The illusion set before, so magnificently made,
It is for this very reason, which I have not staved.

There are aspects we will never know, some we do not care to witness,
In this world of so many lies, truth is more afraid in the darkness.

All this smoke fills the land, as we peer into our own mirrors,
Attention drawn away, from the problems much nearer.

Looming shadows in the blackness, cancel all our dreams,
Making maniacal monsters, as they feed of broken esteem.

We make our own cage, while whispering about frustration,
Bashing head against wall, in a never-ending occupation.

The only release from this monotony, two blinks called a weekend,
But every day is a battle, the middle of the whole has been weakened.

Still we rise every morning, putting on the same boring face,
Because it seems no matter how hard we try, it is still the same rat race.

When I was little, every Sunday I’d go to Church
I was a child drunk off of fairy tales and day dreams
And I loved the idea that we could go to heaven when we died
And the pastor looked me in the eyes and said
"God is with you."
And like any 5 year old would, I believed him

My family bowed our heads and prayed before every meal
But halfway through dinner they’d start yelling
And I remembered what the pastor told me
So I covered my ears and asked God to make it stop
But I felt all alone
And that’s why I’m an atheist

At school the kids would pick on me
I didn’t understand why they didn’t want me as a friend
And I prayed to God that they’d stop
But I also prayed for them too
Because I was a good Christian
And good Christians love their enemies
But nothing changed
And that’s why I’m an atheist

I remember the first time my mom hit me
One time during a fight
She told me I was stupid and worthless
And after a while I started believing what she said
I started to wonder
How could someone so hateful
Call them self a Christian?
And that’s why I’m an atheist

I prayed that God would make me beautiful
Because I wasn’t skinny
And I knew I wasn't good enough for that boy I liked
But every time I looked in the mirror, I felt the same
So I stopped kneeling in prayer
And started kneeling in front of the toilet
And that’s why I’m an atheist

I haven’t prayed in 5 years now
I have only one request of God if he exists
That he end the pain right now
But nothing happens
So once again, I will have to do things on my own
And standing so close to the edge
I think about how I used to love the idea of life after death
But now I’m obsessed with the thought that when I do
They’ll be nothing coming after
And I can have eternal sleep
And that’s why I’m an atheist

What comes to mind when i
hear the word bitter
is you.

You are bitter.
Not even bittersweet.
Just bitter.
The way I love you and
The way you don't even notice me.
The way I get so excited to see you
and how you push me out of the way.

You are bitter.
*So bitter.

my arms remember razor blades and spiked needles
and my veins ache to feel the warmth of her
swimming perfectly through my bloodstream
and engulfing my every fear, my every desire
until i am nothing but a pool of sticky tar

my nostrils burn without the powder
flying into my brain, and dripping down my throat
keeping me awake for days on end
and opening up my mind for my pen
shaking as i hold it to the paper; scribble

my tongue dwells on the bitter taste of hallucinogens
that made me dance in the coldest rain
and swim in the smallest pools of warm blood
that erupted from the belly of an orange tiger
who held my hand, and danced to the beats

my stomach remembers the feeling of pill bottles
emptied out; the tablets dissolved
coaxing me into warm slumbers, and forgetfulness
i miss the feeling of letting go
of love, of pain, of regret

October 3, 2013 at 1:22am

So maybe I still miss you,
but apathy is the way I want to feel towards you;
I want the ache in my chest to diminish,
to be completely extinguished in a quick fleeting moment.
But it’s more like erosion,
only washing away the most miniscule amount at a time.
Decreasing the pain in the tiniest of amounts,
taking decades and centuries of
wind,
light,
and rain
to morph it into what I desire it to be,
without any distinguished timeline.
Just natural causes that move uncontrollably along,
constantly irritating,
festering,
and ripping
the scab of the wound in awkward moments of solitude.
**I’m a slave to the tormenting low burning throb.