Was all the agony worth this splash of interaction we get?
The lonely?
The anger?
The sadness?
Was it worth it?
The hours my eyes stared at a ticking clock whilst waiting for you too show up?
The terrible misery that burns in my fists?
Was it worth it?
I’ve waited a year just to see your face, and this is what I get?
Conflicting emotions that battle for hours?
Is it wrong that I’m mad at you?
Wrong that you wasted everything I have?
You still care about her more than you care about me?
Why?
Was it worth it?
•
Yes.

My heart becomes undiscovered lands
a fragile ecosystem.
And all of this heartbreak make up a whirlwind of invasive species.
Creating havoc in my world.
My tears become rivers,
my rage form mountains,
my emptiness creates valleys.
If you monitored my hearts beats you'd see every crag, aerie, or tree.
You'd see how this emotional torment ruins me.

the pouring of acid into my skull,
the song of searing sadness
burns in a boastful boisterous blaze.
lonely leeches lavish my love
removing roses and riches,
and turning treasures into terror.
echoing emptiness etches erratic emotions
and cremates the cool calmness.
wander, worthless worms
and dare to drift into a daunting dream.
alone.

if you are capable of painful silence,
you are capable of painful relief.

Imbalanced
Walking a tightrope
Teetering on the edge.

I never asked to be an acrobat,
I never asked to juggle my fragmented feelings
I never asked to perform.
I never asked for my family to send me falling without a safetynet.
I never asked to be an acrobat.

~
What should I do after the typhoon of reality crashes over me?
Ask hopeless questions like I always do like?
Why does the broken mirror still reflect that ugly girl?
When will the sea of mistrust dry up?
When will the sun set it’s last on islands of doubt?
Why are personal secrets so accessible?
Why am I able to buy secrets like they no more than items belonging to lonely merchants.
Why are we told to cover wounds caused by harpoons that were fashioned by horrific memories?
Why must we be forced to sit in the cavern silence?
Why is the lullaby of a hurricane more forgiving than a false apology?
Do I need an interpreter to spell out what you’ve done wrong?
Now I dare you to tell me it wasn’t your fault.

All of this.

The ringing of those words still pierce these walls.
Would you believe it if I said we all remember, even when alcohol blurs your memory of what you did?
When these terrible flashbacks refuse to fade will you still tell me it isn’t your fault?
The wail of a shattered life is louder than your sickening lies.
Now, tell me it’s not your fault.

All of this.

The tension in the air still lingers four years later.
You have been exposed for what you’ve always been.
Now, stop trying to control us.
Like an albatross flying over a raging sea, I raise a white flag.
I've lost again.
We'll gladly pack up and leave.
Now, try and tell me as you sit alone not regretting a thing,
Now, tell me it’s not your fault.

All of this.
~

The distant thrumming
the rhymic ticking
a sound I used to hold dear.
washing away
the squeaks
the squawks
of a home too broken too share.
The taps
The tocks
of an old analog clock
washing my life to sleep.

Our lives are like boats.
Everyone is crafted differently.
You can be built perfectly.
Have everything be in check.
And still be weighed down by anchors nobody can see.

digging my nails into my skin
raking them down my face
covering my ears
taking deep breaths
all because of anger and fear.

Once were two young maidens who both wore smiles,
but they were sadly separated.
Years later like fire to wool their relationship renewed in a spark, but life had shaped their names.
Anxiety and Trauma both very much alike.
Anxiety bit her nails and Trauma did as well.
Trauma rocked back and forth, and Anxiety did too.
Over time they both dropped subtle hints saying they were not okay.
Anxiety went to therapy, and so did Trauma.
Trauma had a breakdown, Anxiety also did.
The difference lays within their fears.

"I'm so very terrified of the future..." Anxiety began, "You must understand?"

Trauma shrugged, "I presume," she paused, "but it's the past that makes me break."

The two girls looked at each other, realizing they knew nothing about one another.

The boiling, bubbling, fizzling rage
That has learned to hold me tight
My face tingles with ignominy.
I’m embarrassed
Embarrassed I’m still attached to you.
From person to person you can’t look away.
Your eyes wander astray.
And as I catch you forgetting,
my hands begin to shake.  
If you missed me you wouldn’t forget,
those words I said to you.  
I’d know because of the way the grass blows in howling horror.
Yearning for you,
Yearning for you to love me.
But you can’t teach a rabbit to be loyal, that is just what you are.
From girl to girl,
shifting personalities.
Becoming what they want the most,
but little do you know.
Little do you know.
All I want from you
is the love you had for me

~
An asymmetrical girl stares back at me.
Long face.
Uneven jaw.
Large chin.
Small mouth.
Large nose.
Uneven eyebrows.
Sunken, tired eyes.

