art is me trying to be me in a world where everyone is different so aren't we just all the same in a rat race where everyone is everyone and everyone is running just to try to win even though everything is falling apart and your words don't make sense ideas don't come fast enough and everything is spiraling out of control and you can't keep your balance can't stop dropping the matchsticks when you just want to make a flame to light to light up the dark because you can't see where you're going and all thats left to do is wonder if theres a god and whats he like and does he love you like everyone says he does or does he even understand love because I sure as hell don't
I mean what is love I say I love art but sometimes I don't want to draw even though drawing makes me feel sane makes me not feel all the hurt but sometimes I need the hurt to make me realize I do things to make me happy but sometimes its too much and your lungs feel too tight and everyone tells you they understand and they don't and that just make your lungs tight sometimes too tight to breathe

I take you all in

I close my eyes and with a lump in my throat I send it all to you. The way my chest swelled when I think of the memories we've made.

Your lips turn at their edges and I know love is real because it comes out of my breath and you took it deep into your lungs.

I like to close my eyes
because
it makes me feel
invisible
not like my body disappears but
all of my emotions shine through my eyes and when
no one can
see them it's like
my sadness doesn't exist and sometimes
that's what I need to believe because
when the days feel too long and time goes too fast for
me to keep up I
stare at the ground
when I can't focus on anything else and it's the only thing that leaves me
grounded.

Sometimes I
look into the mirror
and nothing looks

back

but a pair of
blank eyes

that

take more than a

moment

to recognize

who they are looking at.

What would happen if when you came home.
I was sprawled on the floor.
With a bottle of pills in my stomach.
or
With a rope tightened around my throat.
or perhaps
Wrists cut deep,
Thick red all over your nice clean floor.
Because that would be your biggest concern.
Your freshly cleaned floor

**I hope it stains.

There are so many days.
                  How do I keep track of
                                   what to feel?


I can feel happy,
                 but awful.


Beautiful, but those are the days I tend to cry.
                  and I don't cry beautifully.
There are times I'm an open book,
                  yet so closed up.


Days I feel full of myself,
                  but there are more where I wonder,
                                           "who the **** would want me?"

Maybe I should want me.

Cross legged on deserted asphalt.
                              Imprints on my legs.

Nothing but glitter,
                              Against a cold black sky,
and a silence of broken bottles.

For once in months I think
                             nothing.

My mind as quiet, and numb as the glass.

While my thoughts never end,
                              never stop screaming,

Silence was the answer.

but two things are imminent

death and the day I break your heart