How dare you think you have the power to take your own life.
You are loved,
you are worth it.

There were days when he drew crimson across the landscape,
Painted life's already incandescent colours,
With a patchwork of his own joy and creativity,
The stars were a small reach above his head and the moon was his good friend,
He would dive into oceans and explore their depths,
Swim miles beneath the surface where  the world seemed safe and calm,

Then it stopped.







The world stopped...
With life.
And colour with it.







He stopped too and his world was no more.


Like a grey
Grey
Grey




Wasteland






Without the things he loved




And






This







Became








Normal.....







And as time went on...








he forgot,

that he once was happy...








but he knew

somewhere deep down









in some small place in his soul










that he had lost something...



Someone? maybe....

something precious

himself?







and that there was a longing inside






a longing






for life







it was like a tiny thread







which one day









he felt






Brave








Enough



To









Follow.

















It took him




















Home

I'll spend forever,
Wondering if I could loved you better.

People who fight
their battles alone
either lose the battle
or lose themselves.

Reek havoc amongst yourself,
watch it burn from the ashes of neglect-
simmer like the silence inside your bones
remember the things you chose not to say.
As your blood boils to the surface
reflect on why you're about to lose your sanity again.
In the dark of the night-
I sit on the roof watching passing cars
like I'm the only one who pays attention to their breathing.
I watch the sky and try to see the Earth spin
try to make a musical instrument out of the wind
I hear music in everything.
Somewhere along the line it became the only safe haven
so the blood that spills over and the ashes that fly away
become not just a passing memory-
they become a church choir for mistaken identity
for the facade placed upon me that I eventually threw away.
I remember hospital beds better than my own childhood
and I think memory is the only game of russian roulette
I have ever been good at-
because either way I die.
From the memories or the wounds it gives me on the inside
either way it cripples me.
Attachment is not my forte
but it seems to linger on my mind
like it's a bad dream I can't seem to shake.
Independence has always been the way I grew-
flourished under my own autonomy
and patriarchy has always been the enemy-
times like these I realize how genetics are strong
how father and son can grow to become the same
how times can change more things
than they make consistent
and how consistency is dynamic
in this world where everyone is so static.
I have become myself once again
found the fleeting feeble female
I was once was and grew her into something I liked better.
Felt the indecision of discretion
and watched as freedom became my second nature
but now it is my sixth sense
my conversation with the higher power
the light at the end of this tunnel
so use your words wisely-
they can become a disservice to you
and make you wander onto the edge of your own lips
only to have someone else remove them with their kiss.
Your mind is your own greatest magic trick-
use it to your advantage.