I'm sick of being just a number.
I'm sick of being human.
I'm ready for a bullet
to caress the back of my head.

I want to enjoy you.
I want to sip you slowly.
I can't though,
because all I can think about
is the burn.

I think ahead to where
you grow bored
and find something
new and shiny,
younger and thin.

I don't want time to grow...
I know it's selfish.
I know it's all so crazy.

hey world,
i'm doing okay.
as okay as a person with
severe anxiety and depression
can be.
i should be writing more...
channeling my pain and whatnot.
but sometimes i can't get out of bed
or even find the energy to talk...
so i may be m.i.a. for a while
until i find the energy.

Everyone is better off without me.
Oh, it's actually true, though.
The ratio of how I make people miserable versus happy is waaaay more on the miserable spectrum.
So, if people would stop being bias and **** after someone is dead...
They would know my imminent death is for the best.

my nerves are shot
from all the scenarios
that could happen.
they play on repeat
and no matter how hard i try...
the visions don't stop.

i search and search
to find a problem.
but the only problem
that is real...
is me.

antisocial, had-potential young adult
who dreams of a mind without fear.
she has a weightless body
yet doesn't see the bones.

she wants to connect
with all whom she loves,
but her emotions are backwards.
she is backwards.

for every bone on her body,
there is fat.
for every man who loves her,
she puts her arms lengths away.
for every tear that is shed,
she sheds again every day.

she is backwards
and tries to walk straight.
she is upside down
and tries to think straight.

what will the girl do?
who is the girl?
can the girl do wrong right?
can backwards be her straight?