sometimes I wonder what it feels like to die,
but then I remember the warm july nights.
how your face filled with fright when I called you and said in a few short hours I'd probably be dead.
I was a train without tracks,
human with a lack of something better.
I had nothing worthwhile anymore,
no options to explore.
and it was just beginning for you,
but it had been over for me.
couldn't you see the lifelessness beaming from my eyes?
each time I'd ******* look at you,
I was losing my mind.
I said sorry for taking too many pills,
but I had no will to stop.
you dropped them all down the drain,
this would end your strain.
I thrived off each dose,
thought it would be a miracle to induce a comatose.
I was full of somethings,
all I wanted was nothing.
I tried to wish away the sinking feeling in my chest,
it would be best to rid myself of all that I am and ever will be.
you wouldn't let me.
your voice at 3:05 am awoke me from my trance,
it was pure enough to make the angels dance.
I knew that I was breathing then,
but I was not alive.
I know what it feels like to die.

it’s never too late to take the wheel,
steal your life back from the grips of fate.
learn to hate the concept which is fate.
you control what you do and where you’ll go,
circumstances may make that progression slow.
but no matter what happens you have to know,
the garden within your soul needs to grow.
life goes on and so will you.
just because it’s blue right now does not mean it will always be.
if you could only see the potential bunched up inside,
you could finally have a sense of pride.
all of the tears you’ve cried will wash away when you tell yourself it’s time.
recovery is the perfect crime and you’re ready to commit it.

I'm humming the battle songs a warrior would,
it's been implemented within my mind that I should stay weak.
do not seek help,
keep your toxicity and burrow it into your chest.
if you try your best you can stop the negative energy,
every thought you have is your fault.
you are not a victim,
this is not a matter of assault.
vault over your issues,
be a pretty young woman and cry into your tissues.
we expect that your conditions match those that we have deemed as acceptable,
nobody is allowed to be personalized—your mental illness does not grant you the ability to be special.
you are weak minded,
not blinded by the traumatization.
we don't care what you have endured,
we have lured you into our trap.
we will destroy you because of your mentally ill mishaps,
wrapped you around our finger.
our words will linger around,
you'll recall the exact sound.
you get stuck up on stupid things,
stop pulling on old strings.
if you can't fix yourself you need to be confined,
why should the rest of us listen to you whine?
I am tired,
you have unwired my system that circulates fragility.
you can break all of my bones,
pelt me with the heaviest of stones.
I will rise like the phoenix I have always been,
you are not going to win a game you don't even play.
if I'm not right now,
then I will find a way to someday be okay.

the forest was plentiful and lovely,
blooming and beaming with thousands of flowers to gaze upon.
but recklessness and mistakes consumed the beauty,
fire reined the land and torched all the living.
the plants were ash,
trees fallen over,
and the people who once cherished the zen forest had fled.
when the peace is disturbed and the prettiness lies beneath the surface,
those who were merely bypassing will move to the next eye catching location.
time is the beholder of all beauty,
contrary to popular belief.
after the destructive end to the forests bountiful days,
growth begins again.
we may be stepped on,
ruined to seemingly no repair,
but within the despair is a fixture of light that will mend the brokenness of all hearts.
someday the forest shall return,
and so will you.

it's another rainy day in the middle of may,
we lay in bed and talk about the way he can make everything change in an instant.
this cycle is consistent,
you fall for his tactics endlessly and I watch you get thrown to the side like a toy a child no longer wants to play with.
and it's the fifth time in a month or so,
you're distraught and it's no big surprise.
I know you've come down from another one of your epic highs,
he used to trace along your thighs.
you feel violated and broken,
but you are not the product of his lovelorn life and I cannot allow you to think of yourself in such a low standard manner.
you are the beacon of hope he will wish he held onto,
all the future victims will eventually be gone too.
men do not relentlessly torture your feelings,
boys do.

do not compliment what you can see,
what you can touch.
my body is decaying,
but my soul is timeless.

rekindling lost love is like teaching a flightless bird to fly.
the wings are wounded as are we,
but we still try to reach the sky.
we have dreams of what we could be,
even if they are impractical.
love equates to delirium,
and I don't wish to see reality anymore.