Inebriation
This liquid numbs my soul.
It gives me strength in its content , as
I no longer have any.
It's strong burn down my throat
allows for me to feel something.
Anything.
No need to chase a welcomed guest.
I'm afraid to feel-
so I mask.

in pulls
in shots
in any form I can have it.

The inebriation is euphoric.
Unlike any other feeling ,
This liquid numbs my soul .

There are many things I drink to achieve this state of inebriation.
The strongest liquor of them all-
Love.

Thoughts. . .
Words. . .
Sayings. . .
Phrases. . .
Stuck inside my head.
Most of them - incomplete.
Others waiting for their exit.

Some are quite.
Some are loud.
Some can never be said aloud.

All my demons coming to play.
One tells me to slit my throat-
The other tells me to pray.

One tells me to bleed.
The other tells me 'sweet dreams'.
I cannot trust one or the other-
Maybe even both.
But I cannot escape them.
One sits on my bed.
The other is inside my head.
I'm not psychotic or even hallucinating,
just hiding from my demons.

this isn’t going to make sense
cause it’s not supposed to
and if I’m being honest
this isn’t for you
it’s not even for me

I’m stuck
I’m trapped
I’m lost
I’m every other word that describes people who feel at a dead end

I’m typing on a ****** phone
That’s connected to a ****** connection
That could possibly be a metaphor for my life

I’m writing
Because I don’t know what else to do

I’m writing
Cause that’s what they told me to do

But they also told me that what I think isn’t always true
That I’m special and I just don’t see it

But that’s the thing
I don’t see it

And if I don’t see it then why should it matter if anyone else does

And if I’m thinking something why should it matter if it’s true

What matters is that it’s in my head
What matters is that it’s always there

But here I am
Stuck in the same place
Back to square one
No progress made
The same questions, whether true or not

Will I amount to anything?
Do I really help?
Am I really worthwhile?
Do you actually care?

I see these people
When I’m online
They smile and post
They edit and pose

I can’t help but wonder

Do you really smile, or do you just do it to look happy like me?
Do you really feel happy, or are you trying to lie like me?
Do you understand what I feel?

Or is it just me?

I’m not trying to be selfish
I don’t want a lot
I just want to be happy
And I want others to be happy with me
But neither is happening

So instead there’s a poem
That doesn’t even ryhme
That makes no sense
  I’ll try harder

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

My presence is a burden.
The world has no room for a worthless body,
breathing but not mentally present-
each stroke of the razor,
slowly relieving me-
each drop of blood taking my burden off of someone's shoulders.
I was never meant to be here,
so I know the end is almost near.
This pain I feel inside,
sits right next to where emptiness resides.
Some live beautiful lives,
But me, I know I'm meant to die.

At one moment, your depression is telling you that you don't care what happens. Then the next moment, your anxiety is screaming and clawing at you to do something. Having depression and anxiety is a constant war inside of yourself. Though, there are no winners.