Called me doll as an endearment,
I hear it as a fear meant,
To drag me back to you

The worst things last for 30 minutes
The best things last for 30 seconds
Life happens between those moments.

Meet me in the middle
Where the threads unwind and whittle
My spine weaves and squiggles
Symphony of sighs
You’re my relief

Willingly bill me for a kiss still lingering on your lips. Sweat stained sheets. I’d apologize if I had the guts, but I gave them to you.

I judge you for your idols and superstitions,
But here I am, praying for you to love me. Hoping beyond hope if I zip my lips and sit on my fists you will

How do I tell you I want to die, without handing you the gun?

You draped this mantle round my shivering shoulders, tied it tightly to my neck. Kept the cold out and the anxiety in. You birthed a bouquet of depression, and you fill my vase every chance you get. Kept the cold out and the anxiety in. Bestowed upon me this token of toting your baggage around.

If I could be on the brink, I’d be on the edge of you. ******* down from the high, height. Steepened with deepened strokes.

I hope he gives you the future he promised me in pink

If I fill myself with worry I’ll be weightless, drift away with glass eyes and a timber temperament. They call it bipolar, I call it drifting north. I’m afraid of heights

I’d close my book, pick the prettiest font for The End. Dust to dust

I thought about swinging from the rafters, shakey knees and creaky floorboards. Shaken mothers and crying kids. A rope to pillow my descent.

I finger myself to your words. Touched by yours truly, truly touched by yours

Sleep to banish the sad, sleep to seep up the tears from my face, sleep to reap the benefits of death.

I wonder if you got caught or catched or just can’t

Talk to me

A joke to choke on

You forgot about me. Or maybe you wish you could. I can still taste myself on your fingertips. Dance with your silhouette, feel the silk sheet aftermath. Turn the light on and laminate this holy ground.

I felt the child grow between the cracks of trauma. Filling in the gaps, sweeping out the excess. Womb full of life when only death was promised to me. I watched winter come and go, and with it you went. I felt the hunger grow between the cracks of trauma. Filling in the gaps, sweeping out the excess.

I wanted to **** myself, and you were screaming about the ***** clothes on the floor.

Why do your words feel like slaps on my wrists, hands and fingertips.

Carpet burned knees
Puking next to the trees
Paying the fee
For feminity

Life is unexpectedly wild, or maybe it’s wild expectedly.

The first thing they will see are my eyes:  probably glazed over or maybe bulging with anxiety and regret. Maybe dipped in tears, a salty salute. A salutation of goodbyes.

The last thing my eyes see: four boxes stacked neatly together. Cubicles or canteens to hold my sorrows and secrets. Binders binding the bills that beat me down. And the makeup stacked haphazardly to hide the beating and the mistreating. A treated piece of wood your grandfather made you, but you can’t stand to see it. Hats and gloves to keep my numb limbs warm, chapstick to keep my lips from warp. Pigment passes my pupil, a grey brown and then it’s all over.

You’ve been gone so long I can’t remember the sound of your voice when you called me rosebud, I can’t remember why I needed to remember. When I could or could not.

Only a face a mother could:
Hate

Glass rectangle
Burning cave
Core it
Cut it
Cinnamon catastrophe across the counter
Seeds slipping between the seams
You forgot to caulk
The kitchen pregnant with your mistake
Home baked

Your thighs or a drum set for Christmas. I’d devour easily with two extra packets of sauce. Save the planet and lick the plate displayed haphazardly across my lap.

I call so many men daddy a night, I named this stage in my life fatherhood.

To be a horse is to have all four feet on the ground and still be told to be steady

Men need to be pushed, from the very beginning they were pushed into this world by women, and they will be pushed around by women until they are pushed out by a woman just another pointless contraction in the universe.

Today I did all the good things, my hands shook, my knees knocked and almost got swept out from under me, I asked questions and sweat and swore under my breath praying you wouldn’t notice.

I’d like to apologize for the skin I’ve separated. Severed and fileted in vein, literally. For the water fall rush of warm liquid that fills my palm, but doesn’t quench my thirst. For the pain I can’t carve out and can’t seem to get enough of. For the Carnegie that is my bathroom floor, an ice skating rink for the depressed.

I’ve never danced with my demons, only begged and pleaded for them to let me stand on my own two feet. But I’ll bury my head in the sand and listen to the music of the ****** that is my favorite karaoke.

I’ll use your grief to scratch sweet relief into the bug bite on my wrist

Have you ever made love to Atlas? I ****** him so many times the earth fell from his shoulders and landed on his back.

I keep my loss in a cup, drink it down then I spit it back up. Just to taste you on my tongue again.

Hey guys I’m kind of struggling tonight, so if anyone would like to message me on here or on Snapchat, Madisonparis is my Snapchat username

When a little sadness creeps in, seeps in all the nooks and crannies of my life I don’t have enough buckets to bail myself out of this sinking ship.

I always wear my glasses on top my head, to think clearer.

I just want to want to want to be alive. But I don’t have any wishes left.

Depression man, she’ll get ya if ya let her

I’d rather play with my greasy locks, and complain about the residue on my finger tips than to drop my useless limbs into the bathtub

THIS.  IS.  LOVE.  

yell it until the vein on the side of your temple pulsates, pulsates in my 21 year old mind

yell it until the bruises are gifts

yell it until the anxiety is your inspiration

I mean do you know how much love I harbor for you. Waiting for you to come back. Not even a drip slips out in your absence.

I’m as poor as a rich man, but I’d buy it every night for the rest of my life.

How many times do you have to say no for it to be considered ****? 1,2,3,4? Or only until after you’ve lost your voice?

And when I get to heaven, my granny will mourn for me. That I followed so closely behind her footsteps.

Will you show me where our equator meets?

I remember when you came to my room at dawn. Your voice held so much purpose, it echoed out, “she’s going to **** herself”. I smiled still asleep.

I remember when I came to your room at dusk. My voice held so much purpose, it echoed out, “ I’m going to **** my self”. I smiled still asleep.

I’m tired of talking myself out of ledges that shouldn’t even be in the equation. I’m tired of my finger on the trigger to a gun that I never asked for. I’m tired of leaping and shooting my way through this life.