breaking apart in
bits of Styrofoam; please use
to pack up your holes

fragile: handle
carefully, my body says;
i stopped listening

i am broken
like a carousel off its axis;
lost,
because I have to figure out how to fix this
shattered mind
with no blueprints for what a stable one looks like;
hopeless,
in a world that shoves happiness and recovery
down my throat anyway;
someone
who lives only for the sake of others
those who mistakenly believe i can be saved;
soulless,
because for all that i feel
none of those emotions touch me
deep enough to pull me out of this void
i'm living in.
i am.
dying
and already dead inside.

i'm stuck in this bomb of a body;
heels pressed into the knowledge
that things will always go wrong.
finger cocked on the hair-trigger that is my mind;
whether the blast will go inwards or out no one knows.
either way, the result will hurt everyone close
to this disaster that is me and myself;
the only thing  i can be trusted to do
is sabotage my health -
i fail on purpose at everything else,

once upon a time
i thought that if i scratched away at my skin hard enough
i could peel the layers far enough back
to reveal someone else inside
someone who wouldn't be judged
someone who was some semblance
of normal
it didn't work
because there is no normal in me
there is only pain and confusion and fear
now all that's left of those
happier times
are the scars that litter my body
like a trashcan
tipped in the wind

i feel like someone
is trying to pry open my ribcage
with a crowbar
like the doors to a closed bar
ready and wanting to drink in the rage
sitting in my heart

the only question is:
will they reach it before I die
and anger flows out of my body
on the wings of relief?

i have half-moon circles
That sink my eyes into my skin
they reflect what's happening within

my skin folds up like a paper crane
trying to make space
for the stifling thoughts in my brain

it's never enough to stop
the spilling over because
a drop always sneaks out
leaks out onto the blacktop
let out a meaningless shout.
It makes me doubt
Want for a better, stronger mouth
to control what words come about.

i'm a box
of oxymorons
contradicting and tripping over themselves
competing against themselves
to see who comes out on top
voices screaming in each ear
'look over there! no here!'
so loud
i cannot hear
the sound of my legs shaking
my heart aching
my mind breaking
over the things that i've done
is this what it feels like to know that you've won?
does that matter when you're also the one losing?

Intertwined faces
Swirling in infinitous whirlpools
Arching, towards nowhere.

every day
another pound drops under my eyes
into the bags hanging there
drawing them heavier and heavier
darker and darker
with the weight of my sins.

they used to stay within
my mind
but little by little
they dripped out of my mouth
into conversations,
arguments,
paper.

now, i'm supposed to erase all of those thoughts,
cross out all of the lines that i've made
write new ones in their place

instead,
i decide to leave them scrawled in the dust
and turn the page.