Why is it that
the depressing and
the feeling of despair
come so naturally?

The words to describe
insurmountable sadness
and an aching emptiness
flow directly from my mind
to my fingers. I write and
type them easily
like I was born to do so.

Why is it that the aching in my heart
and the aching in my hand
go hand-in-hand

A look over the mountain of
anguish and all I see
is an ocean of deep,
unending emotional distress.

Time to de-stress,
oh laugh,
that is impossible
            silly me.

Describe my black filled soul
like a 2006 emo. And yet
describing the happy
however rare, is as if I am
attempting to climb
the tallest mountain on
Earth.

"i'll take a shot"
not literal --
no open, bleeding, physical wound,
no injection into my body,
only ingestion.

"i'll take another shot"
the phrase "drink to forget"
buzzes dully in the back of
my hazy brain

the reflection of my regrets
can be seen clearer
and clearer after every
additional shot,
sad blue spots on my dark
brown orbs

oh, joy --
sleepy, drink.
angry, drink.
depressed, drink.
celebratory, drink.
drink.

have a drink,
revel in the burn.
"drink to forget"
"drink to remember"

oh, *****,
how happy you make me--
even if temporary

laugh, giggle, jest.
ingest,
more and more
until i can't handle another

physical capacity for
movement and judgment: gone.
            from reality?
             from my problems?
      all of the above.

oh, *****,
oh, joy,
how happy am I?

       I revel in this feeling of lightness,
                                       a feather.
                                       an atom. weighing
                           nearly nothing...
heavy.
oh, no.

My first love was a Scorpio.
She had dark brown hair and dramatic eyes.

My first love was my best friend.
She could make me laugh like no one else.

My first love knew everything about me.
She talked to me until I passed out.

My first love loved me.
Just not in the way I wanted.

My first love was sad.
I tried my best to make her happy.

My first love broke my heart.
And she knew it.

I still love my first love.
The worst part isn't her breaking my heart--
No, It's knowing we'll never be as close as we once were.
But I still love her, my first love.

There's something being written on the board.
It's probably something important,
yet all I see is dark scribbles on the white dry-erase surface.

My brain is a light switch,
but one with a faulty wire.
I can't turn it on and off,
it does it on its own.

Time slows down.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The second hand twitches--
is it really moving? I can't even tell.

The lights overhead are so bright,
they almost hurt my head.
My mind is dark, my heart is cold.
Smile. Laugh. Repeat.

The ringing of the bell echoes in my ears.
I hear it all day, a dull sound at the back of my skull.
It's maddening and I just want to crack my skull.

I hate it here.
No--
I hate them.
No--
I hate myself.
Yes.

My eyes feel like dams that are always about to burst,
but manage to hold together one more day.
I can feel the stinging of the tears,
or is that just the dust in the air?

My pencil,
I can hear it tapping on my desk.
I'm not even aware I'm tapping it.
Tap, tap, tap--
Sorry.

I can actually hear the teacher.
I can understand what they're saying.
Wait, it's gone again.
I'm here, I'm watching,
but my eyes are glazed over and my mind is gone.

There it is again,
that small voice at the back of my skull.
It's hard to make out.
It sounds like, "End it."
Just a little longer,
I tell it;
I think I'm addicted to the sadness.