I can't seem to figure out
What's holding me back
From buying more blades

why is the most common theme
of our existence the most painful
concept for us to accept?

A person with anxiety
is 10% here
and 90% lost inside
her mind,
staring into
crooked signs
pleading with herself
to find the exit

A person with anxiety
needs to hear concrete answers
because her soul is being choked
to death at the hands of a
relentless skepticism

A person with anxiety
is perpetually distracted
Yet,
effortlessly intuitive

Tripping over
her own life,
begging to fall
into yours

I write about sleeping alone
And I write about rain
I write about beaches
And tears
Hearts
Lungs
And veins
I write about music
I write about silence
I write about
***
Drugs
And violence

But you're the only thing
that grows in my skull
so big some nights,
I romanticize bashing
my head into a wall
Anything just to get
rid of it all

There was an ocean
beneath your skin
I'd splash around from time to time but
I couldn't seem to stir your waters
You held your tide,
calm and soft behind your tongue
for years on end

Until one night
The pain hit just right
Your winds blew violently
And your waves came
building from your core
They crashed o'er your eyelids
And broke into my knee caps
I swam in you until
our skies were the same shade of blue

But then one night
The pain hit just right
I tripped all over your words
They pulled me in deeper and deeper
Until I lost my breath
And drowned in your chest
Oh, how I sank for you

I rest here now
Under a brand new sky
But I swear sometimes
When the pain hits just right
in the middle of the night
I can still feel myself choking on your life
Oh, I swear
I cough up salt water from your sea
when I can't sleep