get me out of my head before it all begins to crash.
I can already see the fire on my left arm turning my skin into ash.

the once healed streaks begging to be opened once more.
begging for the admiration of the cold sharp metal they much adore.

get me out of my head before my hands begin to shake.
save me from my vision that scatters in my brain like an earthquake.

full of fear and confusion as to why everything is turning gloom.
wondering why, if all you ever wanted was to be loved and put into a safe, warm room.

get me out of my head before my chest begins to tighten.
I'm choking on my own words, tears and breath only to make me feel less enlightened.

I am scared of myself but I can't find refuge or escape.
A battleground worn out and torn by pierced bullets through a heart shape.

get me out of my head before I tear through my flesh.
gauge out my eyes and tear myself apart because I'm such a vile mess.

let the river of veins flow to the surface with its red colored stream.
watch as my world go dim and into an ever-lasting dream.

get me out of my head before I break down and contemplate my fate
get me out of my head before...
****... it's too late.

You act as if you aren't the root of the statements you deliberately claim.
As if telling me my character is flawed and I am everything to blame.

As if stating that I can not form a sentence without shaking and stuttering is bound to take over my life, crash, and fail.
As if hypocritically saying that I'll end up pregnant with an abusive boyfriend flipping burgers to make ends meet is how my life will sail.

Granted that I'm not even able to make anyone stay with me.
A torment of words in the prison of my home, I feel I'll never be free.  

Let me tell you something, ******.
I was doing much better until you came into my life, stole my mother's heart and ****** her.

Grabbed my hair in the intention to afflict pain and make me cry
Threw us in a cardboard box and you demanded we don't question why.

Moved us into a house for the reason being you wanted to be closer to your workplace.
No consideration of us, you just expected us to put a smile on our face.

Stole the only memories, childhood, and friends I have ever made.
Left in this empty home with my sad thoughts and the pill cabinet to raid.

Only my razor blades and the silence and my head spinning in a whirl.
You talk so high and mighty for a 40 something year old always picking on a melancholic teenage girl.

Like your ***** of a mother, like a ***** of a son.
You can't even handle the consequences when your deed has been done.

You do what your mother does, and take what I hate and use it to hurt me.
It is me that I hate, and you know how much it stings more than a bee.

Brainwashed my mother to be a replica of you.
It's so sad when I see my own mom break my heart in two.

Always said that she'll protect us first.
Until you came along and made that ideation of hers burst.

The inequality of your ethics is completely noticeable.
I'm not a ******* animal, I'm a person you caged in a bubble.

You wonder why I'm the way I am: so emotional, so sad, so problematic.
Even though I'm far from the stereotypical high school teenager statistics.

As much as you've claimed you have done so much good for this family,
You've also broken me too many times for me to count, the irreversible cracks in my brain and heart's anatomy.

You need to stop attacking my very presence.
As much as I hate myself, I'm also my own essence.

Let me get better without tearing me down.
Grow the **** up and stop making yourself look like an immature clown.

I know you'll never see this or even try to listen.
Just know everything comes back around, but until then,

I hope you realize your words are damaging to my very soul.
I hope you fix your **** and bury your insensitivity 6 feet down a hole.

Today is his birthday,
But I don't know what to say.

Other than the ordinary "happy birthday" that everyone else is going to say to him.
I can't help but think about last year when I opened my body to him as a gift on a whim.

With fiery eyes and my legs spread apart, mirroring my heart, as he nervously took my gift of unision.
Now that I think about it, it was stupid really, I should have gave him a cake for him to dig in.

But instead he quietly persisted and I let myself succumb.
I didn't think that the next year, I would feel so numb.

I want to give him the gift of my love but it's something lost in the fog in the distance of empty roads.
A garden once blooming, crushed by the cement he paved before I had implode.

It's selfish of me to make this all about myself.
It's just so hard to see all of his things on my art shelf.

I want to tell him I love him and I'm glad he stuck around for another year of his life.
As he whispers that he's so happy he met me and he wants me as his wife.

He's 20 now, but acts like a middleschooler.
Always playing games with the girl in the schoolyard, the hopless romantic middle school loser.

I always let myself fall this deep down.
My knees are so ****** and bruised and the skin of my palms are unbound.

I didn't think that I'd have to walk alone once again.
Afterall, he made the decision to let our love blast into oblivion.

I want to tell him I love and miss him and wish he can say those love-filled words to me once again.
But it isn't my birthday, so he's blowing out the candles, wishing he'll grow into a different man.

A foolish little boy, so careless with the loser's heart.
You don't realize how much you'll miss them until your heart tears apart.

