.
                     This mess of me
                                 is boiling
The pressure's building fast.
         This churning, burning,
                        furnace heat—
I know that I won't last.

                 'Cause ev'rything
                          inside of me
It just keeps holding on
                  To all the things
                           hurting me
I know why it feels wrong.

                  I'm stuck inside
                        that easy lie
That says I cannot change
                  And when I cry
                               I realize
This certainly is strange.

            For though I died
                to flesh, I strive
To rectify myself;
               I tried and tried
          and then, surprise:
I needed something else.

                Nothing makes  
                 it past the pain
Except your healing touch.
        And you say, "Wait,
                 My child, wait,
For you will know My love."

My therapist told me
To make a *** of coffee or tea
When Anxiety acted up.
She said that just the sensation
Of a warm mug in my hands
Could work wonders.
This room is full of cold cups,
Littering every windowsill
And every dusty bookshelf.

so many bodies lie
rotting and I’m sick
many hands digging
holes in the ground
and I’m sick. I’m sick
and tired.
I think of how you
used to be, and the
weight of the world
squeezes my neck
till my heart splatters
like red paint
on an empty canvas.
I’m sick, and I let you
carve abandonment
into my flesh.
I’m sick and I want to
sleep where the bodies
don’t sleep.