my eyes are drenched with the oceans tears, vast and never ending.
my throat is choked in a bile of desperate words that want to be free.
my wrists burning in this warming sensation, that I want to cut out.
my lungs filled with the reminiscing smoke that was your words, laughter and smile.

It's given me cancer.

The cigarette **** that I kept consuming even though everyone told me to quit. I tired too, I'm still trying but then I keep crawling back to this needle and inject my veins with a distraction.
I feel warm, and I'm breathing normally, but then it settles in, I'm empty, needing to calm myself down with the sound of your voice that I can't hear.

No matter how dark of a light you see yourself in,
Just know that I can never see you that way.

i'm too young to be this sad,
i'm too young to feel this hatred towards
my face
my body
my mind
myself.

I thought that I found a new high that kept me off the ground that revealed a toxic ocean that drowned me beneath a voice, and a missing sensation, a buzz, a laugh ... and a hug.
I thought that someone had offered me a helping hand after this slump I was rocking back and forth in,

but now I'm second guessing me, because I despise me, and what I have become accustomed to creating and destroying.

Be Careful How You Talk To Someone Like Me.

i'm too young to be soaking myself in this waterfall of thoughts that i keep thinking like shots to my gullet.

i'm too young to be remembering the past and feeling depressed once I catch a whiff of a smell that you were heavily coated in, and I think back to before now and then I feel so dead inside with the past spark I had in that desirable, beautiful life I once sort to be my future.

i'm too young to feel dead

I do not care to give a crap
I do not care to share my words of advice
I do not care what you think of me.

I’m done, that’s it!
End of this story between you and me, the end that was always meant to be. You walked with me, and I opened the door, then you walked out on me and left me while I rested in blissful sleep.

I awoke to an empty bed, and the thought of drugs in my head, my body stripped bare to the bone, as you had walked out with everything I owned, least that’s what I thought.

I had no material goods left, I had no skin, no muscle and no blood. Just bone.

I thought no one would ever love me, because it was the same **** again and again just with someone new. I was losing hope in myself and everyone else around me thinking I’d be alone forever.

But then I caught a train.

I hate you. The person who taught me a valuable lesson that I don't regret.
But now there's someone new, and I'm happier than before because I'm finally moving on from you.

Words on a screen...
So fulfilling and sweet
A voice on a mic..
Clear and comforting

The ideas of beauty filling my head, but what if it's a lie again?
I don't want to be like that, or to feel like that again.

It's confusing and tempting, luring me with nice thoughts, but it brings on the memories of this happening once before, where everything in the sky was so bright and blue, filled with fresh dirt and golden sand dunes.
But twists of the tongue that makes your words. won't fool me, but they call me, promising the caress of care and affection, but maybe even a hidden agenda?

I wouldn't know, I'm too scared.
again.

Enduring the torture that my own body gives me, cramps and stings and knives that bleed me.
A flood of red liquid many know as blood, I imagine it on my wrists when I feel the tingling warming sensation at the bottom of my arm.

I’m lost in a current when I remember back to being with the bright blue sky, but then I think to now and how I’m pushed under your ocean deep octaves, and dark brooding ground eyes.
These waves that crash over me take a drastic turn as my own stomach churns, constricting me, bleeding me, killing me.

Like my own thoughts weren’t enough to drown my head with the sights of him, but it would continue and I’d see her there too, and then I’d imagine finally finishing it.
But how do I do it?

Do I slit my wrists? And let my body dribble dry.
Do I swing from the ceiling? And let my body sway from side to side.
Do I jump off from a high place? And let my body crumble from gravity.
Do I swallow and choke down pills? And let my body bubble and grumble.

I can’t eat, I can barely sleep, and the stress keeps letting me get depressed. More and more I sink.

Underneath the deep blue sea

The chilling wind that drops it's temperature as Autumn sets in with the now crumbling leaves that begin to fall in the chill of approaching winter.

How I used to smile and laugh before was a month ago, I often think to myself that I should stand in the rain, and be drenched in the tears that God whimpers out over our pitiful humanity
Life is a never ending struggle designed that way.
Designed for disaster.