I want to tell him so much more on his special day,
But my heart's voice is sewn together with thread, and all I can muster is a
"Happy Birthday."

sometimes i need to remind myself that im not the only flower in your garden when your tears is pouring out like a watercan.
and sometimes i need to remind myself to plant some seeds in my own empty garden that i drowned during the hurricane.
i come to realize that im bad at picking seeds that can endure the cold winter season.
and you are better off without me, and only with the flowers you have by the million.

love.
bullying.
heartbreak.
tragedy.
existence.
preference.
color­.
belief.
exhaustion.
insanity.
pain.
sadness.
illness.
worthiness.
stress.

all of these words tied together in one single, blood red soaked string.
even if we wanted to, we can't stop thinking about the past, present, and future.
we contemplate our lives as if the knife will deliver our freedom with wings.
but what we know without our power to **** ourselves, we are clearly unsure.

you see, many people have this stigma that killing ourselves is a selfish way to go.
that they believe we just need to "go for a walk" or "smile and don't be negative" as if it was our choice to become who we are.
many people believe we are just putting our masks, as if our illness was the stage and we were the characters putting on an overreacted show.
question is: don't you think we all would have done that if it was so easy to be happy and go far?

we put guns to our heads,
ropes around our necks,
slits on our wrists,
bags over our heads,
cement blocks on our legs,
pills down our throats,
and sidewalks crushing our fragile bodies,

because we are ******* tired.

we feel like we have no other choice of escape because, believe me, we have tried to protest against our sin.
our cries for help are seen as attention or fake until our bodies are found hung like limp and colorless ornaments on a burnt Christmas tree.
only in the dire times of our ends are we finally noticed and we fight, and fight until we begin to realize that it's the same vicious cycle of hell that we are thrown in.
our bodies being weathered and crushed and grounded into fine ashes that are later then caressed by the air as the preacher sets them free.

We feel so alone through the fights that are proclaimed to others that they will be there yet they vanish like cruel, cold-hearted magicians.
We are the rabbits in the dark pitiless top hat alone to swallow knives for everyone's entertainment as they stare fascinated yet afraid.
No one wants to help a helpless person for fear that their problems only result in a lack of cognition.
The responsibility of contemplated lives rest in the hands of those who want help, but at the end leave after all the hopes they said.
-
...I wish you can see my eyes when they're swollen red with droplets of dull crystals roll down the cheeks I so badly damaged with scratches as a fit of rage on Sunday.
But alas, I'm invisible to the naked eye like a ghost, am I the proof that paranormal entities exist?
I wish you can see my struggle as I attempt to break away.
From all the pain residing in my head that makes me think like a pessimist.
But, please, open your eyelids and expose your mind to the dark places we are living in even if it will take sometime for your eyes to get adjusted.
Uncover our eyes and wipe our tears and check our skin for cuts and scars.
We will refuse and say we're okay for the betterment of everyone else's situation.
But don't give up, for we know truthfully we have wandered into this dreadful, dark, and confusing brain maze pretty far.

We wan't to stop crying and hurting and feeling like our lives don't matter because we see ourselves as unwatered, wilted flowers given to a single mother of 3 kids whose father couldn't spare a little bit of sunshine to fill our stomachs.
Truthfully, we don't want to die, we want to find happiness and peace within ourselves to stay alive.
We want to be saved, we want to be helped, we want to be heard, and we don't want to further plummet.
So please, if you cared enough to read this poem for the betterment of our mental health, provide us the help and care, and call 1-800-273-8255.

funny how
people turn into smokes in mirrors,
when words
of melancholic tones are merely uttered.

"It is all in your head"
Yes, my illnesses resides in my head.
Out of all illnesses that can happen anywhere in my body,
My brain is the paper that soaks up all this poisonous black ink.

Yes, it is in my head. But just like any illness, I wish for it to go away.
I do not wish for more pain, more fear, more mellow feelings.
Yet, it sticks to my body like a fly in a cobweb, struggling to get out until finally it succumbs to its demise.
It's a fight against time and a battle caged inside my skull.
I can hear the banging, the screaming, the explosions.
And they're all directed at me.

Yes, it is all in my head. The constant fighting that leaves me so worn out, I can barely open my eyes to a pastel colored sky as the sun wakes from her slumber.
Skipping breakfast because it just doesn't seem appetizing, as I feel myself weathering into nothing but bones and skin.
Avoiding social interaction because I'll open my heart as if it was an invitation to make those feel welcome in the home that is my arms, fearing that they'll tear out the wallpaper and hammer out the walls.
Staying in my four wall cage that is my lonesome room because I have no motivation to do anything else but to cry and sleep and contemplate my life choices.
Running my fingers through dried red lines carved into my skin, fascinated at such a gruesome work of art made by yours truly.

Yes, it is all in my head. A constant battle waged against me that I fear I will never win. All I ever have is time, time to heal or a time to never feel.

Yes, it is all in my head. I am sick and in pain. I am afraid that the blood flowing in me will soon come to a sudden stop.
I need you to believe that what is in my head will continue to spread until I am no longer.
I need you to believe in me when I say I need help.