Jumps back on the ketamine and the *******
and stands in alleyways and lanes
and forgets why the stars sit and the moon stands;
who fights demons with hairdryers and backward hats.

And it’s okay to look like your Dad you never knew,
in glances through the wood would only a few see the resemblance,
but similar hair won’t make up for lost Christmases
and days away at rain safari parks.

You’ll have to leave the fox hole through the brambles
at some point in the future,
so get scratched now and bleed a little sigh
of relief,
one that you’ve broken the tie and loosened the knot
and show us all that you’re out of your cot.

no one holds me at night
no one hugs me in the street
no one hangs onto my hand
no one wants me
no one

As I lay on my bed
My favorite pen in my hand
Trying to convince myself
To write something creative
But my brain can't function
And just think on command

I blink, and blink, and blink
Staring at the paper blankly
Feeling like I've been hoodwinked
By a silhouette in a hood
All you see is two blaring eyes
As one half of them winks

Mind racing in slow motion
Thinking you can think something
But the ink isn't working
Brainwaves are failing to flow
To the tips of your fingers
Sparking the touch of talent

Trying to tap the wires
That trigger inner feelings
And fuel the fire to write
Stick a knife in a socket
You still wouldn't get the shock
To ignite your light to write

All you want to do is write
Begging and pleading your pen
To scribble with all it's might
You want to feel productive
And conceive a worthy product
Yet you can't seem to produce

It's the worst feeling ever
Because you just want to write.

Everything is sad.
Like how a flickering streetlamp is sad.
Like how hands that brush but don't hold is sad.
Like how a page ripping in your favourite book is sad.
Like how the flowers wilting after two days is sad.
Like how finishing the cereal but not filling your bowl is sad.
Like how waving to a stranger who doesn't see it is sad.
Like how the blanket doesn't quite cover all of your toes is sad.
Like how this cup of tea is too cold is sad.
Like how the clock hand can't quite get past 20 seconds is sad.
Like how my glow-in-the-dark stars always fade too soon is sad.
Like how the most important words always go unsaid is sad.
Like how the lengthening silence between us is sad.
Like how this broken, shaking whisper that isn't heard is sad.
Like how the closing of the car door is sad.
Like how this kiss blown from my lips can only travel so far is sad.
Like how my heart slams itself into my empty rib cage is sad.
My whole world is just sad
Weeping through these raindrops that won't seem to ever stop sliding down my window pane.

how many people bleed
           from self harm
                    and hate?
how much blood falls
          until people
               know the
                    cause?
how many people
       have to die
     until society
           realizes?
                                                 something horrible has gone wrong
                                                 there shouldn't be people bleeding
                                                 blood shouldn't fall from self harm
                                                 people shouldn't die because of it
                                                 how doesn't the world see that this;
                                                 judging people, who don't care at all
                                                 are effecting everyone, even those
                                                 who might not die, bleed, self harm
                                                 it effects the people who know the
                                                 people who are bleeding their lives
                                                 away, it effects people everywhere
                                                 somewhere something went wrong
                                                 so wrong that the effects are death
                                                 blood, hurt, everywhere, mental
                                                 illness, perfection kills people
                                                 just the idea that there is such thing
                                                 as "perfection" is killing people
                                                 there is no such thing as perfection
                                                 it's not possible, so why, why, why
                                                 are people in pain, dying, dead
                                                 because of it? it's not right, no
                                                 it's society, and it's ways, it's
                                                 killer ways

i'm sick of being the girl
who's invisible behind glass walls
                 you saw something in me
- or maybe you lied about that too -
               but the look
that i was something
that i had a worth to you
             - though that was a lie also -
made me feel like i did have something
that might be desirable
made me feel like it was okay
maybe someone could love me
even if i don't love myself
but then again
                                         it was all lies
                                         so i really am nothing