I am tired with the feeling of being dismissed, criticized as to what I'm going to do next.
I am tired of forcing myself to choke back the tears, hide my barb-wired stained arms behind a long sleeve sweater.
I am tired of fidgeting to keep my sleeves past mid fingers, because my knuckles are swollen and bruised green and purple from yesterday's misdemeanor.
I am tired of insomnia always wanting to be held by me, being woken every 2 hours as if I was tending to a crying baby.
I am tired of running around and around my brain, always overthinking until I go past insane.
I am tired of how my energy stops out of the blue, leaving me nothing but to stare into the wall dazed and confused.
I am tired of making people run away from my presence, love and hurt and leave me until I'm left too sick to keep myself barely on balance.
I am tired of walking with wobbly and scraped knees, my palms are bleeding with skin peeling off, barely able to write more sad poetry.
I am tired of being hurt by everything and everyone, they say my heart is a blessing, but it has cursed my life since the day I was born.
I am tired of the cruel criticism towards me, years upon years of insecure comments that developed into PTSD.  
I am tired of having to rely on someone else's heart just to make myself feel worthy and complete, I can't help sharing my entire heart just to get it back again obsolete.
I am tired of the sickness that tells me good morning each day, opening my mouth to cleanse my body of the food from yesterday.
I am tired of looking at my skin in the mirror, as my rib cage becomes more visually clearer.
I am tired of breathing in the oxygen plagued with depression, opening my eyes to a vast blur in my vision.
I am tired of smelling the fear raid out of my body, their eyes watch as I shake and choke on my spit as I drown in the sweat caused by my anxiety.
I am tired of feeling incomplete, my hollow heart filled with thoughts of the night my soul fell to my feet.
I am tired of crying on the bathroom floor alone, shaking with ***** dripping from my mouth whilst trying to type for help on my phone.
I am tired of wanting to be loved and adored, knowing full well they'll leave me when they get bored.
I am tired of scrolling through my phone to fill the space of pleasure, because his name is screamed to me until not my legs, but my brain makes me shake as if I was having a seizure.
I am tired of being vocal about my mental illness, if it only brings me back into a bigger mess.
I am tired of ruining everything I touch, shattering like a fallen sculpture, not being able to fix it much.
I am tired of thinking until I get ******, screaming with every  punch on the wall because I'm alone and won't be missed.
I am tired of dreaming what could have been between him and I, instead I begin to think of different ways to die.
I am tired of seeing my window sill every morning, thinking about how I can just jump from it so I can avoid today's daily dooming.
I am tired of talking without words to speak, instead they're drowned out by wails until everything turns bleak.
I am tired of being told I'm going to be a failure, only because my suicidal thoughts have made me unsure.
I am tired of the pressure for me to do better in school, knowing they are just going to insult me for being an emotionally unstable fool.
I am tired of the tears kissing my cheeks goodnight, only to knock me out with the help of the looming monster that is impossible for me to fight.
I am tired of feeling and being weak and fragile, telling myself I'm strong are only words filled with false hope dripping with vile.
I am tired of the days I feel happy and alive, whilst also telling myself this is temporary and will soon deprive.
I am tired of my mouth being sewn shut as to not mutter a single word, trailed off when it finally unravels to people who refuse to have me heard.
I am tired of the numbness in my body after I break down, realizing the man-made tornado had once again ripped into my lonesome town.
I am tired of being alone and having no friends, because I'm still trying to heal from the knife twisted deep into my spine from the last person that wanted my life to end.
I am tired of keeping myself in captivity, when I know that I can free myself to feel amenity.
I am tired of the bipolarity in my decisions, always asking to be left alone but cry when I'm not given attention.
I am tired of being the family burden, an annoyance who can never do right with flaws that can not be undone.
I am tired of getting tangled into the constant mess I put myself in, they say I keep doing this to myself as I place my problems on my head with a pin.
I am tired of being ******* to the strings, in which exhaustion plays and moves me like a puppet's unescapable fling.
I am tired of being tired all the time, it's becoming so hard to find words that rhyme.
I am tired, I am just so
Tired.

I wish I can believe
When you ask me how I am
Though your words of false concern
becomes muted by a high pitched tone ringing in my ears.

You only ever come
When you want to see something lewd
A stranger, a one night stand
Your pleasure is not my concern
How rude of you.

A so called friend
Who backstabbed me once before
I can't  listen
When your hands are painted with my blood
Are you here just to strip me of another layer once more?

My two caretakers
Who bound my hands and feet with repulsive diction.
The make believe stories they would tell me is fiction.
One day they'll act like water with a calm flow.
And most, a terrifying blizzard of snow.

My all time lover who broke my heart.
You try to help now, but it wasn't noted before.
A lot of the things that are happening now are because of your break up letter.
You are only here to pay for the damage of my brain and heart.
But I know you wanted to leave once you tore me apart.