Paper holds more value to someone then anothers life.
A chase kiss holds more passion then a one night stand.
An animal keeps the runt for as long as possible, while humans discard their own.

We pay, we trade, we slaughter, we cower.
His grip is strong, pinning me down with ease by my wrists, I have no hope. But yet I keep fighting back, trying to slap the girl who keeps crawling back to those pills and that **** needle she feels so lonely without.
Hypnotic in the moment he is, slowly holding out my arm with an injection in the other hand, letting the needle scrape against my skin gently, before piercing the cold flesh.

I'm addicted to this pain that I keep constantly feeling all because I get a head turn or even one word to leave your mouth. I'm in a tranquil garden of lies that I hide behind my "Okay" facade.

If you’re depressed and wanna **** yourself clap your hands
clap clap
If you’re depressed and wanna **** yourself clap you hands
clap clap
If you’re depressed and you know it and you really wanna show it,
If you’re depressed and wanna **** yourself clap your hands
*clap clap

Mum...Dad...
You probably don't want to hear anything from the ****** of the family, but I'd just like to say thank you for guiding me and helping me when I was down, even if I get mad and frustrated with you for not understanding my teenage self.

I wish things weren't quite this hard, but I don't want you to be mad at me anymore, I'm sorry I never made you overly proud with anything I did.

Night is a time where I lay awake and overthink about things again and again, the same things, different day and familiar tears.
I always wondered why I didn't get support for little things, cause it seemed you didn't care for them or what they meant to me, did you feel scared possibly? I can't ask because you don't hear my words.

Pondering back and forth as I pace around, waiting for a response.
I've written too much its not even my own anymore.
So I'm going to stop for a while.

No matter how much you come to mind, you are not mine
and when I leave the feeling of muscle memory coats me in your toxins, your sweet toxins, an odor I'm already fond of
coaxed I am by you, for you and no matter how much I want or crave to be even near you and have you around, to laugh and cry with

you won't be there

Here we go again and I will not give into my own dreams and wishes, we were so close today, I felt your breath from a mile away and your lips on mine for that brief second before your head peered away and looked towards a sea of distraction

Who can touch me tonight and make my skin feel bare?
I feel the hands of the sun roaming my skin as my lower back is held in a warming embrace, but I will not loose my mind as my breathing and heart beats.

A sorry letter is what I meet when I return home and I view the handwriting, recognizing it's yours a little clarification point you recite to me every now and then, I've got it mate.

People have plans and I wanna help others, as they try an encourage me to get through, oh if only they truly knew, I still smell you you're here, Ha!
Honestly I'm not gonna leave you behind, no matter what heat you might have had for me, you think you're better on your own, caress my thighs and grip my *** like it's completely fine, it doesn't mean anything to me.

Maybe I should leave, and react the normal way, but I can't because I just don't care, this is a Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby thing? Minus the money and on off love.
No this is a different version, filled with lust and lack of concern, it's like you have no emotions that reside in you, only hands and a **** that control you

others might say I should escape and hate you, cause I'll be better on my own without the venom of someone who's not even there.
You're not a Tom Buchanan, but you're certainly a Jay Gatsby my lord

Why should I escape though, I'm okay, I'm not dead and I haven't been stripped of everything even if I know not where his hands have been, its just an illusion
Not Real At All

everyone that surrounds you, already knows who you are, but not all know your story and what has affected you in your past.
break
I want you to leave behind anyone I despise, or do not trust, but I can not control you for you do not wish to hear my intuition that is right, somewhere deep down.
break
Okay. I get it, you two become a happy couple, I'll question why I went through the trouble of trying to keep you away even though I admit it wasn't a brilliant attempt.
break
"Bid your *** adieu"
If you wouldn't mind, thanks
Sweetie how will you react when you realise that she is smitten, and you didn't accept another's, oh do tell me why?
Invite me to the wedding and after your vows where they double check, I'll have something to say!
break!
I'm trying to see the light by taking a break and avoid the sight
taking my time. Because the words that follow after anything I say about myself with follow on
And trust me they're not good ones
break!
I can't wait for the bad things to happen, is that bad? cause if they do happen, I'll be reminded why I never crossed the bridge, and I'll drink to that.

