It’s disheartening and debilitating to come to the realisation that yes...
I want to die
At the very least hurt myself severely.
And I am ashamed. Terrified. Sick to my stomach because that thought should never cross my mind But I’m stuck here day in and day out With it dancing across my frontal lobe taunting me. ‘Dying would be a delight’.
Impenetrable prison bars line my serotonin and dopamine deprived brain. And the straight jacket I’m in steals my ability to break my bones to drown out the silence.
With delicate, yet awkward, fingers I edge my way down my throat And loosen the cut you made on my neck. Nails crawl through my flesh until I hear the strum of my failing violin, cat gut, vocal chords. An ear drum bursting TWANG; Reminiscent of the s c r e a m s You forced from my bones.
My body reticulates around the thought of your Gaze pounding down my spine. You’ve buried your way into my skin, A burdensome parasite I can’t shake, or dig out. Despite the number of nails I break And bones I dislocate.
My ribcage aches again, Throbs as I tumble down the mud riddled *****. It’s getting dark again and I’m losing my mind. Where is Home? The soft sweet comfort of knowing I am safe? ... ... Safe from myself.
Maybe I’m just empty space... Crawling... dissipating. Sinking into this nameless, Faceless, loveless, Human afterthought. Should I be comfortable with This negligent, self-destroying hate? It’s hugged my head for 21 years already. Ultimately, we should be best buds... roommates... who have boardgame nights. You and I. You. And I am damaged. I’ll rip myself apart and scrape the dust together, and make a mound. Maybe I’ll build myself from the ashes... Or maybe the wind will tear through this canyon again. I live in a depth you don’t want to understand. You and I. You. You don’t say you love me anymore.
Positive thoughts are packaged with depressing discouraging chants in a plastic punnet. I don’t know how to cope with that... So to satisfy the thirst of my ever dangling drought of accomplishment, I jam the thoughts in a blender on top speed. Wait for the deafening swirl of the blades to stop, And I lap up the monotonously foul “you are going no where’s” With the chewy chunks of “you got out of bed, welldone’s”, Slump back into a rotting pine chair, And I glide through the emptiness.
You never made me happy. Though you heard me say it, you never made me happy; not once... not ever. Instead what you heard was falsities... A lie, a mask, a good ******* play at ‘happy families’. You never made me happy. I lived in a bubble of illness and not the kind I could see a doctor for. I painted masks across my face for you, sung a sweet lullaby of ‘I’m peaceful in this second’. But in that second you were suffocating me, boxing me, moulding me, caging, controlling, Ensuring I wouldn’t leave. An exuberant ‘I’m happy’ should’ve translated more appropriately to ‘I want to die and be reborn’. You made me sick and I wanted to die.