I wonder how long it will take for me to destroy myself.
I wonder how much longer
I have before I
self-destruct
There's a bomb lodged in the middle of the bony hug of my ribcage
instead of a soft, gooey, beating heart
Counting down the seconds

12 is not a number
but a whole lifetime away

why is my heart so heavy and sad
it's dragging down my breaths

why is my heart so aching and swirling
swirling pits of guilt

why am i so heavy

I am the only one who knows how lonely I am
How lonely I can be
How lonely I can get
Because blaming others and pointing fingers is not my thing
Yet

I am the only one who can feel the emptiness
Wanting, weary, to tip over and overflow my body with a scratched and deeply carved soul
How could anyone want something so delicate, so unmoving, so changeable and dark
too heavy to hold in my palm
And too light for the tip of my pinky finger

I am the only one who knows how lonely I am
Because I am lonely in the nighttime
Dwelling over people and faces and words and actions
That I could not change or take back
That I could not replace or fix
Because I cannot control anyone
Not even myself
Because my limbs decide they have hearts and feelings of their own.

I am a watery mess of invisible ribbon
Easing into the direction of the wind
Which hits me on all sides
Tossing my conscience around
My anxiety
My fears
My hopes and achievements
Until I can no longer feel the weight of my stomach
Grounding me to the floor
Because it won’t
It gives up and gave up
On my hopeless brain and body

I am lonely and sad and longing
And it is my fault
But thank you for listening
It’s hard to do that nowadays.

sick and lonely
like dirt crawling up the sides of my head
diseased eyes
diseased heart
a chest that can't move up or down,
stuck in the expanse in the middle
enough to breathe but not enough to live.

highs, followed by lows
followed by a moment of standstill when i just
stand
still searching the lines on my hands for  answers.
- i won't find them

my bones are confused
nerves twisted all together
though oxygen makes everything better.
i'm only aware of being lonely when i'm around you
and you, and you, and you, and you, and you
and everyone else.
- that's why i don't want to hang around.

by myself
staring at my own feet
because i have no one else's to look at
the sky doesn't have feet
the trees still tower
my friendship group is a little less than human, but a little more than aching hard
they give me space to breathe, and a little spot for my own thoughts to fill
and at least they'll still be there
when something falls apart.

If you put an open book on your face and breathe in the softness of the pages,
And your cheeks feel the heaviness of the words pressed against them:
You will absorb all the knowledge inside of the book
And the story will sink into your skin, like warmth after a long day in the sun.

If your pyjamas smell like the sun,
They have disappeared into the back of your wardrobe
And gone back home when you were asleep
Returning when the sun peeks in through the lines in your walls.

If it is late in the morning
Then the morning loves you and your sleepy face
and the quietness of your thoughts as you wake.