Drink to my guts, congrats again, you were ****** right once again!

"Cheers Boys!"

It is not just the main things, it is also the others, the little things
that are not called for, even then neither is the rest...
She spits vile words and harsh poison into my eyes and it stings and burns as I cry in anguish

stop.
how do you think I feel? You don't, words fall from your mouth and spill onto the floor and flood it from the hurt, you tell me to ignore them and only think for myself and get myself set.
Set on what mother?
I have nothing to go off, no one I can turn to for this sort of thing.
You tell me not to feel for the others. Mum, if you really haven't noticed yet, I'm shocked.

You know I can't do this, but you say I don't try hard enough, I'm not putting in the effort...shut up.
I have no talents or skills, you should know this mother.
If I had something, you would've been proud by now, but you're not, so please just stop.

Yes my grades are a mess, and yes I like that boy and yes I'm trying.
"If you stop putting yourself down" you say, like you're trying to comfort me, you're not
You're one of the reasons I put myself down mother, it's you.
And dad, don't forget that man.

you want me to be. Perfect. I can't be that, you should ******* know that.
But you don't. You don't listen, you don't care, you don't understand anything you put me through, "It's not good enough"

leave me
...
no more
I'm done with this. You need to understand that I haven't the slightest ******* clue what i want to do, because I don't know what I can do, I'm not smart enough, I don't have money, I don't have a stupid job, I have nothing I can bring to the table that you like to spin around whenever I try to grab something off it.

Stop making me feel like I'm not good enough.

A lackluster perspective of us pessimists, we create the monsters inside our brains, but we only wish to be awaken from our nightmares.
And the introverts hide behind the music to avoid the lies of others, they fear attachment because the rest of them already left,
nightmares.
We all want to wake up.

constant thinking, never stopping.
A Woman's Brain.
Thoughts and questions, staring into spacious milky-ways and into the abyss of black holes

scheming and thinking of a fantasy land that may never exist,
probably won't, but I'm a sinner that prays for an ounce of hope to bless the idea

But! I do not tend to believe in happy endings, because no matter how happy I try to be.
I never am, it never ends up how you want it to, even if you're desperate for that favorable latter.

a life has no meaning, even if we try and believe and strive to achieve, and prove that there is, it's all just a chemical, it's all artificial in our minds.
love is not real, fear is a trigger, happiness is a drug, pain is just a reaction and when we die that's it.
Nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to attract us to lies and scams anymore that surrounded our once breathing beings that were choked out.
We sink down under the waves and the ship dies under the moonlit sky, the stars mocking our decent beneath and the world pretending to grieve after we lost our privilege to breath in suffocation...

Even if my dreams will never be real, I even if I'm beat down and kicked in the teeth, I've manged so far, I'll be okay. I invite the pain to wake me up from this fantasy, this pitiful and unlikely belief, this prayer that I secretly beg for all the time when I think of you.
A smile in my mind as the image of you fills my brain with things, but then I'm set free with a punch in the face and a foot on my back.

A nice reminder.
I only wish and crave your arms around me, and your smile and laughter to be heard and seen by me, and I want to hear the beat of your broken heart. It may leak out, but I want to care for you and keep you safe, but you do not.
Avoid it at all costs, because we're living for today, and I am not wanted for the next to come, as the swings are directed to me, braking me down with their fists and feet.

They're still hurting, but I'm trying to push this ignition down so the flame runs out, but who knows.
I'm waiting.

I wish for freedom from all the problems that come my way,
some still haunt me from my past to this day.
They keep coming back, the same thoughts again and again.
Same problem, different day, similar night.

I don't like it.
I'm from the West side of Australia, from the beautiful down under.
But pretty land doesn't mean everything projected is true, I am trapped in this country with these people

I only wish to escape from this West Side, to spread out across the world and no longer be contained in a cage with broken, ****** and battered wings, I wish to be here and there and never look back.
But I can't do that, no because they keep coming back, again and again, why can't you just stop!?

