everyday i wake up, stare at the inside of my eyelids and search for a feeble reason to scrape open my tired eyes, get out of bed, and start yet another day, alive.
i always find myself searching for reasons of why i am alive, and why i should continue to be, trying to numb the stinging in my chest from the ***** that fails to pump blood through my arteries at times, battered and worn out
im looking im looking i've spent my entire existence looking for something that doesnt even ******* exist
and i hate searching for these meaningless answers because i am so disgustingly aware we are all trying to find them and i hate the idea that i am living my life just as every other human being is
even my pain is unoriginal
i sit in my room and i write poetry on my laptop, not trying to make sense of the world but just trying to unfold my tangled mind that does not seem to understand any information being inputted inside of it on a day to day basis
i sit in my room writing about a world that doesn't even deserve to be written about
the world is a mess and the world is selfish and i don't know how things used to be but i know as of right now the sun doesn't shine, it burns with hellfire and seems to radiate waves of hate down upon the biosphere, burning and scathing the flesh of worthless creatures attempting to live undominated, "happy" and "successful" lives
the wind doesn't blow beautifully through my hair, the wind blows in an attempt to push me off a cliff, to guide me towards my own self-destruction and to remind me of how easily things can fall apart
see the world is not beautiful
the world just exists
any kind of meaning i am trying to establish in my writing is just a lie, there isn't a single aspect to this life that naturally means something and after all this time i continue to spill empty words onto a blank screen hoping it will fill the area in my chest that lacks substance, but my heart continues to bleed
my brain is deteriorating and i can't feel anything anymore

I used to pass love notes to the knuckles that cracked against my jaw.
I tucked inside my locket the bruises I thought no one else saw.
You see when your first love is pain,
Being covered in blood
Replaces kissing in the rain.
The last time a lover hit me I was 11,
So by 12 I had started dreaming up ways to get to heaven.
Depression is just a side effect of wanting to die,
But when you're in love with toxicity,
It can be hard to say goodbye.

I'm an addict,
To everything that hurts:
Bruises,
And bulimia,
Men who chase teenage skirts,
But hating myself was the only obsession
That lasted long enough to work.

You see I don't always want to die anymore,
Yet now I feel like I finally lost my mind.
Desperately seeking new ways to pass the time:
Anorexia holds my attention
Until trichotillomania comes
And then moves along,
And once again I'm boring and bored,
But I always swore
a genuine smile was something I'd want.

The world is my audience,
I am on stage,
No emotions left,
Just a puppet in a cage.
Reaching out,
Waiting for a hand,
The only one they give me,
Is clap and stand.
They try to break me,
Waiting for it to end.
But they cannot break,
What only bends.

Today I battle
my own negativity
the dark side of
my moon
glowing cold
in the sear
of burns
those little
inflamed live
scars receiving
the salt
of tears
that I gather
in opaque blue
and indigo-hues
in the privacy
of the soft spaces
in the drawers
of my heart
little aches
that grow
as the hours
get smaller
little quakes
on low
in emotions'
faded squalor
and as I plunge
over that
spiritual abyss
draw in my
knees, let the
winds brush
my lips
in a mocking
lovers'  kiss
and try to catch
that beating mass
as it bursts
right through
my chest,
in broken slips
of shattered
glass
I tell myself
in whispers
"No, warrioress!
This time
you will not
be destroyed"
and I fling
my heart,
so bruised
into the
burning,
golden
void

We are living in a mysterious world

Some people would say ...
"You can reach the stars, nothing is impossible."
Some would say ...
"Don't waste your time in reaching the stars, It is impossible."

Some people would say ..
"Dream High, you deserve better"
Some would say ...
"Stop being ambitious, donT dream too much"

Some people would say ...
"It's just a test, don't give up."
Some would say ...
"It is not for you, let it go."

Some people would say ...
"Follow your heart, not your brain. Your brain is rude, it can feel nothing.
Some would say ...
"Follow your brain, not your heart. Your heart is a fool, it knows nothing."

People can give you advice.
But in the end , it's your decision that matters.

*If you will listen to this world,
you'll have no direction because ... *

*We are living in a mysterious world.

i feel guilty
wanting to die
but
*i can't stop
i can't stop
i can't stop

This city has become so familiar.
An endless refrain.
Sometimes the sky pulls away.
Sometimes I feel I could slip through the earth and disappear.
Nobody would even notice.

The other day a crowd gathered.
Bunched together as their paths narrowed.
Then fanned back out into space.
It was an endless flow.
Faces moving so fast they blurred into one.
I sat by the river afterwards.
Unable to stand.

There are seven billion people on this earth.
Drifting through themselves.
And everyone around them.

Train.
Cars pass one another.
Smoke.
They cross the road when the lights change.
Living is effortless.
Invisible.

Two of my friends' relatives died this year.
One from suicide.

There are small moments of grace.
That do nothing to stave off death.
Or the unfairness of existence.

I’ve been moving my hands a lot lately.
I’ve been learning to sew.

Sometimes we fall into dreams.
And lose sight of the present.
Because it’s too painful to consider.

The crow recognises itself in the mirror.
Along with everyone else.
And breaks it.