slowly, anxiously
sinking teeth into orange flesh
applying tension until
Pop!
tangy sweetness explodes
flooding and covering eager tongues
delicate seeds emerging,
juice-soaked and round
wide grins and sticky hands
first tangerines of the summer

im in the best place in the world
so why do i feel like im drowning?
why do i feel so detached and
empty?
why cant i just be happy
like a normal person
all these people around me are happy
they're going to notice that i'm a fake
an imposter in my own skin
does my smile look okay?
it hurts my face muscles to do this
but i'm a good actor
i can keep it up for a little while longer.

school ***** the life out of my brain
until there is nothing left
to write

relationships
build twisting bridges of careful trust
weaved together through time and experience
of learning each other's movements
of understanding each other's minds
these bridges are suspended over
a dark abyss of broken hearts
and broken people
but with every new day
a bridge is built across the void
spindly and shaking
yet with every day
it becomes safer to walk across
to meet in the middle
to find comfort in the other side
but it only takes one chainsaw
for the bridges to break in half
sure, they can be rebuilt
but they will be worse for the wear
beaten and made of hesitant words
and closed off emotions

we are connected by the red string of fate
tied tight between our souls
but sometimes even fate makes mistakes
scissors slice cleanly through thread
but chainsaws have the same effect

i dreamt of a chainsaw last night
cutting methodically
the whirring soothing yet terrifying
sawing through my life
severing my body in half
yet no one around me seemed to notice

"To see a chainsaw in your dream indicates that something drastic is about to happen. Success will only come about through willpower. Alternatively, it suggests that you get right to the heart of the matter quickly."

it may be time to turn off my chainsaw.

there's a thorn
stuck in my brain
i think it's from that rose you gave me
last valentine's day
and then laughed and took it away
play jokes on the pitiful one
who sleeps in the corner of the classroom
and draws all over her hands
when you stole it from my grasp and
handed it gently to another
i laughed
because that thorn was already sinking through my flesh
the pain was fine
i just wondered how long it would take to
become impossible to remove
i suppose now's the time
when i've already tried to take it
out from my head
but no
it has to stubbornly remain
in my head
it's very much like you.

do not undermine my intellect
and mistake my age for my IQ
"this is pretty good for someone of your age"
"i'm surprised someone of your age would be able to think of this"
"go play with some dolls; let the grownups handle this stuff"
do not look down on my writing
as if it is already immature
according to the number assigned to my years
i may be young
but i am not a fool
i understand that there is
still plenty room for growth in my
awkwardly placed phrases
my tilted words fit into a spot where they do not belong
my hesitant spacing
hoping that the reader will understand the meaning
behind the way that i write
however
do not view my poems as a work in progress
but rather my mind
for judging based on appearances
is undermining the importance
of my maturity

i can see
your eyes are
drifting
far away
and they'll never
look back
at me

to the new
hello
welcome to this abyss of
what the **** am i doing
welcome to this strange
mesh of late night thoughts
strung haphazardly on a thin line
barely connecting their significance
welcome to this pretentious
room of poetry where
everyone believes they are the best
they know the most
they are the romanticizers of
toxic waste
the ones who find the heartbroken
in the silence
the ones who
inflate their ego through likes and comments
welcome to this crazy
pit of society
where no one understands where they belong
and everyone is an actor
welcome new one
i see that you have much to learn
take my hand;
i'll show you the way

you tell me
i do not know what real pain is
you do not know me
despite my age being
a significant part of what my identity is
i do not feel as if i
am what it represents
i have grown up too quick
learned life lessons too soon
as if somewhere along the line
my brain was fast-forwarded
while the rest of the world
stayed still

force your lips upwards
show your teeth in a gray imitation of happiness
it feels natural after
years of acting practice
to just pretend
you love the people here
you love living
you love being a person
you love life
smile happily because if you don't
you won't survive.