Let me go, let my wings heal and stretch, so that I can finally learn to fly high and maybe leave this West side of Australia

If you have ever been with a writer, you don't know the extent of there passion.
Unless, you stay by their side. Then it's even better because you will know, you will eventually know..maybe not straight away or after a couple years, but it will come into the light of your eyes soon enough.

It's tough to get rid of the past sometimes when you're a writer, because people stay with you through text. Your work, and once you read it again, there they are once more, back in your mind as you watch your memories play through.

One and then two, and then there may be more, or maybe just a special one that you can't stop writing about, or you keep remembering.

This isn't bad, it could be a good or bad reason as to why and what you're writing about, it's good to get everything out.

You feel refreshed if you vent out the anger through intricate words, or you feel euphoric after writing about your joy.
It makes you feel better.

I like to link ideas in my head, and I like a bit of rhyme from time to time. Yeah. You saw what I did there, I'm a genius.

I like going back sometimes, because I can see my works, even if your name is imprinted into them, that's okay, it makes it work.
The Idea, The Memory, The Poem itself.

It's nice to be with a writer because you are always somewhere in their writing, even if you don't see it, you're in there, trust me. I wouldn't mind being with a writer, even though I'm one myself, I guess I would just like to see what they truly think of me.

Cause you will always see yourself behind their hidden meanings.

The static settles, finally I see a channel that isn't a rainbow,
And the voices are clear as the day, no rain.
I have no stakes, as I watch this show,
trying to ignore this feeling, this little tow.

Even if I put my music in, nice and loud, just to try and drown it all away, it helps like medicine, but it will always come back eventually,
I'm not a cute little doe, but you are a mighty buck, strength resides in you, while weakness envelopes me and my fear,
I tremble internally

I'm not going to be with anyone, and no one is going to be with me, they all hate me, I know it, I feel it, especially from the buck now.
Antlers powerful and strong, ready to knock me down, stab me into the ground, let my blood pour and stain your hands.
Do It.

Please.

I am desperate not to feel these things anymore,
these emotions that have come to me, with steadily realisation that they are real, I've discovered the cancer inside me, from the cigarette butts that were your voice and laugh that consumed me, and your hugs of blanket warmth, the disease that has settled within me.

You've infected my brain, like drugs have done to addicts.

Where am I?
What am I doing?
Where am I going?
What will happen to me?

Maybe things would be easier, if I was born earlier, back in the 90's,
I mean sure the early 2000's weren't too bad, but things just got a bit complicated and no one can understand anymore.

It's not like there's a tour.

People here and people there, some more fortunate or favourable than others, I'm not in that bad of a situation, I'll admit.
But I do feel sad,
scared, distant, different.
I'm not too significant either, If I were to die, well.
I think that'd be alright.

I won't be missed too much, and eventually the memory of me will leave, and I'll be forgotten gracefully.
Sounds nice doesn't it?
Don't ya think?
No? Just me?

Though my times at the moment are in my own opinion are, tiring, and difficult and ****** confusing, it's like taking an eternal U turn honestly!
I like people, I do, and I also don't like people, that's definitely true.
I mean seriously, who likes everybody?
They're not all your type

Where was I going with this? I had a point! (getting to the second paragraph of an assignment)

I think I was leading up to something like this?
Basically, live how you need until you have freedom, live that the way you want, play all the time; not with others feelings mate!, enjoy the thrill, drive fast once in a while, and play your music loud.

Clap, clap, clap
Boom, boom, boom
Bang, bang, bang
Let the base take you away.
That's just life.

All I wish to say to you people,
oh so much problems that can be solved,
But no, you wish for them to inflict me with burns.

A Bare Flare.
Fire that stings, your words are poison, while my rage is hell.
You have no idea what I do, or what I feel, none at all.
I hate you, you seemed like you were interested, like you cared, like you were trying to get closer to me.

Like Hell You Were.

How many times have I wanted to hang from the ceiling?
How many times have I wanted to take those pills?
How many time have I wanted to throw myself off?
Do you know?

No.
Shut up.