Why does she even get up in the morning?

An annoying thing stares back at me.
Mumbled voice.
Fast-talking.
Unfunny jokes.
Tries too hard.
Needy.
Disgusting.

Why does she even get up in the morning?

A worthless creature stares back at me.
Ugly.
Vile.
Stupid.
Whiny.
Freakish.
Meaningless
Beast.

Why­ do I get up in the morning?
~

bad habits
the normalization of disfiguring one’s self
a daily roadblock.
a bountiful collection of poor decisions
that i’ve lined up upon my wrist.
a bile curdling hatred of my fading wounds,
they are the only ones that stay.
bad habits

i've
                    shattered
my finest mirror      
so   that
   maybe   my  
fragmented                      
                     reflection
will look
more      perfect  .
am
i    
beautiful yet
    ?

When you’re below sea level,
the downhills are trenches,
the uphills are the visible depths.
No matter where you are, you’re drowning,
it just depends how much pressure you’re under, how crushing it is.

The clearest, bluest, most crystal clear sky can ruin a beautiful picture.

in

The taste of dread fills my mouth,
my teeth grind against one another.
I do not want to go back,
there is nothing for me there.
A putrescent bench,
a broken chair,
and unachievable memories.
I will never top what I can recall,
but that's alright.
The bitter feelings are beginning to subside.
The broken bench grew fruit of grand flavor that I picked and savored.
The bench may now grow pleasant memories for others to enjoy.

when the hands of a chosen,
gentle lover
are not the first you have felt.
you flinch at the signs of intimacy.

because we are animals
with broken bones
mended with welded thoughts
and who cower at the idea of fracture.

because we are flowers
with plucked petals
striking with jagged thorns
and whose blossoms are choked by thistles.

because we are butterflies
with shredded wings
hesitantly fluttering with fear
and who are bodied by the terrible wind.

and alas
we wander
we grow
and we fly.

-
The brumous thoughts swarm my head
My steel blue irises becoming foggy and glassy
I walk through these hallways having forgetful conversations.
The only way to see past this early morning brume is to not see at all.
So I'll gouge out my eyes and walk these hallways no more.
For all, I know the fog will have cleared up.
-

Oh, how I miss the sweet burdens of love
that used to hold me hostage.
I wish I could feel my racing heart,
my rising shame,
and terrific jealousy.
I long for the way my face would go red,
and miss the time I had a reason to get out of bed.

no one tells her that those candy-colored pills are not chocolate
that no matter how many she stuffs she'll never be full,
nor will she be entirely empty.

though they taste so sweet
they will rot your teeth
and their effects shall be engraved in your skull

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells the ugly girl with a mouth full of tombstones
that she gleefully presents for show and tell
that she too needs to eat, to keep it down

though the dissolving graves
withing her smile
tell a saddening tale

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells her that her mind and mirror are distorting
morphing the person she truly is
into the person she hates to be

though her measurements are static
her body seems to inflate
like balloons at parties she avoided

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells her that average isn't too heavy
that she can be loved and called beautiful at 120
and that she can love herself too

though she's grown accustomed
to the taste of acid and ice cream
and no sees no need for stopping

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells the girl that she's wasting away her body
no one warned her of all the pain

no one warned her that her illnesses would always stay

change the channel please
the static is choking me
the digital fuzz
the buzz of the drugs
is all too much to handle
so please oh please
change the channel.

chastisement towards myself
for every time i falter or stutter,
for every time i can’t control
my cauldron of sizzling insanity.
i reprimand everything i ***** up
everything that do.
rebuke fills my body
whenever i wake up,
whenever i continue my worthless existence.

And as the dust started to settle, she looked around.
The ashes drifting through the air, only making her scorched surrounding more grim.
The cinder danced in the air.
Fluttering to the ground with grace.
It was hard to imagine that a furious fire had done this.
Somehow she knew that the flame would never truly be quenched.
This would never truly be over.
The burning coals exhale hot breaths onto her feet.
Whispering what was yet to come.

the shorter the poem,
the clearer my mind

Thou shall finally be revered as that of commonality in the menace of living.

A staple of humanity's misdoings and a trademark of all we've done wrong.

Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
Maybe.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.

