I've had enough, I'm done
Your standards are no fun

You're a broken wordsmith
Lost in a world of words
Searching for realization
While your story is unsung

Your screams from mountaintops
Heard only by cowards ears
Your brightest light
Can't catch my darkest hour

Good day to you sir
A forever blur*

*Joseph B Schneider

There is something tragically intangible about space that makes it so beautiful,
infinite light years of nothing
out there to be explored.
it's terrifyingly real,
many have been there,
but I will never go.
Space is something of the subconscious,
you can only create and appreciate it's essence
in the prison of grey matter a top your head.

And though I've never been there I know
if I ever collided with a passing star,
I'd caress it's sides and combust into it's center.
melting,
blending,
becoming one.

how badly I want to sacrifice my soul into a black hole,
how sad it is that I'll never get the chance.

how incredibly similar space is to you
how beautifully intangible you are.

how badly I want to love you,
how sad it is I'll never get the chance.

click, click, click*
Typing away letters in the dark
One for mom who never really saw
One for dad who was never there at all

click, click, click
Writing letters in the dark
One for my sister who ran away
One for my brother who had no choice to stay

click, click, click
Letters in the dark
Dripped with blood
Coated in tears
Letters in the dark

skin burnt,
blistered and charred,
hair scorched to the
naked flesh beneath.
cracked hands bleeding;
make enfeebled attempt to
obscure disfigured face—
hiding from onlookers' gaze the
shame of such pain.

a world set aflame,
the inferno a scheme
by heat and by
fire, amidst
swirling orange spires,
the landscape through force
taken at desire.

an ape once great,
gentle regality
reduction by immolation,
magnificence squandered,
now moulded to ash,
an animal sacrifice—a victim of
act without consequence consideration,
to appease devilish demand,
the culinary Palm to
grace the malefactor's hand.

nature's innocence course set—damnation,
if not new mind found.
a power,
the fortitude and will
to exorcise this demon—
this demon
known as man.

'Cut, cut, little scratch. I wonder how you got attached. On this skin so red and clear. Like everything could disappear.

When the darkness has fallen on you. When the silence is becoming true. Then you grab your little knife. And cut, cut to come alive.

Then the voices in your head. Were getting silent instead. They did not know what to do. Without that body of you.

In the night sky you lay there. Under the white sheets without air. Forever shutting your eyes, dreaming of yourself in heaven skies.

As you fell asleep and finally got rest. Now they'll know they got your buttons pressed. Though little sister blames it all on herself. Cut, cut, little scratch.'

Ink drops black, my soul infecting
Into water invading purity
Foreign substance contradicting
Clarity clouding, dark arching tentacles
Swirling about, twirling twisting
Depictions tempting
Hanging
In grotesque formation
Beautiful in their horror
Entrancing in their mingling

Each drop fresh transgression
My life’s cup growing darker
Liquid limbs of the ****** flailing
A dance of warning—that
I should become one of them if not
To filter disease of this breath

Faces
Fluid forming in inky swirl
Screaming, crying my name
Those here before me
Warning of my impending damnation
Singing anguish
Their tears impotent to cleanse
The stain that is my life

To undo that so long ago done
A power to remove the tint of my soul
Considered endlessly
If there be a time too late for
Men whose lives were spent foolishly
Their warning unheeded
Threat becoming promise pending
Hope’s defeat
A threat of doused despair

Favour despite nightmare’s creeping
An infant born
Filling cup further though
Not with night but with love
Salvation’s sacrifice
Understood, seen in the tiny smile
Of a child

i write all day like an adult,
i am learned and i use big words
and i know how to accurately craft
a metaphor about pain and harm.

but at the end of the day
i return to childlike phrases,
“it’s not fair,” and i feel more
of a release from that than
a composition notebook
filled from cover to cover
with a million different ways
of saying that i still,
despite everything,
am not happy.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore
I just wanna go splat all over the wall
I wanna cut my chest wide open
Then say goodbye to it all
I been through so much recently
When I haven't even got over my past
So why don't I just die already
Just close my eyes and rot away
Cause I don't know what I'm doing anymore
I just wanna go splat all over the wall
Write my death note with my own blood
Then disappear in a puddle in the hall