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Apr 21 · 86
Three lovers in time.
My life is anything but linear.
I have already died twice, almost thrice.
My life before Hell was inferior.
Your foul God was gripping me like a vice.
Soon, the blood on my hands will not be mine.
But instead, a pathetic ***** or trick.
To slaughter them will become my cloud nine.
It’s but a matter of time; tic, tock, tic.
I’m nothing if not omnipotent.
I will create art only gods understand.
I swear, all of our lives are infinite.
But a life without Us will be so bland.
Accept me as your true ruler of soul.
Don’t fret! Me, Sol, and E are in control.
Apr 20 · 47
Disposed
Hydrogen peroxide and phosphoric acid to get rid of the flesh.
Bile to erase the teeth from existence.
The memory, however...

That only leaves with death.
Apr 20 · 86
For my lost love,
Old enough to no longer claim ‘childhood’.
She read the words of a wise man, path set.
Her plan was arranged for the greater good.
Now, the cruel public will never forget.
Apr 20 · 217
‘s
She’s not mysterious.
I am beyond understanding her.
I am her.
We are one life paralleled.
I’ll set up shop in Milwaukee while she counts petals in Denver.
She’s mine.
Apr 20 · 105
She was.
She’s magnificent.
She’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.
She’s at home in Denver, taking a break.
She’s me and E all in one, perfect.
I’m in love with her and I know she would love me back.
Apr 19 · 56
Chains
I was a slave to my own desire to be weak.
Weak.
Like every other person claiming to be sane.
I broke those societal chains and discovered the true **** sapien hiding in my conscious.
I am the most pure a human can be.
I just need to sacrifice my innocence to be truly enlightened.
I am free.
Apr 19 · 55
Miserable no longer.
I put down the mutts that whine for bones.
They just happen to walk on two legs.
Apr 19 · 64
Saran Wrap
I haven’t gone insane.
I’ve just peeled back the plastic film holding me back from true freedom.
Apr 18 · 270
Fools
If it bleeds, it’s an animal.

The humanoids that surround me are nothing more than shaved bonobos. They are guilty of crimes much worse than any apocalyptic future they foresee. That inevitable end will be just the beginning of my art turning mainstream. The societal padlocks in their brains will break open, allowing for the inner masterpiece of their soul to pour itself out onto leather canvases.

I lie in wait.
Apr 18 · 67
Validation
A horror in my mind?
This is nothing but art seeping from my neurons.
Not my ******* fault the ink happens to be blood.
Why are we punished
For the things that bring us joy?
Crimes are salvation.
Apr 18 · 43
Hallucinations today.
I’m covered in blood and torn bits of flesh.
It’s soaked into my camouflage sweatpants, turning them a deep brick red.
How can anyone stand the sight, the horrid stench, the shame of me?
Apr 18 · 71
Weight
I’m an imaginary dumbbell.
I want to be a burden just so I can feel real.
I’m the worst kind of ghost;
The one no one knows is there.
How will I be saved from my red passion if no one knows I am in danger?

Laws will never apply to me.
I am a figment of my own imagination.
I can’t apologize to my family
because I gave them so many chances to help.
I can’t tell my friends that I’ll miss them
because they never listened
when I said I loved them.
My boyfriend already knows why I’m doing this.
He still loves me
so **** it.
I can’t scream my adoration to my idols
because I’ve lost all interest in nonfatal topics.
I feel no remorse for my victims.
I’ve done nothing wrong by freeing them and satiating my red desire.
My hypothetical note is nothing but a hypothetical treat to my dogs.