I’m confused.
Confused about how I feel about you.
I can’t remove my smile when you text.
I can’t help but blush when they make jokes.
I’m confused.
I’m not sure how I feel.

with a lead bullet dancing in my head
i’ll send the petals flying
onto the tombstone where which i lay
with shriveled lilacs dying.

dormant my figure shall wait
under the snows of winter’s rage
beneath the dirt i lay.

i will turn from flesh and bone into
daffodils and daisies.
the blooming of my corpse

i will be left forgotten.
down here within my coffin
i will be left
rotten.

They say the wisest men speak the fewest words,
and I know this is true because of the way I blabber on.
About trivial things.
Like a corpse lily, I bloom.
Spewing vile scents into the crisp clear surroundings.
And with that stench comes the carrion fly ready to eat up my stupidity.

Four halves
No wholes
One father
No dad
Two wrong moves
Three plus two
Five broken lives
painting pictures
of grief on
different canvases.

Cracked mug leaking tea onto papers
Mixing with ink,
Turning the vanilla pages into a grey mesh of color.
Each word turning into a fuzzy mess.
Sweeping up the pages with damp hands.

•

Cracked eyes leaking saddened raindrops
Mixing with anger
Turning the vanilla desk into a confusing prison.
Each chip in the paint becoming a crack in the concrete cell.
Sweeping up the pages with damp hands.

•

Cracked wrists leaking crimson sorrow
Mixing with tears
Turning the vanilla skin into a watercolor portrait.
Each slice morphing into brushstrokes.
Sweeping up the pages with damp hands.
•

tell me i’m crazy,
so i can feel sane.

-
In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
They lie dormant for day, weeks, months, years just watching.
And that is how they will stay unless you dare to close your eyes.

They’ll drag you away,
gut you,
and hang your remains to dry.
They will gouge your eyes,
smash your skull,
and break your bones.
They get intoxicated by your screams of agony,
high off your pain,
and drunk on your anguish

In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
-

It's been a while since I've cried like that.
Gasping for breath.
No thoughts.
Aching head.
Very loud.
Falling asleep.
It's almost calming in an unusual way.
It's been a while since I've cried like that.

A tightness in my lungs pulls me under in a spell of forced muteness.
I slide my view up out of the rattling car.
The starry sky lighting up my irises and dazzling my brain.
Meanwhile the glops of tears forming in my eye drag the streetlights across my visible world.
Light torn away from its source
for only me.

I take dainty steps
because I know
maybe then I won't
regret the
infinitesimal
quake I make
during the iota
of time I occupy.

dandelion seeds
sprout bad memories
unwanted by wind
heightened downward spin
time again will show
how earth tends to sow
under leaves of weeds
unholy misdeeds
grow into mistrust
deflowered by lust
he deceives quiet well
broken petal hell
manipulated
and self-degraded
deep roots anchor tight
they cling onto fright
weeds want affection
willing infection
tainted damaged hearts
ransacked for their parts
left with only roots,
terror of disputes,
and alcohol now
so alas they vow
never, never again
they’ll forget the pen
that cleared the mind of
   their godforsaken love

~
Dear Google,
Why do I chew up popsicle sticks?
Why do I rock back and forth?
Why does my head twitch sometimes?
Why won't my ears stop ringing?
Dear Google,
What's wrong with me?
Why am I so moody?
Why can't I forget what happened?
Why can't I tell anyone?
Dear Google,
Why do I pace my driveway and talk to myself?
And why do I talk to people who aren't there with me?
Why did the evergreens seem to twist and distort when I stared at them with empty eyes?
Why did I collapse and cry?
Dear Google,
Why haven't I run away yet?
Why am I not free yet?
Why do I allow myself to be trapped here?
Why hasn't she left?
Dear Google,
Why is there more than one 'version' of me?
Why do I talk as these versions?
Why do they all have different voices and personalities?
Why are they so mean?
Dear Google,
Why do I even try?
Why am I still alive?
Why don't I just end it all?
Why?
~

Hourglass of life
No matter how fast you run
You'll always get caught

i'm under general anesthesia
temporary coma knocks me asleep
i fear i will suffer from amnesia
instead, i manage to find something deep

death is a coma you never wake from
forever is a few seconds at best
you just have to live until you are numb
so we should except our eternal rest

i am neither scared nor content with death
for nothing truly matters in the end
running, running until i'm out of breath
running, running and through life, i descend

once i stop running i know it's too late
well, at least i know to cooperate