You.
All you do is *****, and complain to me, asking what the ******* can do,
Well guess what, you can't do ****.
I never ******* asked you to do anything, because I know you can't do anything, *****, *****, *****!

"We're trying to help you"
Does yelling ever solve a problem?
"What are we supposed to do? What do you want us to do?"
When did I make a request?

Unsheathing your words and plunging them into my back, the flying poison tipped arrows, killing me slowly, I'm going to snap.
Shatter, and break and crack.
I hate it, and I hate you two, you ******* two.
**** pair those ones, just a ******* joke now days, least that's how I see it.
. . .
Shut the **** up and listen to me for Gods sake,
I hate myself, and I want to end everything, because you never help never at all and it's ridiculous, ******* stupid.
Now shut up while I'm speaking, I'm talking here
When did I ever ask you to do anything?
When the **** did this conversation suddenly turn into this *******?

Again.

You think you know me, your kid, your child, spawn, offspring.
You Don't.
Maybe you'll realize that when I'm gone.
Sorry I'm not good enough for you arseholes.

I wanna leave, so I plan to, hopefully far far away from you lot,
I don't want to see you, I don't want to be near you, the thought of you two is making me sick.
Let me ask once more - if you actually let me finish,
Do You Really Know Me?

Frankly, I hate living
It's filled with so much, ****.

I hate being me, I hate being this thing, this person that I've grown so accustom to, I hate her.
I loath her, yet . . . I can not stop her, she is just there.
Eating away at my past, and forming my dreadful so called future.

I fear what she is capable of, and what power she truly has over me,
But who is Me?

I'm truly lost and broken, torn away from that little girl,
that short little girl that was so happy and ready for anything, always voicing her opinion, standing up for herself and others.

Dear God, what happened to that little purple flower?
Why did she wither away, and fray into a navy blue?
The tendrils of her roots sinking themselves deeper into the earth, her vines not strung up on thin string, holding her up like a puppet.

Music drones out her demonic thoughts, but then the lyrics touch her heart, and she quickly darts, changing over to her Electro, blaring it strong into her eardrums.

Boom. Boom. Boom.
Finally . . . Peace.
Until the next song.

The music chimes around everyone, as the clowns come out.
There for fun and happiness, don't trust them little one.
The balloons are filled with poison, and if popped, you know the result.

Do not give into their lies about joyous adventures and fun, fun, fun!
Never run away with the circus, the singer is out back, smoking her *** with the lions.
The acrobats are in their carriage making out.
The knife thrower is popping his pills, his costume covering the bandages from the encoring crowd
The clowns leading little girls into the forest, with a cheery smile.
A vile smile.
"It's just a game, now be quiet"

The elephants being whipped and running in circles,
a bear riding a little bike,
the horses gasping for air and dying for a drink.
How evil.

The ringleader getting off inside all the dancers, his performers, his workers. What a wonderful man.
The tent has risen, high and mighty on the east side of America, luring in the innocence of others that just want to feel joy.
Least some survive and are not touched by the vile truth, and are forced to dive down into acceptance.

They are not happy.
They are evil.
Real.

A cloud of smoke leaves the singers mouth, as her eyes are covered in a red shading, her green eyes popping out.
The knife throwers container dropped to the floor, his body throwing up blood, tearing itself up piece by piece.
A flashlight growing over the clown in the woods.

The girls leave the ringleaders carriage, as he throws his head back, consuming liquid courage, fighting off his demons from the past.

No one is truly happy, this is the real world.
Cruel, Corrupt, Sick, Twisted.
Wrong

I’m constantly being thrown across, and dragged by my own thoughts, back and forth, back and forth.
I’m broken and tattered, my arms have imaginary scratches, and I’m bleeding out, bruises covering my body, blood dribbling from my head like a baby’s spit onto a bib.
My tears won’t stop, they ache and sting my eyes,
heavy, lifeless, sleepless.

Tearing into my skin as my nails scrape against my neck, trying to rip something out. So I no longer speak.
My eyes are too weak to stop my tears from leaking out, giving me no sleep.
My body is frail, and failing me, the wounds are just too deep, I can’t move, the lack of eating is revealing my paling skin and sickly broken bones, the pain.

