to finally run away.

I am a bird at the bottom of the sea
I am under a rock and wish to be free
Sometimes my anger turns my soul red
I hate this place and wish I were dead

I'm still waiting for a point to this life

Shine for me,
you useless lamp
it's apparent your light has gone out.
Without this light
you have no purpose
and your importance I'm starting to doubt.
I sit here
and demand luminescence;
but this you no longer provide.
Without this, my eyes
cannot see this room's beauty
and the obvious begins to hide.
Why are you broken?
You stupid lamp.
I might as well throw you away;
when all you must do
is glow for me
and you can't even do that today.
I'll tighten your bulb,
even buy you a new one -
yet you still refuse to turn on?
You pointless lamp
I shattered you to pieces
then I realized
you were never
plugged in
all along.