do you have moments, where you can’t imagine a future?
you’re lying there, staring at the
same walls
same ceilings
same words
with nothing but the same feelings-
empty and pale,
like there’s no reason to go on,
when you can’t even do enough to fail.
the future is coming, but you don’t want to be in it,
can’t imagine yourself in it.
where you just want to stop.
everything.
and just sit there for a while.
maybe not death, as that’s too permanent,
but something close to it.
when you can feel the rope around your neck,
the razor on your wrist,
the way the pills taste.
you can imagine it, and you aren’t sure if it’s what you want,
or just the feelings you imagine it will give you

She found herself slowly becoming immune to her emotions. With her lungs incapable of letting the air out, and the pain buried within her unable to turn into tears, she bled in silence

"The problem with suicide is that when it becomes an option in your mind, it's always an option."

It's been about a year since I felt like this
My stomach trying to expel all the hurt
my brain is creating on its own

I should trust the words you tell me
on a standard Sunday
outside where you used to live

In that same spot I cried
over a girl whose face I never saw
but whose name still makes me cringe

You say her name now for the first time out loud
to prove to me you are not repeating history
yet I am not so sure

I do my best to laugh at the ulcer
I am forming
in the face of a little heartbreak

Instead I replay every moment
from the weekend before
that might make you flee

A vicious cycle of self-hatred
I cannot escape
no matter how tightly you hold me

Someone take my mind away from me,

                                    its driving me INSANE.

They ask me what I see,
What I see when I'm dreaming,
What I see when I'm listening,
What I see when I'm writing,
But I don't see; I understand,

I understand how minds work,
I understand how hearts work,
I understand how my world works,
But I don't understand them.

Why can't people accept it?
Why do they need to know why?
Why do they want to know?
But they don't want to know why; they want to know what.

If I see their futures,
If I see the dead,
If I see words before me,
But I don't see; I understand.

So when they ask, what do I see in you?
I don't reply. I smile,
Because when I dream,
And I listen,
And I write,
You know what I see?
What I've always seen:
You.

They touched my wrist
They all did

It seemed that
That’s all they cared
About

Whether or not
The flesh was healing
Properly

What they didn’t seem
To see
Was a girl

With dry eyes
Just trying to feel

Alive