if we believe
we can achieve...

the lowest depths of insanity:
the very height of the losing streak

gambling is a dangerous game
not because of the money,
but the repetition of negativity
that can actually hold the brain captive.
it clanks a mug against the metaphorical
prison bars of the psyche.

so stuck in the chase that you present
the inability to hold out for even mere minutes
because there's "hands to be dealt" and
"stakes to be raised."

the recklessness you allow yourself to continue
until you're at your wits end
wondering why you haven't stopped yet,
or perhaps, why you even started to begin with?

it's not a game of skill or wit,
it's rigged to make the player feel superior

but only until they've got
nothing left.

Heat bears down on
seemingly sponge like pavement
and sings of scorching summer sun.

It is times like these
I am usually in my prime.
Usually so excited to go out
and live my best life.  

But lately, there is only
an overabundance of scared:
of everything and nothing, all at once.

Maybe we haven't gotten
the medications quite right,
or maybe I haven't
perfected my grounding mantra
but I don't quite see an end in sight.

The voices are deafening
it's starting to keep me up at night.

It's funny, because
in my youth, I had an infatuation
with swingsets, but yet
this back and forth of
upward swings and downward spirals
is getting tiresome:

it feels like I'm losing the fight.

A wave breaks on the shore

and it paints a grotesque scene
of every little earth shattering thing
that you did to me without warning.
Rip through me like wrapping paper
on Christmas Day, while momma smiles
because she knows she did right by
that list you wrote for a fake being.

All it is, is words.
Jotted down quick so you wouldn't
forget them like you forgot me.
An 'I love you' splattered across
phone screens only to mean nothing
when you're miles away.
I wasn't, and couldn't ever be
what you need.

You needed the golden state,
all west coast, and gold teeth.
I was an east coast breeze.
A girl who would've given her last breath
if it meant seeing you smile with teeth,
but you ripped them out one by one,
each one another cut heartstring.

A girl who would have jumped
just as high as your love would allow,
but you couldn't give it to me.
Only marionettes and puppets strings,
dance for me, you said, while I lie through
these broken teeth.

Blindsided,
like being struck
by lighting from behind.

Or a car that decided
to ignore the stop sign.

I went through the windshield.
Wrong place, wrong time.

And now here,
I remain. Broken
before I even knew
what hit me..

I could have seen it coming,
but sometimes, we choose to be blind.

I itch, but only metaphorically.
It's not a physical sensation, merely a tick,
like clock hands make but more deafening.
I feel it in my skin, like bugs crawling,
creating passage ways to safe places
that I didn't know existed,
and I've still yet to actually find them

It just isn't easy to explain anxiety to
someone whose never had it.
It's like trying to teach a penguin to fly
with an anvil strapped to its chest.
Originally it was impossible,
but when you have anxiety,
you find ways to make it even more so.

I feel as if I'm sinking,
but also as if I'm the one
who tied the weight around my ankles

i've
  never
    been
      more
        confused.

my heart is a ticking time bomb
and the after shock will be worse than the initial blow,
i promise you.

like a handgun just fired,
or fresh blood dripping in clean snow,
it's noticeable, my love for self-destruction.

the scent of sadness lingers around my being
and soap won't strip the depression
out of my hair so i guess im stuck here.