It's a secret art A hidden talent The amount of time and precision I put into it Hiding the tools from others so they cant know Waiting for the right moment Turning the pale, beautiful canvas into a bleeding portrait Picasso would be proud of Dwelling over it for days Spending every night Planning when and how The torture builds up until your creativity explodes Hands trembling Body numb and your brain gone but you are still able to create those strategic lines on the pale **** canvas
20 years on the god forsaken planet and i forgot how to breathe Constantly grasping for a life guard, not because i cant swim no more like, well lets put it this way I'm an Olympic athlete, or at least so i tell myself i should be I must swim like i've been doing it my whole life but i just started trying a week ago so why am i not a pro?
Everyday we put this extreme expectation on ourselves expecting to climb mountains when we spend the past 3 years smoking a pack a day
Think about that
We would never get mad at someone if they lost a race when they have broken legs
So why get mad at yourself when you just cant today
"why cant you get out of bed" "Why are you so lazy" "No one wants to see your **** face"
Over and over and over again
"it will be okay" "Practice hard everyday and you can be an Olympic athlete" "Practice Everyday and you can learn to love yourself" "Practice everyday and those overbearing thoughts will soon drown themselves in the flow of self love"
a wolf hiding in the skin of a sheep creeping in the dark making me unable to sleep
they say if you count sheep you will fall asleep faster but I find as I count sheep I only become more lost in the pasture walking through wheat fields searching for a meaning insomnia slowly killing me brining me to a yield
Im standing on the edge of life and death wishing that wolf in sheep skin would have taken my last breath saving me from the dark caves in my brain making me feel like living is worth the pain
4 years old, and already knowing the harsh reality 4 years old, and cleaning up the tears and broken glass he left behind 4 years old, and already a pro at telling people whatever they want to hear over what they should in hopes they don't lash out
See I was just a kid when my mother crawled into my room bawling her eyes out which shed never hope id see I was just a kid helping my mother hide from the love of her life, helping her push a dresser against the door praying he wouldn't break it down
see at for years old you should be watching cartoons not watching your mother cry. you should be scared of the boogie man, not the man 2 rooms over who claims to love you but every time you tell him to stop he ignores you!
"Im not getting bad again, I promise" I repeat to myself any time I feel down as if having a bad day isn't allowed when depression hangs its cloak over you like a coat rack Im not bad im just a little sad.... but then they ask are you sure, so the two sides of my brain start to brave the battle of paranoia and instead of concluding with joy im constantly lost in the limbo trying to find a ploy out of this crypto