And the people at my school
Who will pretend they knew me once I'm dead.
Who believe they knew the suffering yet it became apparent too late.
You act as if death is your motive to finally speak my name.  
But you all have ignored the ghost girl roaming past the classroom door's window frame.

Your words of false concern
Is apparent to my eyes.
I can see that you have tried.
But "I'm sorry" isn't a good response to someone who is
Already sorry for being this way.

I am mesmerized by the way he caresses my hands in his own boney flesh.
The way he seduces me with poisonous kisses that can break me down into mesh.
The way he carefully watches over me like a vulture circling around its prey.
How he comforts me with gifts of razor blades to end my horrible day.
How his love makes me physically ill to the point where I throw up his bland tasting food.
His lust for a lifeless body, patiently waiting for it to be me when the time is good.
I am in love with the way he looks at my desecrating body.
A flaming hunger in his eyes, I think it is only noticeable to me.
The way he notices my blood is weathering my heart as time keeps passing.
And the way he loves me for who I am without a lack of misunderstanding.
How he holds me oh so tightly when my mind is having another mental earthquake.
How he whispers to me that it will be okay to sleep for an eternity with him because the world I'm in is so fake.
I like the way he tells me to stop breathing and act like I'm at a state of eternal rest.
And the way he looks at my still heart instead of my *******.
The way he slowly runs his fingers through my fresh cut wounds and scars with a face of delight.
He says I made myself into an abstract work of art, always covered in pain and let myself be without a fight.
He traces my rib cage ever so softly as it is bound to turn soon to dust.
His heart makes my body quiver with unrequited passion for him I so dearly lust.
And his sinister smile he gives when he sees me cry.
I know he only partakes in comforting me as to not pry.
Because he knows just exactly what swirls around in my head.
He knows he can make me calm by talking to me about the life of the dead.
Because that is what he knows best, taking care of a heart that has wilt.
I mean, who wouldn't love a man so sweet who can rid us of self hatred and guilt?
I love the way he touches my soul to make me tremble, moan, and scream.
And the pressure builds up to the ****** until he wickedly stops and I'm left to cry out a water stream.
I am in love with the way he leaves me in hunger for days as to keep me on the edge.
And the way he takes away my breath with his tongue dancing on mine while my feet dangle from a ledge.
He promises to stay by my side as his after-life lover.
He has me wrapped around his boney finger like my neck in a hover.
He holds my bleeding hands as I fade in and out of what I was prone.
Because his love for me is so strong, he doesn't want me to transition to the next life alone.
He doesn't cry or tell me to stop at all.
He caresses me in his arms and tells me to let myself fall.
And for his understandings of my weak heart and absent mind,
I am in love with Death, because his heart is always aligned with mine.
He knows exactly what I want and what I want to hear.
He shows his love for me, with no doubt or fear.
I am in love with you, Death, my brittle heart is yours.
I promise one day we'll be together and for you my soul will eternally pour.
For you have always been there, speaking to me through my mind.
Reassuring me that you I will soon find.
I love you, Death, for you are my only company.
I'll come soon to you, and in unity we will be.

I am discovering myself more and more now.
I remember, I used to hide behind the societal shadow,
I have hid in for a long time.
Suppressing what was known to be a bad sign.

I tried to forget the softness in her hands,
or the way her soft hair would blow onto my face,
entangling me in the scent of flower gardens in the sunrise,
silent whispers in our late-night sleepovers,
and waking up beside her dark circled eyes and her morning messy hair framed on my bed.
I'd glance at the mosaic, but had always turned away.

For awhile, I believed my mind was playing around with my heart like a toy.
I was always taught to fall in love with boys.
Besides, I never thought that I would remember these sensations again.
until the boys had left my heart broken.

And while the love I shared with the male flesh was of my happiest times,
I had to face the fact that he could never be mine.
And so I came to terms with the aesthetics of a girl.
When I first saw her, my brain had whirled.

I was confused for awhile, trying to find if this feeling was true.
And one day, a girl in my art class gave me the proof.
Though I'm quite timid, her sentences and sense of humor laced her tongue like silk.
I couldn't help but glance and let my feelings for her mat together like fabric felt.

Though I'm not ready to begin a relationship until my heart has completely healed,
I will admit, I like girls, I like boys, I know this is what I feel.
I'm understanding myself better and better now.
I hope everyone will accept me to somehow.

I'm on a whim contemplating between disparity and continuity.


Stuck between where the fire meets its maker doused in gasoline.

Who self destructed to the point where her hands aren't clean.


And turning a deforested soul into a forest full of wanderlust.

Moving along with Earth's rotation as she becomes crystallized into her origin of star dust.


Cemented between inhaling the start of another new season.

And exhaling out gun powder from the war waged against self treason.


Feeling the outline of my fingerprints just to pretend his skin is still touching mine.

And reading the crystal ***** as they fall down my cheeks telling me his heart was never aligned.


I can't choose between the feeling of infinity and ephemerality.