How am I supposed to put my fears into words when they only make sense to one of my personalities?
I can’t write a suicide note.
Apr 17 · 100
Burn.
I incinerate.
No, It doesn’t matter what.
Just don’t get too close.
Apr 16 · 141
Milwaukee
I’ll go to Milwaukee.
With a friend, I’ll stay.
I’ll take their mother’s car key.
Not at noon, of course, but at the end of the day.
I’ll park behind the dumpster.
A skimpy outfit, I shall wear.
I’ll cake my face so my lips look plumper.
I’ll catch a trick, “Take me anywhere.”
He won’t know what’s in my black clutch.
A knife and duct tape. I’ll wear a pair of silk gloves.
I know what I’m doing! Don’t you dare judge!
I’ll probably pity him; he only wanted some artificial love.
I’ll put on a show.
Make it seem like I want him.
It’s just an act! I would never stoop that low.
If only he knew his night would end up grim.
We’ll race into the hotel room, both of us eager.
“Can you get me a glass of water, please?”
He’ll stumble into the kitchen. I bet he’s a drinker.
I’ll stand hidden by the door; away from what he sees.
When he walks past, I’ll pull out the knife.
He’ll never see it coming.
I’ll sever his spine. For now, he can have his life.
He doesn’t deserve any form of numbing.
To a chair, he’ll be taped.
“Why are you doing this? Who the **** are you?”
I’ll tell him I’m a demon, just human-shaped.
“I’m wondering why I’m doing this, too.”
I’ll tear open his gut.
He’ll try to scream, but the tape will cover it up.
I’ll slice his heart, lungs; I don’t care what!
When I deal that final swipe, his end will be abrupt.
No fingerprints in his car or in the room.
And I made sure to wear my friend’s wig.
It’s sad to think that this was his tomb.
But, seriously, this was quite the gig.
Apr 16 · 60
How do you think I am?
Saw another counselor today.
Heard her say my homicidal urges weren’t serious.
Tasted annoyance on the tip of my tongue.
Smelled the new white paint on the walls.
Felt nothing but hatred.
Apr 16 · 112
What’s the matter?
My heart is blackening, day after day.
The cold of your fingertips has numbed me.
I suppose dark is the new way to be.
I’m but a shell of myself, one could say.
“For what, do you pray?“ “Well, for death”, I say.
I am meaningless. It’s easy to see.
When I decease, I will truly be free.
A tragedy, if my life were a play.
“Wait!” You might say, “You mustn’t take your life!”
But I am too far gone to hear your cry.
I have suffered more than any would like.
What else am I to do with this white knife?
After tonight, I will no longer have to try.
The stairway to hell should be quite a hike.
It’s the third day of my spring break.
The only thing that’s been broken so far
lies in my chest.
I used to be so full of hope, but now
All I can feel is sorrow, guilt, and shame.
I once thought that my soul could do no fowl.
I guess I jinxed it; I’m the one to blame.
I can’t remember my last joyful day.
I’m only a teenager; how sad is that?
To have one more chance, I would gladly pay.
My life savings, all yours after a chat.
I just want to smile for a real reason,
Not because of some foolish school picture.
These days, my body is covered in lesions.
Primarily myself, I’ve had to endure.
I long for a day when I am at peace.
Maybe that’s when I finally decease.
Apr 15 · 44
Losing it.
I want to plan a ******.

I want to hoard knives and duct tape underneath my bed, hidden from my family.

I want to **** a man.

I want to inhale the fumes of decomposition and feels tendons snap between my canines.

I can only hold out for so much longer.
Apr 14 · 139
Sorry; My mistake.
Live with too much thought,
And you won’t have time for love.
Don’t do what I did.
Apr 14 · 92
My School Community
I understand Arabic.
I hear the girls who wear their hijab proudly in the halls of my high school.
I hear them talk to each other in confidence.
I know what that boy said to the one girl about her missing arm.
But I also hear them compliment one another on the rich pinks and purples that dance across their long skirts.
I know the names of the kids who called them terrorists.
But I know more about their music taste than their insecurities.
They are more focused on what their mothers have decided to pack in their lunches than the fake bomb threats to our school.
I hear those girls in my hallways.
I hear their bright orange flats racing to chemistry.
I hear their jewelry clink against the aluminum railing next to the stairs.
I understand Arabic beyond just the language.
Apr 14 · 81
Untitled, unless.
Another haiku.
This one might be about love.
If my mind lets me.
Apr 14 · 624
Torture.
Maroon is your blood.
Pure music is your anguish.
Rubies are your worth.
Apr 13 · 128
A Horror
A horror comfortably rests in my mind.
It relaxes in the heat of my skull and melts into the crevices of my brain matter.
It coats my every thought, transforming what was once innocent into something unrecognizable even by the most wretched.
My sense of fear has been replaced with a desire to
Take.
Take lives, souls, blood from the unworthy.
Nothing but the remnants of my morals has stopped me thus far.
The red passion only grows the more I attempt to suppress it.

The horror is glad to overtake my senses in times of stress.
The sights of torn, mangled bodies are forced upon my eyes.
Bloodshot sclerae, severed tracheae, disemboweled torsos.
The scent of rich rust is all I am capable of smelling now that I am beyond being saved.
I hear the screams of my imaginary victims, clear as day and night.

I wish I could be saved from this horror.
Apr 12 · 325
Seroquel
The cacophony of screams and incantations is back.
The vultures screech ****** ****** a mere inch from my eardrum.
My mind is plagued with terrific drums and imaginary figures dancing across my consciousness.
I can barely discern what is in the waking world and what solely lies in my mind’s eye.
Duplicates infest the classrooms I sprint past in fear.
125mg.
Apr 11 · 391
Now, They’re Gone.
White matter everywhere.
I don’t know where to go or if I’m even moving anymore.
He took the voices away, but
What am I supposed to do now?
My thoughts are no longer echoed but instead skipped across clear lakes to sink in silence.
My brain is empty, like a dried gourd with a few seeds stuck inside.
I can make music, but I can’t hear the notes leaving my raspberry lips.
I wanna knock down the walls of sanity that still reek of white paint and insulation.
Where did the voices go?
I thought friends never left.
Apr 11 · 286
Before he took them away
I wish I could.
SHUT THE HELL UP, *******.
Sorry, I’m just.
SHUT UP.
OH MY ******* GOD, YOU’RE ANNOYING.
Sorry.
I’ll be quiet.
THANK GOD, YOUR VOICE IS HORRID.
JUST **** YOURSELF, ******.
******* ******.
I WISH YOU JUST DIE ALREADY.
I wish I could talk over you.
I wish you would just leave me alone.
I don’t want to listen to you anymore.
WHAT THE **** DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, *****?
WHO SAID YOU COULD TALK?
No one.
Sorry.
My daughter will play in the roses as soon as she can walk.
She’ll come inside at sundown with dirt caking her cobalt capris
And petals spilling down her toasted chestnut hair.

