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muteD Sep 15
my mind is so chaotic.
a mess.
a hurricane of emotions
wreck me
again and again.
time after time.

I feel like I’m losing my mind
and the want to know the time
and the day.
each day bleeds into the next sore.
and
every night blends into the next color.

how can I miss something I never had?
I miss the one called my ‘mother’
but I’d rather slit my own throat than talk to her.

‘do you got..?’
‘can you..?’
It’s always about what I can do,
It’s never how are you.

there’s this box around me.
as time passes,
it becomes smaller and smaller.
It’s purpose being to confine me
to loneliness.
oh how it feels to be the loneliest.

nothing makes me feel anything anymore.
anything different.
It’s just the same.
the same followed by the same,
every waking second I’m reminded of the pain
in my chest.

I hate dreaming.
those dreams just remind me of a different time.
a time where having people who love you
was as easy as telling the time
or finding a rhyme.
now I’m left to wallow
and swallow all I have to say
because no one really understands anyways.
It’s always ‘you could’ve..’ ‘you should’ve..’
It’s never
“I understand.”
Written: September 5th, 2019
muteD Sep 15
I wish I wasn’t me.
years ago when my sister passed,
I wished it was me.
young and ignorant to the ways of the world.
young yet already wishing to be dead.
I wonder if wanting these thoughts to escape my head
is selfish..
If I believe ‘everything happens for a reason’,
then there has to be a reason.
but the truth is
I really don’t know what I believe in.
if I were to die
I don’t know if my soul would
Sink or Swim
even though
I can’t Swim
and with the world on my shoulders
I’m liable to Sink.

Uncomfortable.
Always moving,
always trying to find
the perfect place.
My Utopia..
Does that that make sense?
Does it exist
in somewhere other than my head?
Is there a world out there
where I don’t end up dead?
A reality where these thoughts
don’t eat away at me like
moths at cloths.
I have ten years worth of holes in me.
Everything I hold in just eats away at me
and I let it.

My Utopia.
What would it be like?
Dark
because that’s where I prefer to be
and quiet
because silence never hurt anybody.
it never hurt me.
a place for me is a place
where I don’t have to hide.
my thoughts
my feelings
my pain.
a place where there’s
always an ear to truly listen.
One that understands without me needing to explain.
If only there was a way I could talk
without my words being swatted down like flies.
I want to not feel alone
for once.
I want to be alone
and not feel alone.
I want to be okay with my own presence.
My own company.
I want My Candle of Loneliness
to be put out before
I am engulfed in the flames.
My Utopia is a place,
a place with no pain.
Written: August 28th, 2019
muteD Aug 14
They say silence does something to a person
and it does.
I’ve been drowning in silence for years now
and you know what it looks like?

it’s dark.
almost like a black hole
because it swallows the light,
is never ending
and it burns
deep
deep into your soul.

this silence
is never ending
and it hurts my ears.
and makes me sad.

I remember a time
when this silence
used to be filled with
talking.
But, I also remember a time
when all I knew was silence.
So why does this bother me?
Why does this silence
feel like it’s clawing away
at my heart
and my skin?
I feel like it’s ripping me
into shreds
and I can do nothing but
standby and be
a bystander to my own
massacre.
Written: August 8, 2019
muteD Aug 14
I am wandering.
A home does not have me.
I wish I wasn’t homeless.
Which means,
I wish I had a place that I could reside.
For more than a night.
A place that feels right
for me.
Permanently
or at least without worry of
where I’ll be staying next week.
Or even the next day.
It is pure misery.
The waiting and
the not knowing.
Because if we’re speaking honestly,
Being a refugee
is killing me.

I wish my mom cared about me.
I wish she truly understood me.
But alas it is me
Who cares for her being,
Who cares if she eats
and how she’s feeling.
Whether she’s weeping
or screeching
my love comes plenty
or it did until she took and took
and left me empty.

and no one cares about me.

what’s stopping me from disappearing?
I should just grab the sharpest object
closest to me
and get to slashing
and slitting  
and cutting.
I should obliquely
forge my arm
while having a conversation with myself
“Heat the blade”
I would say
“Maybe it won’t sting.”
Yeah and maybe it’ll leave a pretty little line
that’ll remind me that my perception
has always been undoubtedly clogged.
Written: April 23rd, 2019
muteD Aug 6
It seems as though everything
is falling apart
and to pieces.
life is giving me reason after reason
after reason
why this should be my last season
here.
alive.

every day is a constant battle
of life and death
my mind trembles after each blow.
years have passed and the consequences
have turned my heart cold
but only to myself.
for some reason I cannot care what happens to me.
but honestly,
I feel like dying would set my soul free
because all it knows is torment.

but I mustn’t crack,
I cannot break.
Not for any other reason
than the fact
that if I falter
no one will understand.

No one will ever understand.
Pain isn’t just existence
when you day dream about death
and the ways one could inflict it on oneself.
The way I think
is sick.
horrid and morbid.
and yet I’m trying to change.
constantly looking for that light.
the one that I can never seem to grasp.
almost like it’s a figure of my imagination,
a mirage in the mind.

what awaits a darkened soul,
like mine?
will this life get better with time
or am I forced to suffer
until I’m nothing more than
slashed wrists
and a stomach full of pills
laying in my coffin bed?

I mean,
if I’m lucky to get one.
muteD Aug 6
one more line added
to my collection.
one more line added
to the sketchbook
I call my body.
muteD Aug 6
Sadness
and regret is
overwhelming me.
luck,
left me down bad.
happiness,
deserted me as a child.
and depression?
it never left me.

but my mother did.

and I wonder why.

could it have been me?
maybe it has always been me.
stuck in a cycle of negativity,
I bring the clouds
and the thunderstorm follows.
When it rains,
it truly pours
and when I cry
my body begs for more.

I am addicted to the pain
that lives in my chest.
The one that has padded
And patted around.
Kneaded and kneaded,
this pain has made itself at home
and has become deaf to my pleading.
So as silence consumes me,
I wonder..
How long will life toy with me?
and when will death take its turn?

and will the people around me ever learn?
I doubt it.
How could they?
How could they learn
when I am the teacher
and I’m tired of teaching?
This subject,
I keep repeating,
is depression and how it’s eating
away
at
me.

you.
How could you be so oblivious
to my screams?
My screams have been screaming screams
so much
my throat is starting to bleed.
Instead of a voice,
blood trickles out
and down my mou-
ARM.
oh how I miss the feeling of blood tickling my arm
as gravity pulls it down,
as I would pull those scissors down.
That pain is the only thing that makes sense
and because of that,
it has me on the fence.
should I wait for my happiness to return?

or should I slit my wrists and wait for my body to burn?
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