deep eye bags set deep within my skull
it's nighttime and i cannot sleep
my brain rushes ahead at supersonic speed
excitedly greeting the moon
enjoying its time around the stars while
i sit, procrastinating
attempting to deny the reality
of sunday night means monday morning is soon
sunday night yet the pages are still fresh white
graphite markings are yet to be found
printing pages filled with *******
and writing answers with no real meaning
no one is awake at 3 am
except the night owls

when you tell me you like my poems
i wonder if you are scared for my mental health
i wonder that this glimpse into the dark twisted forest that is my mind
that you will run away from me
i wonder if you want to be involved with a mess
like myself
who rants through poetry by putting myself into the shoes of made up people with made up faces and made up scenarios
i wonder if you want to know what im really thinking
i wonder if your smile will disappear if i drag you into this neverending void of what am i doing what am i doing maybe i should die?
i wonder if you realize that what i say is fake and im just a really really good actor and maybe i should try out for hollywood im that good at faking my feelings
i wonder if you will read this and realize that yes this too is also fake i am putting myself in the shoes of a desperate lover with mental illness injected into their brain, an iv drip attached to their wrist feeding them pain and suffering instead of healing and love
i wonder if you will ever be a real person, if this ambiguous you will become a he or a she or an i love
i wonder if you would ever accept the problems i hold or if you'll grow tired of my constant whining, like everyone else
i wonder if you will treat me like a delicate piece of porcelain just because i have mental problems, or if you'll treat me like a scrap of paper left on the floor of an abandoned classroom
i wonder if you will ever care if i died

when you tell me you like my poems
i smile and say thank you! i'll be writing more, so keep in touch.

don't smile
or they'll find you
they'll find your weaknesses
and they'll hurt you
don't speak
for every word tumbling
carelessly from your fragile lips
will become your worse enemy
don't cry
they'll hurt you even more
it'll be their incentive
to do it even more
even as your body is
wrecked beyond compare
sew your lips together
with needle and thread
don't scream
they love it when you scream
they love it when your throat grows hoarse
and they keep going even though you
can't even whimper
in defense
don't resist
there's no use
there's no purpose
no one cares
you could die
and they wouldn't bat an eye
one punching bag gone
would mean one more to
take your place
suffer so no one else needs to
be theirs
they've marked you
as their own
despite the sick relationship
you are theirs
succumb to their wrath
and serve to their will

open your bible
and pretend that you are not gay
sing songs in the church choir
smile and clap after the priest
finishes his sermon about
those **** homosexuals and their filthy sins!
but they find out anyways
god doesnt love you
no one does

s stands for the way you stood
   looking at my face as if it were the most disgusting thing you'd ever
   seen
   cuts marring my face and
   blood dripping down my cheek
   despite how much i tried to make myself beautiful for you
u stands for the way you spat useless
   followed by a vicious smack resounding around the room that was ours
   im sorry i didnt know you were coming home so early please give me
   10 minutes ill make dinner for you then how about you watch the game
   for now? please stop hurting me i dont know what happened to you
i stands for the way you innocently
   claimed that i was the reason for all our hardships
   and the reason for why our son had committed suicide
   acting as if you hadnt abused him until the day he died
   while i lay on the floor, passed out
d stands for the way you delighted
   in watching the basketball game while i had a panic attack in the corner
   shivering and whimpering for you to please help me my medicines in
   the medicine cabinet, please, please, please i think im dying, please,
   wouldn't someone save me?
a stands for the way you accidentally
   hit me the first night
   and then the second
   and then the third
   and then every day until
   you didnt even bother to call it an accident anymore
l stands for the way you left
   without a single regret
   leaving me, your once-beautiful wife
   destroyed by you
suicidal stands for the way you
   shattered me into a million pieces
   and forever fractured my identity

speak up against abuse.

desperate lips
panting breaths and
awkward laughs
"is this okay?"
needy, grabby hands
caressing porcelain skin
gentle smiles
dark rooms and downy sheets
teeth clashing with passion
tongues dancing, eyes closed
bent over
soft sounds
whimpers muffled by pillows
mine, mine, mine
all mine.

mediocre and
faded
the average poem
no longer strikes chords
in the heart's harp
use extravagant vocabulary
weave your words tight
until they seem uncomfortable
the original meaning lost
between the claustrophobic corners
covered in lace and pretentious boasting
try but don't try so hard
that no one but the classic readers
would be able to understand
the words you've worked so hard to convey
do not force a poem out
or it will stick your fingers and
it will create a mess
similar to a teenage boy
it will be long and uncomfortable with itself
unknowing of how to adjust
into this thing that is supposed to be
mature now despite wanting to be simple
do not rush poetry
find quiet inspiration
in silent observations
of yourself, of nature
rushing poetry makes it fast
too many unfilled thoughts
racing around in one space
not meeting each other
despite being so close together
tell a story with imagery
with delicate words of morality
tell a story with flashbacks
with soft lips and with stained shirts
tell a story with love
make your poems with care