I don’t want to feel it anymore,
I don’t want to feel anything anymore,
I just want to die.
Eternal slumber to envelop my being, taking away any form of feeling.

But my brain never seems to stop moving,
not for long anyways.
As my demented thoughts, pick me up and throw me all around a room, letting my dead eyes reveal something that might be fake for all I know.

My head, never, shuts up.
Make it stop!
Make it stop!
Overthinking everything ruins me, my thoughts have become like this because I can’t stop hoping, and then pulling myself down from the clouds of wishful thinking, and they rip and tear and destroy my wings that I once had.

I feel trapped inside my mind, and my body.
As if it does not belong to me, it is not mine.
I am stuck in a human body, filled with dreams, hopes and desires.
All kinds, hopes filled with happiness, dreams that turn to dust without being touched, and sinful and twisted desires that seem they will never be brought to this humans reality.

I feel like I'm throwing up invisible flowers,
Hanahaki Disease.

But because they're invisible to others and possibly even me,
I do not know if it was truly there or to be.
I'm infected with my depressing and constantly moving and changing thoughts, do I need drugs to fix my brain?

I want everything to stop this growing disease, this infection that has leaked into my brain and corrupting my thoughts.

Purity is a lie.
Sin is truth.
Life is meant to be on the edge.
Death is a sweet embrace we should take.
Falling from my bed, I feel like I want to go deeper into the ocean under our human world, and drown in the true reality, and to no longer suffocate from breathing in the waves of falsification.

I wish to see, the real me.
What everyone else sees to be me,
but I do not even know myself?
I wish to be seduced into something true and beautiful,
I wish to not be fed lies that the world persist to be the truth.

I wish to go to my salvation.
*I'm A Sick Girl.

I’m scared, terrified even.
That I’ll break, I’ll break down and cry if I meet your eyes,
hopefully not for the last time.
I can’t get wishful things out of my head,
I can’t get these fake dreams and ideas to just leave me alone!
Whenever I think of them, I’m happy, I’m warm.
But then I remember that it’s all gone, and I’m upset and freezing.

I’m sick of my twisted fantasies and constant “Why can’t, this” And “Why can’t that!”
I’m sick of the ****** tears that seep from my eyes like a stab wound. My heart should be the one bleeding not my eyes. I’m sick and tired of that liquid drenching my face like rain, rain is better than the tears, at least rain eventually stops, because I feel a flood building up inside me.

I’m crying about this, and I’m crying about that.
Can’t just have you back.
I’m constantly having to slap,
Slap Myself Back.
Back into the reality that, what I thought was there, wasn’t really...

Maybe.

I can't really think of anything at this point.
I feel like, I won't get anywhere if I don't try, but then I feel if I do try.
I'll see fear in their eyes.

The sun is frightening but brightens the world to let us see beauty, I do not wish to be the sunlight in someone's life, but I much prefer the moon.

A gracious and bright white glow that lets you see the path ahead in the dark.

But what can I do?
I'm only me, and you are only you.
I can't seem to let go of this grip I'm holding onto.
To others it may seem sickening or twisting.
But, I don't know what I'm doing, and I honestly wish people didn't waste their time *******.

******* around with their words, ******* around with my mind with their turds, thinking they're speaking English.

All they're spouting is nonsense.
****.
Don't ***** around with the truth.
Just tell it to me straight.
All of your opinions are the same, it's like everyone's words are only on replay.
Original mixtape, pirated between people's brains.

How do I put this?
What do I say?
I guess I’ll just lay it out this way.
You’re gone, and I can’t do anything about it.
I’m sad, sure, angry, not really..
I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve just passed the stages of grief,
within a day?
Maybe less than that.
I did not experience denial, I tried to keep calm, and wiped the tears from my eyes, so I could see what I was putting on the screen, and what you were sending back to me.
I did not feel anger inside me, I was civil and respectful of your decision, and did not lash out with any kind of rebuttal.
There was no attempt to convince myself otherwise with bargaining,
I still have hope, because you presented it to me.
I did however feel sad, lonely, empty, depressed,
Because you left me, just like that,
Cry I did, but I can’t really help that.

