Having a

weird mom

builds character.

rising from the rocks
part spirit or smoke

she is not an illusion
she is an appearance

an almost transparent
otherworldly creature

she holds flames
tightly to her chest

as if they came
from her

as if they are part
of her

she looks scared
not knowing what

comes next
what comes of her

appearance in this
strange world

tw: suicidal thoughts



I haven’t felt it in months...
But I knew I should’ve listened...
I should’ve thrown out all the pills
All the orange bottles in my nightstand drawer
I didn’t want to then
I don’t want to now
They’re my way out
My backup plan
When things go dark,
I can offer them to myself
There’s always the pills...
I don’t even know if they’re enough...
But part of me is desperate to find out

What is this recklessness in me?
I was always so cautious, so precise
Now I just... I just don’t care
I want to know what happens
If I drive a little faster
If I’m honest with my mother
If I skip my meds... one day... two days...?
If I took a few more... a little of this, a little of that?
How many drinks before they know what’s wrong?
How many scars can I show before someone cares?
Now there’s not really enough left of me to worry about
Genuine concern replaced with a sick curiosity
The question “How much will hurt me?”
Has been traded for
“How much hurt before I’m stopped?”