This feels like dying
It feels like I'm ******* falling

I'm no good
I'm a monstrous mess
I'm a lifeless ghost
I'm a waste of space

The pounding in my chest has slowed
And I long for it to stop
The voices in my head are quiet
And I beg for them to scream
This pain has brought me to life
And I beg for it to end

My words aren't so pretty anymore
I've run out of beautiful ways
To say I want to die

i lost the words
i lost my will to speak
to divulge my mind
i can't scream the truths
that i once was so ready to exile
to the world
no longer allowed inside me

but i still have the red hands
the blood dripping from my finger tips
i still wish to take this blood
and make ink
and make it into peacefully profound truth

i'm so full with things to say
but these words can only come from my eyes
my mouth
my hands
they're useless now and i can't find a reason
the only way to even have a touch of solace
to let the blood red run down my cheeks
to let the red stain my skin
making it so painfully clear
that i'm still full of words
that i can't speak

What are you still doing here?
I told you to go.
I told you I can't come back home.
But you're still here,
In my bones.
In every atom.
When I said I was addicted,
I meant I was enslaved.
I meant to say I was yours,
You took me captive unknowingly.
And now I can't let it fade,
The comfort of your embrace.
It held me with you,
It captured me willingly.
And I belong to you,
And I always will.

I thought this was reality.
But a world bound by words can never be real.
We've created these words to explain the absurdity of our existence.
But no longer an explanation.
Now just a way of ignoring our fear of the pure real.
And ultimately, the absurdity of our mortality.
Iv found the world without words. I've found the horror we've been conditioned to hide from.
There are no words to tell you about this world.
If one was created, the real would lose its meaning,
And become only a word or a label to make sense of something you can't explain.

The entrance is marked by a path of fallen syllables,
that will serve no purpose in this world.
Leave your language on the road leading to the real.
Abandon your understanding of existence.
It will only crumble anyway.

This world of truth is mine.
Only I can experience it because I cannot communicate its existence.
I can't tell you how crippling the real feels.
It's a silent war of the mind and mouth.
The mind is dying for exodus of this experience.
But the mouth cannot divulge.
It has no frame work to put together.
It has no sounds that can build you my world.

Alone in this life.
Because no one can live it with me.
No one can feel what I feel, ever.
No one can live my exact life.
It makes me feel detached from every other human or object.
They can never truly enter my life or my world.
You cannot put yourself behind my eyes and see what I see.
Your perception is distorting my real.

Maybe your real is less terrifying. Maybe you don't have a real.
And I am envious.
Don't build your wordless world.
It only pushes me to see I will die alone.

Wake up
Wake up
I'm up
I'm up
I'm awake

Slipping in and out
Sober
High
Sober
High
I have to stay here

I have no thoughts
When I'm high
Sober
High
I'm up
I'm up
Wake up

I'm still just as lost,
But there's a light in the wood.
These days I haven't seen much sleep.
I'm at a loss of dreams.
But silence is better than my nightmares.
I'm still that drowning mermaid.
Now I'm learning to breathe.
The ships have sailed and I'll never reach shore.
Still, I'm addicted to the sting of the salt.
Can't swim but I can float,
Let this lingering shadow man carry me.
One day he may let me go,
For now this friend won't leave my side.

Now I'm meeting old friends too.
I was convinced my friends had left me.
It seems like a reunion in my room,
And I the unwilling host.
This room is crowded,
But at least I'm not lonely.
I want the light to burn them up,
You are only a spark.

If I abandon my room,
If I get lost I won't mind.
At least I'm free.
So I'll wait for my time,
When it's time to run.
My friends won't stop me.

Funny little thing is she,
She laughs at lightning in the storm.
And what most would see as torture,
She inflicts with pride and is not scared.
Her skin is sharp like broken glass,
And through her lover’s skin she tore.

Through her safest home she tore.
Stupid little girl is she.
They try to mend her broken glass
But the edges cause destruction of a storm.
Please don’t run, don’t be scared,
Don’t be a part of her torture.

Running love is her only torture,
Not pain that through her heart tore.
Distance leaves her crying scared,
Unable to control the fear in her.
Maybe she is the rain in the storm,
Shattering passing window glass.

Maybe she doesn’t mind the glass,
She doesn’t think this is torture.
And maybe it’s not a storm,
But a hurricane she tore
Out of her skin. She
Is no longer scared.

The distance does not make her scared.
Her skin is no longer broken glass.
Alive little girl is she.
Nothing more will be her torture.
She doesn’t need the lover she tore.
No longer does she hide from the storm.

Not sunny skies, but no more storm.
Not yet calm, but at least not scared.
Not yet healed, but not torn.
Maybe cracked, but not broken glass.
Some discomfort, but it doesn’t feel like torture.
Strong little girl is she.

Screaming insanely she tore herself out of this storm.
No one will say “she’s gonna lose it”. Because she somehow she is not scared.
It’s a mystery how she fixed her glass, or how she can still tolerate the torture.