i keep the ink in my pen flowing
and my eyes on my inspiration

and whether this is weakness
or hope or strength or delusion

my imagination has proved to be
just as strong as my depression

so if my mind has sentenced me to death
life will have to be my own creation

22.07.20

"reach for the stars!"
i'm certain you've heard that one before.

and sure, it makes a catchy quote but
have you ever really reached for the stars?

outstretched arms, on your tippy toes, and
your forehead creased with determination.

your eyes locked on them as they tease;
playfully winking and blinking back at you.

and you swear they seem just out reach...
but that is a cruel, desperate and futile illusion.

don't reach for the stars because your best
will never be enough for them, and plus-

they're dead anyway.
but you? you are alive.

11.08.20

sweet kisses
all over my tongue
fade perforce

but i will cherish
those fleeting moments
as if they were eternal

unknowing
when i may stop
eating cinnamon

but i'll take what i can get,
for now.

19.04.20

i wouldn't say I'm good, but I'm not as bad as before.
i still compare and judge my body and my face daily.
i still fantasize about my death sometimes.
i still have voices in my head that hate me.
i still spend hours, in the dark, overthinking my existence.
i still hurt people and push them away.
i still scream and lie and curse and rage and i still cry.

but...i am still learning, because

when i look in the mirror sometimes i don't feel like crying.
when i think about death sometimes i don't feel like dying.
when thoughts attack my mind sometimes they don't end up winning.
when people say they care sometimes I don't think they're lying.
when i scream and lie and curse and rage and when i cry,
sometimes i don't crawl back to nothing.
it takes a while, but i forgive myself,
because i am still learning.
and i wouldn't say i'm good, but i'm better.

26.07.19

either feeding your obsessions
with your past
or fashioning new impressions
of your future

you believe that, in between,  lies the present
still, grey and swarming with questions

fallacious beliefs of such suffocate lives
as your present could never be a quiet limbo

it is real, not paralyzed
it is where your life brings you answers, not questions
it is not still, it is moving, running. it is alive

it is not grey, it is amaranthine
and blue and red and
a thousand other colours that do not exist

02.01.20

chain me to a thousand
cruel, heavy words

but after all these years
of wicked torture and
encounters with death
i am still here

so you can never call me
weak

never again.

02.02.20