the words that flow from my fingers
when had they turned into other's?
as i sit and type
mindlessly staring into space as
letters materialize on the black keys
i realize that these words
are being parroted
i am like a megaphone
taking someone else's voice
and projecting it further
spreading the idea
but never speaking by myself

music flows through
tangled earbuds
at 2am
glazed over eyes
trying not to think of
tomorrow

in a city of skyscrapers
lies a sanctuary
for the introverted
leather binding and worn pages
thumbed out by eager readers
and patient bookworms
the smell of crisp new pages mixed with
beloved classics quietly sitting side by side
wooden tables and a kindergarten mat
spread next to comics and Clifford
haphazardly placed signs
signaling areas
outdated computers and shelves of movies
hidden corners away from librarians' prying eyes
put to questionable use by teen volunteers
whispered words and
clasped hands
library days.

like a mask,
your expression fit perfectly
on top of your features
a perfect poker face
your shield against the world

i had been the one to break it
with confiding secrets
expertly timed jokes
awkward blushes and
desperate kisses
slowly, slowly
it faded when you were with me

i regret
being the cause for your mask
to rise up again

i realize i
will never be able to love you
the way you wish to be loved
i am not
a person to attach to
i am too afraid of you leaving
to appreciate you staying

this deep
stabbing stake
wrenched in my chest
feels so nostalgically familiar
i welcome it with open arms
despite the hurt that comes with it
i am a self *******
and shove it even deeper
until it feels like i am choking
desperate for air
the stake turns to poison
falls into the depths of my stomach
and curls up there, forcing
the contents inside out
into a porcelain bowl
3 am and nothing but a wrecked mess
pale and shivering
cheek pressed against the cool tile
of a beige bathroom floor
shaky breaths spill out from
terrified lips
frantically wondering
if they will be my last
yet day after day
my eyes seek you out

self masochism is my only talent, i say
as i watch you kiss her
bullets riddle my chest
yet i still smile and say i am fine
self masochism is my only talent, i scream
because if i am not happy
the only thing that matters is you
even if i fall at least it was for you
self masochism is my only talent, i whisper
it feels as if i am dying
with every step i take i wonder
if you hate me for what i did for you
self masochism is my only talent,
but i cannot speak no more
for i bite my tongue and drown myself in self pity
this stake that emerges from my chest
is just another heartbreak

normal humans
don't need to
take a two hour name after school
to recharge their emotions
normal humans
don't need to
stop and remember where
they had just been
five seconds after they'd left
normal humans
don't need to question what they look like
or force the strings of their puppet flesh costume
to move to remind them
that they are alive
normal humans
don't need to fake their emotions
without knowing what they actually feel like
a rough copy of what should have been real

maybe i am not
a normal human

the word "special"
can be used to mean
incredibly different things

when she was called special
after her first performance
while being handed a giant bouquet
of vibrant flowers and candy
her smile stretched from end to end
cheeks pink and blushing
and stood proud as the audience called for an encore

when he was called special
after fumbling the ball for ---
what, the fourth time in a row?---
his chest felt hollow
and he chuckled along anxiously
with the rest of his team
who were laughing raucously

when she was called special
after releasing her first album
the world was announcing her name
'The Next Big Thing'
she was used to it
flipped her hair
and wondered what
normal people were like
and pitied them

when he was called special
after being called in by his counselor
who added that
he wouldn't be able to graduate
his face fell
even though he was used to being
called special
as he walked out of the school
letter to his mother in hand
he wondered what normal people were like
and envied them

Depression and Anxiety are Death's wingmen
together, they appeal to my heart
with promises of how good he is
how he could make everything better
how i would be much better off with him
he could hold me forever
and i would be safe in his arms
i must admit
i've tried to run away to him before
the promises were so beautiful
and it seemed that everything would be fixed
once i met him
but i didnt realize that
Death was a player
and Depression and Anxiety were his
******* comrades
wanting to see how many
he could get through
seducing them with empty promises
and not let them think of anyone else
forget the easy ones
force the way through the tough ones
conquering people has become a game
how many will meet with Death?
although i know the truth now
sometimes i still long for him
and i stare at the knives in the kitchen
but i've rejected Death once
i can do it again

sometimes Depression
is the wingman for my evergrowing crush
on Death, of course
he tells me what to do
in order for him to love me back
slit your wrist
let the blood spill
stare at the half-full
orange pill bottle in the medicine cabinet
some days
Depression makes me a better person
he tells me that Death will like me better if
i dont get out of bed
if i become skinnier
because he likes being the big spoon
he likes to swallow me up in his arms
and never let me leave
Depression whispers the secrets
the keys to unlock Death's heart
and when i finally gain the courage
i confess to Death
with a noose around my neck

invasive thoughts
penetrate the solid protections
surrounding my mind
bribing the guards
with a touch of adrenaline
the only drug that fills their veins
"what if you jumped off?"
their seductive questions are appealing
i lean slightly over the edge
the fence restrains my body
"you should step over
it's okay, i've got you."
reassurances with no basis
but i continue anyway
i would've fallen that day
had someone not seen
a petite body
suspended between life and death

