you know,
i have this pen
that i borrowed from somebody,
i don't even remember who it was,
but i kept it,
i still have it,
because i knew that's the pen that you liked
that exact brand,
the same model,
the same ink,
i couldn't get rid of it,
even after the ink ran out,
i kept this stupid meaningless pen,
the one without purpose,
just like i kept these feelings,
i'll keep holding onto them for you
in case you come back
and you need them
like you'd need your favorite pen

it's writing about how ****** up i am
that's what i use to avoid actually acknowledging how to get better
writing about how i'd rather be doped up
than go to therapy
when really it's my self-sabotage that got me here
i've been spiraling for a while
just word ***** again and again
but none of it makes enough sense

it's finding someone else to fix it
someone else to talk at midnight
just someone to dump all of my problems on
but this is how i wind up hating myself
how i say that i'm one of the people i never wanted to see myself become
but here i am
trauma dumping on a bunch of strangers on the internet
because i can right?
as long as i hide behind a screen
no one has to see the crusted tears that have accumulated on my face
right?
seems normal enough

i started to realize
that i didn't want the diagnosis
because i wanted to get better
i wanted the diagnosis because i wanted to be drugged up
to finally feel good, or to fade into nothing
my own sweet little oblivion
because if i just slept,
and didn't wake up, it wouldn't bother anyone

i've thought about a coma
how it might be my way out
to be unconscious for so long
to not wake up for months
maybe that would help me
just wait until everything is normal
until i'm normal

i've thought about taking the type of drugs that make you forget
the kind that makes it all go away
like that one SSRI i had
i woke up, and couldn't remember yesterday
or the last month
it felt good
until i had to write it all down
just so i didn't forget what i was doing

then i keep thinking nothing's wrong
that it's really just something wrong with me
that i've been lying to myself
that's what my mom says
and then my friends say to look into it
and my head is scrambling to pick up the pieces
of late night internet searches,
desperately trying to find some label to whats in my head
and only coming to the conclusion that it really isn't real

maybe i'm not real
and that's why i can never figure it out
maybe that's why my hands feel numb,
and all of the songs i listen to seem to rearrange themselves in my head
into words i don't want to hear anymore
maybe that's why there are some parts of me
i'd like to get rid
just to feel the weight of existence get off me

it's that feeling,
the one where you turn up the music
to turn down the noise in your head

the one where you took a drive
just to scream at the steering wheel
and curse at it for not being something else
curse at yourself for not being someone else
as your hand slams down on the dash

it's the feeling where you've run out of options
where you just stop caring
and stop feeling
so you decide
let's ******* feel

liquor pours into wounds
and stings less than salt
smoke makes the bees in your head weary,
withering away makes you feel alive

it's that feeling
where you lost hope
the one where you don't know what to do

was a wish
wasn't it something that you could have said over and over again
wishing for something different
but the truth can only be one thing cant it?
i think that we've had enough of the lies
and the pretty words to cover up for the bad paint job you left on life
like something left rusty
after your sick water damage
nice sugar coating
until we all got heart disease
it has no meaning
the words i'm writing
not to me
but i'm still feeling bitter
i hope you feel it too

forget
just forget
become who you always wanted to be
not me though
never me
not the one with the past
and the need for sad eyes and drama
black clouded dreams,
a swarm of flies and rot,
but dark forests and a different story calls out to me
anyone else
not me though
must forget
must lie in the land until the dirt takes me as it's own,
makes me a child of moss
yeah,
i think that's who i'll be
forget me easily

you ever read the words you wrote
and remember crying
hunched over a keyboard
a notebook
pencil in hand
wishing for ******* death
wishing for something to take over your body
willing your head to float
like you drowned
but you've been drowning your entire life
this year it felt like the ocean clung to your heart
with iron chains wrapped around it
like a snake coiling around you
choking you to death

you ever read the words you wrote
and wondered why you hurt so bad?
wondered why you're reading it again
because you know you're just going to feel the pain
over and over again

you ever read it again
out loud
feel the tar dripping in your heart
feel the blood leaving your body
in perfect little parallel lines
you ever read the words you wrote
just to feel it
to go back to illness
go back to anger
just because
all of that feeling is so much better than being numb