why do i keep
          by your
                     side
                  
                     if i'm *lost

Shower me with your smiles, muse of my heart,
Armored with loyalty perhaps, and still
Your stare does make my lust suggest a part
In a two-piece game. Prohibited thrills,
Your voice plucks and plays with no strings attached
-Can't you see there must be nothing between-
You pay no mind with newly freed sighs hatched
From an innocent enough looking screen,
Hiding dark. Be content, muse of my eye,
Knowing not one dream has ever come true
There's no danger in my thoughts. But I lie:
I will pillage any chance to win you.
     Taken, why did you have to take me too,
     I wish no harm, except I might love you.




Take me, little death, in your sweet embrace,
Tell Hypnos it’s his time to carry me
From the lit plains of sunflower faces
And lay me to rest under moon lilies.
Shower me with your kiss – I’ll drink it all
And parched will start dreaming. Let us be shy,
Your blush will meet mine, caress, we will fall
As others have in life’s greatest lie –
But we, we will lie otherwise, ourselves
As one, in two, evermore intimate.
Under the lightless pillows we must delve,
Hide me, little death, for the sun is late.
     I will sleep, and dream with you, always true,
     Always true, and till the morrow, love you.

emotionless and numb
yet i could still feel your tongue
when it became entwined with mine

tired and worn
i begged you to go
but you kept your grip on me

scarred and barely breathing
i had become your whole world
dragging you down alongside with me

twisted and burned
there was no return
we had fallen much too deep

daddy's little girl turned prescription pill princess
and had no intentions of coming down
head in the clouds,
i had become beyond the point of numb

hopeless and ungrateful
but you finally left me
once i had hit rock bottom

destructive and ambitious
i brought a sledge hammer to our existence
and because you left
it's all up to me to pick up the pieces now

Everyone talks about depression as if they know it.  

But what they don’t know is that depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway,

it’s feeling the blood dripping down your skin and having the sick thought of  “Oh, look how beautiful the red is” (they always say red is my color).

Depression is lying on your bed for hours on end, salt tracks lining your face like the scars on your ankles, staring at your ceiling tracing patterns in the paint and accepting death in life with this hole in your chest because death is a reward, an escape from this pain you deserve to feel.

Depression is writing sick poetry on skin and publishing it with scars, cutting on ankles, not wrists because you’re scared you’ll get in trouble but you so desperately need to be seen, and never are.

Depression is writing the word “alone” and seeing the word “home”, accepting the pain like a gift because you deserve it.

Depression is admitting suicidal thoughts to paper and not to people, and loving the broken things, hoping to tie them together, thinking maybe things will get better, but knowing that’s just wishful thinking.

Depression is hearing your mother call you monster and disgusting through the too-thin walls of your door when she thinks you can’t hear, and then telling you to your face that you have no right to cry, as if sadness is a privilege and you’re so pathetic that you don’t deserve it.

Depression is shutting yourself up in your room and hearing your family laughing downstairs because you feel like you can’t be a part of them and learning at a young age to love family always but that family isn’t always love

Depression is wanting to take love and your heart and break them into tiny little pieces and throw them into waves, to throw them away

Depression is a foot when the shoe hasn’t been broken in yet, is you when you haven’t broken life in, is seeing happy people and thinking they all look the same, like the front covers of magazines with smiles reaching their eyes when yours can’t.

Depression is wishing you could package your smiles into tiny little piles and hand them to people more deserving of them because you know you’re wasting them with half-assed lines of “I’m fine”

Depression is having to view your past as if it wasn’t yours, because to accept it as reality is to accept finality of your life through suicide.

Depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway and when you close the door out of fear it keeps pounding, possessive, ******, and when you open the door out of anger you shout, “I’M SCARED” to thin air but your voice comes out as a whisper.

you had me
floating
when you said I looked
like the prettiest girl in the room
you had me
pulling the string
when you nuzzled
your head
into the nape of my neck
you had me
head in the clouds
when your fingers drew
little hearts
on my arm

you had me
floating but
you let me slip
through your fingers

you let me float away