1, 2, 3, 4
count the ridges my thumb brushes over
as it runs over the hills of my bony knuckles
tanned and rough
"these are mine"
stress the mine
as the mantra parades
through my head
it does not click
i am still floating
far away from this fleshy costume
i pick up the strings
of the puppet that is supposed to be me
and walk out the door

afternoons covered in a shroud
wasted away by
replacing days with white sheets of paper
covered in gray scratches of ink
later to be pushed into nervous hands
a letter circled in red
discouraged to find
their hard work was not enough
for the ever brutal school
childhoods wasted away
by stress and worry

i wonder what it feels like to be devastated
completely immersed in grief
tears falling to the floor
in a steady beat to the song of irregular hiccups and cries
weaving quietly through silence
or mixed and lost as a crowd mourns together

i wonder what it feels like to be ecstatic
drowning in warmth and
smiling so hard your cheeks hurt
giggles spilling from an upturned mouth
smiling not from necessity
but from pure joy

i wonder what it feels like to be enraged
bright red blinding previously-clear vision
fingernails digging white crescent moons into pink palms
mind clear and focused but with emotion instead of facts
reckless endangerment
needed for revenge

i wonder what it feels like
to feel something other than
these carbon copies of emotions
for i can feel
but it does not affect my soul
and the emotions feel blurry
counterfeit portraits of
what should be there

one day they'll scream so much
that the frail foundations of this house will collapse completely
the relationships that had built the support beams
would break in two
the shell of a house that had once been
a refuge and a safe space for its inhabitants
is now quivering on its frail boards
constant attacks forced a once lavish mansion to diminish into a rotten shack
growing more and more rundown as
sand dripped down the hourglass until the final blow
apprehensively
we awaited the dreadful day

the papers have been signed
the house collapses to the ground

childhood memories are
speckled with the scent of summer sunsets
formed with the bonds of friendship
and late night promises with giggling faces

childhood memories are
climbing crooked trees in the spring
the smell of freshly cut grass
and sleeping in until 10

childhood memories are
snowflakes blinding the humongous ski goggles
pressed against the large frames of thick glasses
and the promise of hot chocolate by a cozy fire

childhood memories are
marred by the yelling from downstairs
tightened faces and clenched fists
shattered glass and crimson splattered on beige tiles

childhood memories are
earbuds plugged tight in small ears
books clutched in trembling hands
herding confused brothers up creaking steps

childhood memories are
sadness leaking from the soul
withdrawal into the land of silence
an unhealthy obsession with escaping into fiction

childhood memories are
nostalgic
terrifying
what shaped me to be me

when i was little,
everyone told me that i could be whatever i wanted to be
and that was that
i thought that once you graduated college
you would get a job right away
and it would be the best thing in your life
but as i got older
people told me to not be an author at all
so i became a pessimistic writer
with spiteful views on overly optimistic subjects
but life is taking its toll on my soul
the worst part about being human
is the feeling of knowing your thoughts are slipping away
knowing your creativity is pouring itself down the drain
yet not being bothered enough to care
for in this day and age
we are taught that this is normal
of course it is for despite creativity being smiled upon
everyone knows there is no way you can make it in the real world
with your silly little poems and your
fantasy short stories
your words are meaningless if no one wishes to read them
get an office job if you like working alone so much
besides, you spend all day in front of your computer anyways
stop complaining!
be glad you can even read and write
you can be whatever you want to be
just as long as it's not a writer

restrained by values
that are not mine,
i struggle to rid myself
of these bonds that chain my sanity
and beat it until it no longer recognizes itself
however,
it is growing difficult
to resist constantly
the only reward is my freedom
which constantly is snatched from my grasp
it's repetitive
to keep fighting for myself
wouldn't it be much easier to just give up?
stop trying to resist?
but if i do,
i will no longer be able
to find my home
i will no longer be able
to find the ones i love
they will be lost
along with my soul

you left me fumbling
uncomfortably attempting to adjust my ideas
as you carefully slipped yourself out of the
home you had made in my heart,
you left no note
although you owed me nothing
i still felt betrayed

god, i've written so many poems about you
despite the fact that you'll never read them
thinking about you tears my chest in half
and i keep reopening the wound
you were never mine to begin with
but when i see you with others
i grow irrationally jealous
it's been so long
but time cannot heal all wounds

selfishly i wonder
what if you had been mine?

