Waking up in the morning, and the feeling like(am I really alive?)
That's today.

When all is lost in a singularity
I'd revel in the sheer delight
of watching my limbs tear from my body.
To know that my soul is shred,
skinned alive.
I'll fathom new depths to pain
even for a brief moment.
I'll think and think and think and think
and observe how my thoughts dissolve
I'll live and thrive in that moment,
feel alive as long as I can.
My gruesome death would leave a lesson:
There are some things, that can't be taken.
as I ironically dissapear without a trace left.

Perfectly abusing life and death.
Because one cannot exist without the other.
My death could not have existed without my life
and dying would solidify my message through my existence.
And I'll keep weaving a web of extremities
and leave this life a God.
A message written through a void.
Creation through nothing.
The feeling of having "It, who takes" at a checkmate.

The shadow of my soul laughs loud.
As I peer in Death's eyes
and let him watch how I set myself free through his confinement.
I'll leave, giving the King a brief moment of what it's like to be truly powerless.

There's a beautiful gun in my hand.
Flawless.
                     The nightshift sun gleams off the barrel like a swan on a lake
     At home against the humid sweaty dark pressing against everything yet awesomely singular

     The clock stopped a long time ago and gunshots took over in place of the ticks and tocks…

     (I'm chewing on something soft)

                        … and I never noticed.

It seemed natural.
Every bullet chambered was just another hour passing

       And though it feels like forever I know its been half a day
      

        Blood laces the treads of my shoes
     Hugging the rubber and drawing patterns that I'm less aware of than I am of...

     (What is this? It's good.)

... myself

         Everyone I know is sitting in a pile.
        No more alive than the gun itself.
Still they talk. Memories are shared and advice is given. I don't care to know if its real.

        Everyone talks. It makes sense.
   Even the dead.
  
           The ceiling fan noisily labors diligently if not futilely against the unspeakable heat. It's the only sound I can be sure of. The motion helps.

     Nothing else is moving except...

    
(Chewchewchewithinkicanithinkican)
    
        ...My jaw. Steadily gnashing through…

     (Everyone talks)

            My tongue. I don't care about the blood at my feet or the fact that its coming from my mouth.

      *What worries me is that now everyone is staring at me and I dont have any gun at all

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

Her eyes are dark as night
Her arms bruised and scared
Her laugh Is hollow and and smiles fake
They ask why she wears so many bracelets so she giggles and says its fashion
Her name is Chelsea Snow and she is the 'it' girl of school
No one knows her pain no one knows her past
To them she's confident, ****, perfect, and always happy
But she isn't
At the age of 16 Chelsea's parents died
At 17 her boyfriend started to abuse her
2 months after she fell into depression
She isn't as stereotypical as everyone thinks
I guess what I'm trying to say is don't judge a book by its cover

Voices,voices in my head
I scream and shout and beg for it to stop
But it doesn't
The yells increase and my body trembles in fear
Voices,voices in my head
I scream and shout and beg for it to stop
But it doesn't
They scream and shout and cry for my help
But I can't do anything to help
I cry for it to stop but it doesn't
Voices,voices in my head
I scream and shout and beg for it to stop
But it doesn't
This is the end the time I give in
I'll listen to those voices and follow my fate
Voices,voices in my head
They said its time for me to leave
This is my time I say farewell to you and all
Voices,voices in my head.....

"I can't do this anymore!" She screams slidding down the wall burying her head in her knees.

"Then stop fighting us" The voices in her head whisper.

"I can't give in!" She crys grabbing fist fulls of her hair.

"Give in no one will miss you." They tell her.

"No, please stop." She beggs.

"Your worthless"
"Ugly"
"A waste of space"
"A mistake"

She harshly wipes her tears away and stands up. She starts walking towards her closet.

"Fat"
"A nobody "
"Loser"

She opens the closet door and looks for the 'box'.

"**** yourself " the voices chant.

She grabs the box and opens the lid. She pulls out a gun and a heart breaking sob betrays her.

"Hurry before its to late"

Knock-knock

Someone knocks on her door as she loads the gun and points it at her head.

"Sweet heart dinners rea...NOO!" Her mother screams as she pulls the trigger.

Back against the wall, lights off, door locked and Black Veil Brides blasting through the stereo.

It's just a empty room right?

Wrong look in the corner, no not the one with the light, the one where it's pitch black.

Now look closely do you see her, the girl who's all alone.

No?

Then pay closer attention, her head is burried in between her knee's and her body's violently shaking from the sobs that betray her.

Shes crying from the pain .

Pain she's endured for so long.

Its gotten to her.

The words they spit at her, the looks of disqueste, the fights with her parents that seem to be getting worse.

She doesn't know what to do anymore she's tried it all drugs,self harm,music,writing!

Anything that might stop or at least help the pain she feels.

The girl lifts her head and stares at the ground next to her.

To the right of her is a razor and to the left is a rope.

She grabs the razor and runs it across her leg.

Its deep, the cut, deeper than the rest.

She wipes some of the blood on her hand and writes on the wall.

IM SORRY IM USELESS

Now with tears running down her face she grabs the rope and ties it to the ceiling fan.

She steps on a chair and slowly puts the rope around her neck.

She wipes her eyes and whispers I'm  sorry before stepping off the chair.

I'm already thinking
of how beautiful
the next epitaph
will be.

i am never alone
there are nightmares walking beside me every second of my life,
demons procreating in my head,
a freak show of feelings disguised like those clowns that terrify me,
my mind is the stage for a barbarian, ****** show,
i am an open field full of bombs that explode with every step I take breaking me
into little dark pieces of something that used to be warm and bright,
i mourn for my soul and I never remember how to laugh anymore,
i have this internal bleeding and there is neither cure nor doctor for it to treat it
i can feel how I am losing pieces of myself while running or walking or just breathing,
i can see the cage I’ve thrown myself in
i feel the sun burning my soul and I cannot stop it, I cannot cover it I can’t
run from it anymore because my legs are broken
i cry every day until I dissolve in my own sour tears
i don’t know how to cry for help anymore, I am tongue-tied
i am scared of breathing and scared of not breathing
i am never alone
they make me dance to their music until my legs give up and I fall, I crawl
into the darkness trying to hide but there’s no hiding from them
i know the only refuge
is in Death.

Plant a seed and watch it grow. Plant a seed in warmth or snow.
But I hate the cold!