I cannot write something that is Painless,
Maybe because I cannot exist and be Painless.
Because I do not exist.
And if I exist, I’m not Painless.
My Writing is nothing,
Maybe because I am Nothing.
Because I am Nothing.
And if I’m not Nothing, you’re lying.
My consistent efforts are worthless,
Maybe because my effort is worthless.
Because effort is Worthless.
And my Brain is honest.
My brilliance is battered,
Maybe because I am brilliant for being Battered.
Because I am brilliant and Battered.
And I can’t not be Battered.
There is no need for more reverence,
Maybe because I have capped out my Existence.
Because I am Sick of Existence.
And Existence is Reverence.
There is no love in my bearing,
Because Love means Bearing.
And I have no Bearing,
Because I am scared.
I am scared of my edges,
And scared of tipping.
Because the winds are not calming.
Because a piece of something is missing.
A piece of me is Missing,
Maybe because something is missing.
Because something is missing.
A piece of me is Missing.

I am in my own little world.



Are you trying to be in it, too?

My best is half as good,
But that is to be expected from a girl
Whose parents never made her feel confident about living with a person
For the rest of your life.
I feel alone a lot,
And I am dependent on human connection only when
I start to feel misplaced by the universe.
I think in terms of galaxies rather than people,
Rather than in terms of me.
I'm useless-
But only because people can't use me.
They don't want to.
Why would they?
My hurt is not very visible,
But there is a lot of it in there.
Sometimes I play connect the scars
With my imagination,
And I remember I've failed in every aspect of my life,
Because I failed in one aspect of my life.
I'm tired of motivational social media posts,
And there are times where I don't like being around anyone.
I do not know how I am supposed to live with a person for the
Rest of my life.
I love someone,
But my best is half as good.
I like sitting in the dark in my solitude,
Because I feel like I'll be alone forever, and I am trying to prepare.
I want to be prepared for it-
So I can tell myself I'm happy,
So I can tell myself I'm meant for it.
I am tired of questioning if I can survive,
Or if my bedroom is my safe space,
If I will have this window view forever.
I am here because I feel like I failed you,
And if you are going to love me,
You should know this is how I feel at 8:39
On a Good day.
I'm tired because my Depression is still a piece of me and I'm
Ignorant.
I laugh about it,
Because I do not want anything to be too serious anymore.
I am a writer because I am Sad,
I am creative because I am Sad,
And you can't ever be Sad like me.
I am watching lightning out my window
And thinking,
How beautiful would it be if I could do that for you?
I cry a lot,
More than normal, I think.
I want to know if you are going to love me.

I will never have a love life.
I will live being lonely because I do not believe in soulmates,
I do not believe I am on Earth so another human being
Can **** me when they please.
All of my relationships
Don't work.
And it is not that I wish they would have,
It is that with the very last one
I tried.
I do not believe in soulmates but I will live lonely
Because a person could have been put on Earth for me
That I am not meant to spend the rest of time with.
I have cravings across bodies of water that make it easy to see
The sky is not big enough,
And the winds carry nothing but emptiness and leaves.
Love is not all that is wrong with my life.
If I had love, I still would never be
Myself.
I am not satisfied with only close friendships because
Still, they cannot understand all of me.
My dishes and plastic cups all have tiny holes at the bottom,
With which you can pour water for days on end
But it will never reach the top.
I leave every cabinet open,
Because I do not like closing things.
I can't have *** with someone unless I love them,
And I won't ever have a love life
So I have convinced myself otherwise-
That virginity is just a social construct designed to
Make us feel bad.
I am worried about my mind.
It seems destiny is all only for me and my writing,
And not at all anything else.
I am worried because I do not want to be
Miserable until I die.
I am worried my Depression is what
Makes me a good writer,
And that I will be like
Edgar Allan Poe,
Hemingway,
And we will all die alone.
My sadness
Makes me intelligent,
Makes a personality that is not too boring
For a poem about sympathy.
I exist in crooked dimensions,
Where another person could try to
Want me with their fingers but it will most likely
Die out at their eyes.
I feel everything that is broken.
I feel nothing,
I feel I do not like my neighborhood.
I feel a nice neighborhood is not enough for a
Creative mind.
I feel my worries will **** me before my body does,
And marriage is a lie.
I feel I am not seen as art anymore,
And that all of my paintings of van Gogh are just
Desperation to try,
And failure.
My brain is interconnected with
Pain,
So much so that you are happier Drunk
Than thinking of me.
I do not Drink to form my sentences,
Despite what you might believe,
They are all just as Sad when I first hear them.
I believe that God is tired of me,
Or that I am selfish for using him in my writing.
I think He sees my cracked ceiling,
And expects me to believe it’s Him.
I think I am pathetic for remembering
That crack in the ceiling was from me.
He knows my walls are collapsing,
But I am still laying calmly inside.
My paintings hang around my head,
They are falling-
And I am not so afraid because I am
Falling, too.
I am worried about my Writing.

when i look at shattered marriages i think,

-

what will it be like for me?

somehow i'm still a ******* loner

to have looked at this same sky with you
from the same place where i am standing now