aim for the stars while you can
still pull your bow back far enough
for your arrow to reach.
take advantage of your resources while
they're still in your possession.
educate your mind while
white noise does not scatter your thoughts
like interrupted radio waves.
fill your pages with
inked words and doodled pictures while
creativity leaks out of your soul with age.
keep your love in your thoughts while
you are able to feel.
allow curiosity to flow while
others attempt to cap it.

keep reaching to be your best.
you can do it.

despite
a corrupt system
despite
a corrupt society
despite
being controlled by the media
despite
our lack of questioning
our lack of creativity
our lack of thought
despite
our lives
we live them like sheep
content with what we have
and terrified of change

despite
the people we have become
we cannot overthrow those who have
controlled us for so long
we are so unused to
thinking for ourselves
that no one is able
to rule their minds

a reset button would be handy
but we will continue to make the same mistakes
over and over again
do not be content with what you have
always strive for more
question everything
your life will become
immensely more difficult
but at least you are learning
at least you are forming your own thoughts

the pack system is great for survival
but we no longer need to rely on each other
it is not a matter of life and death to think
relieve yourself of the pack mindset
and set your thoughts free
you have constricted them for so long
they no longer know how to function properly

in my use of words
i hope that someone will stop and listen
despite the crazy, almost radical mindset
that is portrayed as terrifyingly dangerous to society
i am but a child
with thoughts still roaming free

perhaps it was that little motion
one singular word read
perhaps it was the endless
click clack of the keys
whatever it was
my mind’s stuck
for whatever reason,
individual thought cannot sprout
for the time being,
i attempt poems with no metaphors
poems with no style
bland and unappealing,
but at least they’re poems
i wait for the return of my
creative plants
maybe they are not in season
and i must wait for them again
i read and write
but with no purpose behind them
no drive or spark
to paint the pictures that i wish to express
weeds of static have taken place
of my storytelling and imagery flowers
they sprout in the wrong places
they do not let me think
perhaps
i have trapped myself in this position
subconsciously forcing my mind back into
submissive monotony
maybe tomorrow
i will be unstuck

my name is ace
i am seven years old
i want to be a writer one day!
i really don’t have many friends,
but i love books and that’s enough for me
bzzt
my name is ace
i am ten years old
i’ve written my first narrative!
even though i stayed up past my bedtime
i got an a+ and got to read it in front of my class
they kinda laughed at me,
but my teacher was proud so that’s all that matters
it kind of hurt that they didn’t like it though
bzzt
my name is ace
i am twelve years old
maybe i don’t want to be a writer?
everyone else wants to be
a doctor, or a veterinarian
we’re not allowed to write narratives in class anymore
the school told us to write essays about the american revolution instead
bzzt
my name is ace
i am fourteen years old
i laugh when people mention writing
what an impractical dream!
to be a writer is to sacrifice your heart and soul
for no profit
writing?
i vaguely remember doing that
i still do want to become an author
but i am so scared of reaching for my dream
that i have boxed it away
stored it in a closet
and now it lies abandoned
bzzt
my name is…?
i am…?
i have lost my sense of identity
in refusing myself
my dreams have left me
my eyes are blank
bzzt
my name is 203948
i am 45 years old
i lost myself to society long ago
i sacrificed my individualism
for becoming “normal”
my personality is programmed into
my actions and brain through
how others think of me
i do not resist
i cannot write any longer

accept your defeat
the defeat of your sanity,
your love,
your individualism.
say goodbye to your dreams
succumb to nostalgia: the only thing
that makes you feel some sort of accomplishment
congrats for growing up
congrats for molding yourself into a repetitive world
congrats on lowering yourself to become normal
congrats! you’ve made it
you have everything you’ve ever wanted besides
the future you’d aspired to gain
lose yourself to a mindless future
let your consciousness be caught in the river of societal expectations
doubt any free thought that you might have
parrot the words of those smarter than yourself
there you go
now you’re the perfect citizen
well done
on your way out,
be sure to grab a pamphlet on how to beat down
those who are different!
thank you, and have a nice day

