Today,
I just want to exist
without the burden of
a million things plummeting
on my shoulders...
I think life has driven
existence to an airport,
I think it told existence
to fly away,
and now life for living organisms
tastes like decay
and airplanes feel like
a death sentence;
not even up above the clouds
can you find peace;
gunfire and chemicals will still
find you even when you are
10 thousand feet in the air...
Today, I just want to exist
without the burden of fighting
for my own survival
but how could we possibly think
that a ceiling alone could protect us?


- Crimsyy

I deal with your sadness whenever you need me to
I know when you're upset because it's a never ending cycle
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be there for you and help
But when you're going back to something toxic
Coming to me bearing an excuse of "oh we were just messing around" with tears expressed with messages
I will tell you to leave
I will tell you to break it off
I won't sit back and tell you what you want to hear anymore
It's not just tiring for you, but for those around you who express their opinion when you ask, but get nothing but scorn from you in return

Somedays, even sunshine is dull
and somedays his name
will make me physically ill.

Somedays, I don't need
to be reminded
that my laughter is loud
and so obvious,
somedays, I don't need
you to pull me,
I just need a rope.

And somedays I won't comprehend
how you can't understand.

I do not like the feeling of
examination,
of eyes burning on my back
as if you are a small match
and I am the bushfire
you wish to light...
I do not like the feeling of
obssessive observation,
I do not like privacy violation,
I do not like the feeling of claustrophobia,
I do not like claustrophobia because
it doesn't cease to exist by simply
removing ten people from one room.
I do not like claustrophobia because
sometimes your own mind is enough
to provoke a certain type
of wanderlust,
the kind where you run away
and leave everyone to rot and rust.
I do not like claustrophobia
because when I am alone,
it can never be enough alone,
it feels like the walls of my room
are breathing on my neck;
they're laughing at me,
declaring this poet insane,
it is the most crowded type of alone
until somebody, something
sedates my brain
and you call me "suggestive anxiety"
it's all in your head,
you're a game of chance
and I'm taking a guess;
you know my face but
you know nothing about my name.

You were someone I cared about
I tried so hard
To be the perfect daughter
But nothing will ever be enough
And I have too much to live for
To die another day for you
So now
You're dead to me

This is a poem for me, to me.

You have a horrible singing voice
but God knows,
singing while you wash away
dishes somehow makes
cleaning your heart
less cumbersome.

I've been worried about you;
you seem to be craving
a psychopathic thrill,
the kind where you feel
everything but remorse;
what a change of course,
you didn't let the monsters change you,
did you?

Intensity sprawls over
your dainty skin,
either full equilibrium
or capsizing until you sink,
either confessing to possessing
a soul gone obsidian
or your confessions completely shrink.

Girls like you
are the reason why you don't see
many small kids out late at night;
you're either fully pacific
or completely acidic,
either lulling stability and resolution
or chaos enveloped by your convulsions.

You're a ******* storm...
Now make sure the world knows.