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his molars
grind my bones,
but it reminds him
to release his jaw
and let air seep in.
so i guess i don’t mind,
at least he stays alive.
under my fingernails
the cells from your skin
clump together
like high school hallway cliques.
your hollow stare rages,
its emptiness like a void
so i raked you ******
because you asked me to.
the burning starts to seem like
the hope of feeling,
and his blood looks like a savior,
for his soulless eyes.
collision of two,
ravaging each other,
sacrificing each other,
for a drop of something,
anything,
down our sandpaper throats.
it’s a sympathy only we can have,
mutual destruction is a fairytale
at least we can save the others,
from ourselves.
emily mikkelsen Oct 2019
nobody tells you
about how deserts
are the most painful place
you will ever go
about how the nothingness
will ravage you  
and lick your bones.
about how your eyes bleed
after the tears disappear.
they don’t tell you.
that the desert
is the real danger
that sneaks in
after the storm.
it steals your hope
and grinds your soul
to dust,
to dust.
to join the other grains
and blow through
the never ending nothing
of your own hollow soul.
this goes out to everyone who says they don’t have depression because they “aren’t sad”. honey, you’ve been sad so long all your tears are gone and that is just as valid.
emily mikkelsen Jan 2019
we began from the way
you looked at me.
familiarity became the way
you breathed,
heavy under my sheets.
please.
please remember
your heart beat.
emily mikkelsen Jan 2019
once i leave,
the in between
& the distance
from you to me
will make it
easier to breathe
because home is anywhere
i can finally be me.
emily mikkelsen Sep 2018
chemically imbalanced.
these two words
made up all of me.
my whole personality
defined by this one thing.
they call it anxiety
it takes away your sleep
it tears down your dreams
it makes you think
everything is a bomb
waiting to explode
a disaster
waiting to unfold.
a live wire
in my bones
making its home
in my soul.
a part of me
never apart from me
i lost myself
in anxiety’s causalities.
the cure came in an orange bottle
with a child safe lid
at first the pills were white
tiny little circles
burrowing in the creases of my palm
smooth down my throat
healing that tasked like chalk.
the pills are sunshine yellow now
smiling up at me
carrying the end
of my disease.
emily mikkelsen Aug 2018
i got older again
not any wiser though,
just a little bit sadder.
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