I met acceptance with shy little steps, and a quiet introduction,
even though I’d much rather be confident, but I know that’s difficult.

The future holds either so much or so little for me.
I do not know which, but I truly do hope, that maybe,
possibly.

We might be okay again some day.

Heart rate increases as I fight back and forth with words of wits,
your words sinking into my thoughts, killing my peace,
drowning my own essence of rebellion.

Every comment is kicking me on the ground, keeping me down underneath the crashing waves of your statements.
It’s highly intoxicated with salt.
Strong, tangy, and bitter.

But your fangs always seem to seep out and attach themselves to my limbs and secrete a venom of negativity, allowing my thoughts to become poisonous to thyself.

I’m trying to change, I’m trying to be different now, can’t you see? A new day is approaching, as the sun takes its dive into the sea of star lit space, and allows the coolness of the night to embrace this side of the world.

But even if the end draws near, I still fear that your antics, will just gain unwanted attention directed towards me.
“You should know this by now!”
“What do you find so difficult!?”
“Why can’t you remember!?”

Violent words equal to violent outbrakes,
Do not antagonize a beast, for it will threaten back,
and we all know that it does not slack.
Your bitter poisonous words, have corrupted my thoughts, and that has made me what I am today.

Unhappy with myself.

I thought everything was fine,
I thought we were okay.
But, I guess you changed your mind,
since you went the other way.

I’m alone, that I can not change, but I can for my tone.
I’m hopeless, I’m stupid, I’m a pitiful being, whom is so tired of weeping.

Night, after night, tears streaming down ones face, always ending up in a similar place.
The pillow.

I do not wish to drown in my own sorrow, my own broken tears and shattered dreams and the burning wishful thinking.
I do not want to be that child, that girl you say is too young to love, too young to feel any emotion, but what I feel is real and what you’re doing to me feels like you’re trying to choke me.

You’re strangling me with your words, though you think that you’re being nice, or not too harsh at all, it felt like I had just been punched in the face. A dull, numbing sensation of the after taste, from a fist once in the air, then crushing me down with despair.

I do not wish to be weak, I do not wish to feel in pain, and I do not wish to feel lonely.

That is my greatest enemy, the crippling anxiety that stomps down on my fear, my nightmare, my little trouble that I resent.
I have to go through this because I am unable to leave your grasp just yet, but once I do I’ll be free, and maybe, just maybe.

I’ll be okay.

The days go on, leaping through another month, another year.
By dear oh dear, when does it end?
That’s the thing, we don’t know, we’re trapped in the darkness of the unknown and only some of us feel as though we are the flourishing ones.
Then the others crumble and shatter, because they are the ones that feel lost and are withering their petals slowlywith every scratch of that blade.

It’s almost sad really, why do we care if someone dies?
I mean, time goes on and on, and as far as we know it never stops, so no matter how long you may have lived or are going to live,
It’ll be nothing compared to the universe.

It’s Almost Sad.

No more colours flourish within beneath your skin, they all swirled deep and the darkness bubbled up, and when you cut your finger, ink drips.

Your heart seems dead, though the problem has passed.
The truth is still there, and it’s dark, oh so dark.
I’ve been choking back my tears, especially when you smile at her.
Talk with her, laugh with her, hold her, kiss her.
I do not want you to touch her.

Why did you try and leave?
I do not understand why you would do such a thing,
Such a disgusting thing.

This has made me feel sick to my core, and I’m too scared to go it alone, though I do not want another to dare come near my dreaded soul.

I Hate You.
I Had Forgiven You.
But I Shall Never Forget What You Did To Us.

*Why, Oh Why, Did You Ever Think It Was Okay To Cheat?

I know you’re there.
Waiting for me.
Staying by me.
Yet this craving of physical intimacy,
It never succeeds, because you’re not here,
You Are Not Here
Here with me, though I wish you would and could be.
It’s frightening and scary, even if I know,
But deep in my soul,
I feel a distance from you,
Distant from you.

