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.

Here I Lie.
In my life.
On these words.
In these pages.
In this book I have created.
Turn me upside down and throw me on the ground.
I'm still here, I'm still breathing, and I'm still living.
I'm not happy, I'm not sad, I'm not mad, I'm not glad.
I'm everything and nothing, deep inside.
I'm empty but full.
Just half and half.

Here I Lie, Here I Lie.
That's me when I die.
But when will I die? And when will I strive?
And only God knows when I'll drown under the tide.
If you're here, and you bothered to read.
Thank you.
Thank you dearly, for listening to my words in your own voice.
And because reading this was your choice.

Youth is what we hold, either in mind, body or both at one time.
But if you waste this precious holding, it may reveal a now unfortunate truth.
Claim and hold onto everything that it offers in that way.
Don't waste your precious youth.

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

'Giving up' is a saying. But so many know that it is life's tow.
We fight, we play, and we yell horray.
Our days filled with youth and joy and other stuff.
But when you grow up and are caught in deaths trap, you'll realise, it's a bluff.
We are born, and we live a life, but then we die.
So really...

We Were Born To Die.

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

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.

"God bless it, what are you doing to me?"
He thought to himself quietly.

They had jumped together from a cliff, into a natural pool.
And he was given a harded stool.
-
He grabbed some soap, for which she was glad.
Finally a bath, something clean and grand,
Approaching him again, as the water bends.
Her hands grabbed his own, the soap intact. Rubbing the suds in her soft hands.

She rubbed his cheek, he felt the tingles and jolts. As she pinched his other cheek, playfully.
He giggled and chuckled, pinching her nose during this playful matter.
As the water became a splatter.
He cleaned her, and she had cleaned him.
Just the two of them.
No one else.
Just them.
He begged for the moment to never end.

He'd been touched by her, and he loved the feeling,
he wanted her close, so she wasn't for the taking.

"Just a simple peck, nothing intense." he thought sweetly,
he yearned to touch her again, to feel her again.

"Do we have time?" She asked, as he looked at the positioned sun.
"No, we have to go back."

This saddened him, for he wanted to be in the water forever,
just with her and him together.

She was quiet & sad.
As life dragged.
Nose filled with snot, and the tears wouldn't stop.
She didn't know where she was going.
As her ocean was flowing.
*Why not abide to suicide?

Okay.
Such a pitiful word, it describes nothing.
Yet everything.
I'm okay, I say nearly everyday.
But *I'm not okay, and I don't want to play.
"Not being okay..is okay"
It's not okay, to be that though.
No, not at all.

I want to go back, back through it all.
Fix it, mend it, prevent it from happening.
But it did.
And I can't.

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?

Rumbling about, back and forth.
You, can never be taught.
Sleeping still, not with this beeping bill.

'Beep beep beep!' your alarm quacks
"Shut your mouth" you thaw from slumber.

Smashing it down, thrashing it to the ground, time to mell under your sheets.
"*******.."

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.

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

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

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..

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.

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.

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.

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.

You hold on so tight.
So, so tight.
I can't move, I can't talk, I can't breathe.
You need to release me.
From this hold, from this bond.
I'm no longer fond.
Release me into this world.
The real world.
Someone will be there, surely there must be!
They'll give me their hand, and show me.
. . . the world of insanity . . .

I hate you,
I despise you,
I loath you!
Because you make me feel nothing but,
Pain, and disappointment about myself!
All you care about is making fun of me,
and mentally & emotionally torturing me!
I'm sick of it, I want the freedom I never had!

You care about my grades, not my tears...
You don't even know when I cry, unless it's in front of your eyes.

I hate you, I love you, but I can never forgive you.
Mum & Dad.

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.

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.