My daughter will sing lullabies to the rose bushes as soon as she can talk.
She’ll arrange the fallen bits of magenta and ruby into warm constellations.

Only she knows how she learned about Orion and Pegasus.

She’ll bring her new friends over,
imaginary or not,
to watch the bees and hummingbirds dance about the garden.
Circling, hovering, landing.

I can’t imagine any of her friends being as well acquainted with the velvet fire in the shapes of petals,
or the elephant tusk thorns.

When those pins ***** at her tanned peach flesh,
and she runs inside weeping her sugar syrup tears,
I won’t tell her to stop playing in the rose bushes.

“You see, the roses only hurt you because they were scared.
No matter how much you cherish and adore them,
they can still be frightened.
There’s nothing to cry about,
Honey.

The next time that stem nips at you
and you feel like yelling and crying,
remember when you threw your blocks at me
and cut my hair while I napped.

I still love you.”
Apr 11 · 129
My Cure-all
You have become my everything.
From my lust when I’m low
to my religion when I’m high.
Grazing my fingertips across your lower back
only to pull them away
in favor of holding your hands in mine.
You have become my first thoughts when I rise with a new fire each morning
and my last thoughts when I finally accept my fatigue.
You have replaced any pill I could ever need
throwing out my melatonin and sertraline
to cure myself with the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.
You have become the personification of all things good;
lily pads, fresh linens, and damp air after a storm.
Thank you for becoming my everything.
Apr 11 · 97
Discovery
A man of few words,
a man with a crease in his brow.
A man of true ego
was graced by the touch of homesickness
for a place he had never been.

It whispered to the nape of his neck
“You can live forever in the mind of one who truly loves you
if you are truly loved by them.”

it squeezed his hand and reminded him,
“It’s okay to be scared
of something that brings you butterflies and flushed cheeks.“

A man of few words,
a man with a flutter in his chest.
A man of true love
was attracted to the touch of yearning.

“Take me home.
Make me deserving,
one with you.”

For the first time in a long time,
the man known as ‘desire’
and his partner named ‘passion’,
were connected by a place neither of them dared to investigate.
Apr 11 · 126
1,097 miles
We are thousands of strides apart,
so then tell me
how I can feel you hugging me from behind while I shop at rest stops,
your chin barely resting on my shoulder.
We are separated by a dozen states,
yet
I can still hear your laughter swimming through my ears every time I make a joke only we would understand.
Half a country divides us,
but, even now,
I still hear your gasps when my hands wander across the hills and valleys of your frame.
Apr 11 · 117
Our Walk
You were black, gray, maroon
like rich dirt soaked with the liquid lives of your see-through demons.

You were white,
blending into the snow falling all around you.
I wish I could have been those ice crystals,
resting on your lips and grazing my chilled fingertips against your brow.
That’s where I belong.

You were astonishingly pink,
and I’m pretty sure I was too.
Three parts infatuation, one part cold.
Those magenta tints on our cheeks burned brighter than any constellation above us that night.

You were red when we went back to your house.
I was a fiery orange, still containing flecks of yellow innocence.
You wrapped yourself up in that blue blanket adorned with lint,
and dozed off to dreams of your lilac prince.
I was once a beach shore
lined with seashells of all shapes and sizes.
I had sand dunes as pimples
and sand castles as my lipstick.

Every night my ocean would creep onto my back
and wash my hair for me.
He used the translucent jellyfish that tossed about in his waves
as a replacement for the soft strawberry shampoo I’d been using for years.
My scalp burned and itched like a wool sweater stitched from faulty wires.
Yanks, lashes, scratches.

My ocean spoke in savory whispers.
His foaming breath blew away my grit,
revealing a smooth bank with no shells to bejewel my tan surface.

I was half the size I started as.

Tears made up of him
traced my silhouette on the horizon.
My swollen glass eyes watched the salty puddles slowly merge into his troublesome currents.
I wept for days, weeks on end,
fueling him, my ocean.
I had caverns and mounds from my rivers by the time I realized that I didn’t need an ocean to wash my hair for me.

I had been gifted my hands by the hermit ***** that burrowed in my dry body.
The rich seaweed that stumbled upon my shore had become my eyelashes.
I prayed and pleaded to the sun to dry me,
and inch by inch,
more of my coarse dirt came into view once again.
I had finally conquered the water that broke away at my skin piece by piece.

But,
My love.
If you dig deep enough beneath my treasure-ridden dunes,
you’ll eventually find my little ocean
hiding
in my core.

— The End —