And I Don’t Know How To Tell You.

To be in peace, is to feel a release.
A release of built up tension in any and all ways.
We can find this peace through the illustrious brushing,
which brings young men to *******.
But that is only one way, and isn’t what you think I’m trying to say!

Anything can envoke peace in ones mind, body and aching heart.
We can find this peace through the relaxation of sleep,
drifting quietly against the water of our dreams.

We can find peace through the steadiness of nothing,
not a soul to speak up, or a mouse to scatter along.
A peaceful day of nothingness.

We find this peace through different things, taking off the leash of what’s going on, and just sitting quietly in our own field, like a trusty dog.

I’m a person, that’s all I can say.
I go through my day; sometimes wishing I was back up in Toodyay.
But even back then, before we joined.
Each of us being the opposite side of a coin,
but he made me smile, he made me happy.
And I hope I did the same.

We stay up late, texting away.
Pretty cliché.

But I’m okay with that.
And I hope he’s okay with that.
Whenever I speak with him, over a message or in person,
I’m okay.
Safe and Secure from the Immature and Cruel World
I overthink on many occasions, did I say the wrong thing?
Did I annoy him?
Why doesn’t he get rid of me for Christ Sake, I’m not that much of a delight!
But he always says the right thing, and sometimes my face will fully flush in the colour he complimented me in.

I think of him randomly and I play little scenes in my head,
even when I’m falling asleep in bed...
What’s Wrong With Me?
And What’s Wrong With Him!? Why Does He Like Me Seriously!?

I stayed up all night again,
When I’m not supposed to be.
Sleeping isn’t that easy.
I toss.
And turn.
And my eyes they burn.
Bloodshot and heavy, like weights on my eyelids.
It’s not the bed, it’s just my head.
Thinking too much, and then making it all rush,
The comforting screen brightening my 2 AM morning that I never slept through.
And leaving me to dread throughout my afternoon.
One after another, day after day, I go through this pain.
I can not sleep, no matter how hard I try..
Because night after night,
I feel a little bit more of me die..

Holding it out.
As one lie on the ground, somewhere they can not be found.
Not alone, but this place is empty, eyes breaking, as their lids are shaking.

Spotting the blur that was blessed upon them, a person? With a hand to take? An offering to help one awake.
Although the time, it didn't seem wrong, though not right.
For one was young, and still had something.
But it wasn't for them, for another took it for the taking.

It was for someone else, as one disappeared.
Fading away as their heart made flee.

Once again, this hand that they can hold.
Bestowed upon them.
A gentle smile in their direction, almost like a peck of intimate affection.

Reaching out, further and further, clutching the gift of what he had in store.

He.
He is so kind to me,
but his heart is filled with sorrow.
Him.
For it is him who makes me smile everyday,
even though I see his eyes hide pain.
His.
A castle could be his, that's not even the least he could own,
but I wish there was something I could offer, to repay for my tow.

And, now.
Me, myself, and I.*
I, am not special.
Myself, am alone.
Me, I wish to be someone else.

I hate all these people around me,
they have plans for the future.
Knowing what they'll do, and what they'll be.
But how can you choose something like..that so quickly?
Mine is going down, I don't know exactly what I want,
nor what I want to be.
I'm not good at anything, where will I be able to go?
The slums, the street, outside a bar smoking ****!?

Yes everyone goes through something, and everyone has problems,
but some of them are so strong.
They get through it, and live their life.
I'm not one of them, I'm not a team player, and I'm not a problem slayer, and I'm not a prayer.

I'd rather change. Be something new, and needed for the world.
To have a purpose.
But I can't change, and I'm not a machine.
Even though I'd rather be.

Hey.
It's that time again.
Once every year, some have people come and cheer, or go grab a beer.
Whatever you want, it's your special choice.
But I can not carry on, for I feel it is pointless. And not at all special, because it's the same for many others as well, new and old.
It's become sickening to me, to look back at those bad memories.

Congratulations to you, and you.
And ...me too..
Hip, hip, hurray...
Hip, hip...hurray
Hip. Hip. Hurray.
...
..Happy Birthday..