skies collide with the horizon, the explosion releasing vivid colors beyond imagination
beneath this silent conflict lies humanity! a small, insignificant force that likes to think it's doing something
despite the strange lack of free will hidden in their consciousness

admiring the aesthetic of the world
and calling it the work of a god
experimenting with these things they call feelings
finding what boosts certain chemicals in their brains
and calling it love
destroying the world
and making it their own
despite it not being any better than the original

individuals who try to write a better history
are rejected by a void of ears who do not understand
the importance of their words
quiet eyes stare blankly at their screens and their textbooks
impressionable minds stamped with the mark of society's own brainwashed

no one addresses the flaws
they are tucked down low
so no one can find them
the children
who still think
they are stamped with defective
forced into schools
round pegs trying to fit into square holes
forced in submission
by the people

humanity!
according to them, the best thing that has ever happened on earth

i am a self conscious robot in a sleeping society
a single person against many
i realize my monotonous days are being spent as a waste
i realize my blatant apathy is taken as acceptance
to live in a world of grays and repetitiveness

if i pulled my heart out of my chest,
you would find nothing of worth
but if you pulled my brain out of my head,
flourishing ideas are sprouting
despite the hard soil that it grows in
they are planted in the basis of society
and continue to grow due to individual thought
not many refuse to parrot back the words of the past
and try to write the future

"respect your elders, they are wiser than you"
we have grown up on decades of
teaching children on how to be quiet
creative minds are silenced
yet i continue to go to school
and do the work expected

i realize all the faults
but what can one person do?

would it have been easier if
we hadn't touched the tips of our paintbrushes into the deep puddles of our secrets and paint them out into 3 am portraits?
i hadn't flung my heart out into the greedy sea that is your soul?
our surrendering of ourselves to each other hadn't ended in a glorious catastrophe of flaming tears and betrayed smiles?

would it have been easier if we had never met?

i should have carved the poison out of my soul when it was first fresh and new
but now, even though im choking on my own blood,
i still love the taste

you helped mold me to be this way,
although it was my fault for being so pliant,
you forced me into a machine with impulsive decisions and faucet eyes, a robot with all the negative emotions
and then you threw me away, because im a defect
number 0-01, the first failure out of many
later you'll finally create the one that is lovable
without thinking twice about the ones you broke

my words may sound like a lover's heartbreak
a snapping between two worlds
but the only love here is between life and myself
life plays the role of the abusive partner, pushing and pulling whenever it seems fit
controlling my world and my body like puppet strings
i let it because it was what knew best for me, right?
because filling my body with liquid fire and sticks of smoke is the only way out?
because im too hopeless and terrified to make my own path, to forge a new future, and rely on life's arm to guide the way
and as i do so i watch silently as death comes to take those around me, drifting further and further away for each fallen
i watch as i die in front of myself
and the shell that is left is only a fragment of my mind

unfortunately,
i fall too hard and too fast
hurtling from the top of my dignity to the unrelenting floor of rejection
without even saying a word a switch snaps and my heart
flings itself into the claustrophobic abyss of love
but love is such a pretty word for such a corrupt ideal
love has become my chains
and the target of my affection becomes my jailer

do not take these words to your heart because they do not mean much at all
simply the ramblings of a madman

i burn myself down in order to maintain the single bit of control i have
for in a world with unpredictable factors, what am i to do besides destroy?
creation leads only to death
to keep my sanity i tear it to shreds
to keep my feelings i torture my thoughts
to keep my love i separate myself from it
to keep my heart i throw it away
i surround myself in barbed wire and run while it pierces through the skin
it tears through the flesh, but pain is a form of pleasure to the human brain

as my ribs intertwine with sickly sweet flowers, my frail form gives into wracking coughs
as my body is overtaken with the wills of the world, i smile with crimson-stained teeth
as i stare out at those i love, i clutch at the bars keeping me from them
my own consciousness cages me in within my head

unwanted and useless
unwanted because i'm an abomination
useless because i've already been used
a stepping stool for life's favored players

after my prince left,
my story became backwards
riches to rags is the way my mind went
and the final kiss forced me into a never-ending dream

to keep myself from spilling more blood into the clean white of the bathroom
i sit here instead
and tap out my sorrows into a glowing box
in hopes of relieving my teenage angst in a way that will contain the pain in my chest
and for it to not spread to my arms or my neck or my legs or my stomach

i am starved for happiness
and deprived of care
i am dreaming this life

2am thoughts.