you are so small
and simple minded
pure and white
and your time
will come
too soon.

I knew a boy, who flew a kite made of clouds.
Some might call that feat magical,
Impossible, even.
But to him,
it was nothing more
than a reminder
of what
he would never
reach.

she showed up at my doorstep last night.
crying.

granted, she was higher than a kite and
only wanted to give me money.

but then she told me he wasnt doing too well.

and that he missed me.

and that she was "hurt"by my actions.

and everything
came
crashing
down

Silence, like a blanket
envelops me.
It is comfort at first,
But all too soon
I am suffocating.

God help me
whatever deity there is
i cannot continue living this way.

Hand shaking,
Ink stains blotting
White paper now corrupted
by the words of an unforgiving society

Scarlet dripping on the floor,
my breathing becomes shallow
one pill at a time

my world shakes
my vision blurs
and all i can think of

is you.

Red and black sludge flows
From his mouth

He tries to scream but it
Comes out as a gargled wail

Roses bloom on his fingertips
As the thorns tear his palms
To shreds

He is dying in a way that
Can only be described
As living

Tears flow down their cheeks
As they reach for help
From anyone

Someone

Please


The mess I have been thrown into
Is impossible to escape

A train wreck of burning garbage
a bed of nails that i have been
carelessly thrown onto
And everything else that hurts

And no one thought
To tell me
That my grandpa
Was dying

A long inhale, and nicotine
brings me the numb that I
so desperately need.

Sometimes, I have to
feel my own heartbeat, just to
remind myself that I am alive.

I often have to think about breathing
so that I remember to
keep myself going.

If not for me, the most
definitely for him.

Even though I am a vile creature
full of hatred and self loathing
I could never bring myself to hurt you.

I wonder how things will pan out
will i live where i plan to live?
see who i plan to see?


will i ever be the person that i plan to be
or am i stuck this way forever?

It feels like a [monster? slime? creature?]
T H I N G
just clawing away at me.
It overwhelms, and screams, and rips and shreds at my insides,
begging me to take away the parts that aren’t me
that somehow managed to stick on my body anyways.
Body?
Corpse?
Husk.
Shell.
I am stuck in a shell
that i am not supposed to be in,
and i cannot get out no matter how much i  try
to
kick and
flail,
escape attempts are futile until i turn 18.
Hormones are raging at the wrong levels,
and my voice is not my own.
My body does not look how it is supposed to,
like someone has put the head of a ken doll on a barbie’s body.
I am a massacred mr(?) potato head
with mrs. potato head's body parts
shoved in all the wrong places.
It is so painful
to sit in the shower
and cry over the body that is not mine.
And you still believe
that I am your
little “girl”?

and not one person
thought to tell me
that my grandpa
is dying.

with every inhale
comes the unbearable realization that
while you are not,
i am still here.

my ribs crack with
every shift of my body

my chest is bound with no hope for freedom.

i see more than you ever could.
with every exhale you gave
came a burst of flowers and life.

everything you touched was whole and good
and everywhere i look there is only death

i bring nothing good into this world
and yet somehow you made it okay.

you were honey and earth
you were yellow and fish and smiles.
you were everything.

were.


granted,
youre not dead.

you just decided to
join in on the hurt.

you ****** me
with a knife sharper than
anything id ever experienced before.

maybe it hurt more because it was you.

every moan that escaped me
turned into a scream
for you

every time you told me you loved me
suddenly turned into hatred.

i pretend that it is okay
and we can still be friends

yet every time you exhale
i am suddenly met with the stench of death.

everything you touch crumbles
and all that surrounds you is red

you are hatred and pain
anything that hurts
you have and hold dear.


i guess that makes me a *******

we used to talk daily.
video called and texts
snapchat and instagram.

i was closer to you than i've ever been with anyone.
and it was great.

but now that my phone has been taken
and we can only communicate via email

there is a newly formed chasm
with only a single bridge across it.

and not the type of bridge one wants to be on.

I know you're not glued to your phone 24/7,
but the distance is making me wonder
if you're falling out of love

because even though i try to reach out,
i am usually met with radio silence

and trust me,
it is deafening.

I wait for each message like a dog waits for his master to throw the ball.
Eagerly,
Wagging my tail like a stray puppy that's been offered scraps from a picnic.
Grateful.

And perhaps that's all I am to you.

A charity case,
lost cause,
ego boost.

Who knows?
Maybe I am merely a passage of time until you can find something real.

Maybe I am just a bird with too much imagination.
Or a cat taking too long of a nap.

Or maybe one day you will walk me down the aisle
and I will know, just as you do,
that irrationality is my biggest flaw.

Perhaps we are just friends who are in way too deep,
or maybe I am clinging to feelings that shouldn't exist.

At this point,
I'll take what I can get.

ny favorite color
is yellow.

but i dress in all black

because you took my yellow
when you left

and i haven't found a way
to get it back

..yet

i sit and i stare
and i stare
and i stare
and i stare

i don't really feel like doing anything else.
i don't really feel at all
i can't feel
i can't sleep
i can't.

it all just wraps around me
like a safety blanket of numb.

because if i take the blanket off,
numb turns into pain
and pain turns into nothingness
and i turn back into something i never want to be.

I will always hate my birthday.
I vowed that the day your heart stopped beating.
A mere four hours after I called your best friend
begging him to find you
because I was too far away.

My hands grasped at nothing as my lungs did the same i pleaded with him and he tried so hard to get there in time but you just couldn't hold on. like that past year meant nothing.
And i thought i was superman when i first started loving you.
I wanted to fix your hurt and be your number one and you tried so hard to let me in but it never worked and now here we are and i'm crying on my couch four years later because i cant erase you from my mind.

they found you on the rocks,
broken and twisted as the sea tried to was you away

why cant i do that to my memory?

He used to have such life behind his eyes.

He would laugh, and play, and joke around.
He played cello, and piano,
and he sang with everything inside of him.

He knew how to love and he loved deeply.
And everyone loved him, too.

Granted,
That was back when they called him "she."

Shoved him into dresses with matching bows,
and forced him to take ballet and drop out of soccer.
They put him in a pink room with frilly purple sheets,

and everything around him made him want to die.

As he grew worse and worse
the life that he held in his eyes faded to a dull, empty blue.
And the world around him seemed to turn grey and desolate.

He went through each day with a smile plastered to his face,
plodding through an empty, grey plane with nothing but that smile keeping him from releasing the broken, shattered sounds that seemed to echo in every fiber of his being.

It's hardly any better now,
but if you asked him,
he'd smile a little wider and tell you it was fine.

every day i inch closer and closer to just falling off of an edge i'm not even sure exists anymore.
perhaps i've been falling this whole time and never knew. although every time i think i've hit rock bottom, i fall a whole lot farther.

they tell me over and over that i will eventually reach a point where i can only go up, but every single time i begin that near impossible climb to the top, i am yanked downward harder than ever.

i'm beginning to wonder if there ever was a rock bottom. or if i will ever even reach the top. is it all worth it? to keep climbing and slipping?

my bones ache and my lung scream for air as i fight against the gravity of the world that i hold on my shoulders.

maybe it's time to just let go and fall forever.

maybe.

i spent so much time
believing that you
would get better

that i didnt see
what was right in front
of my face

i was eleven when we fought
i told you to go to hell
and im pretty sure
you did

and now here i am
taking the blame
for your suicide

when i was younger
i believed
that if you believed in something
that it would happen

i spent
ninety percent of my time
believing with all my heart
that you would get better

so young and naive i was

forgiving the bruises and boyfriends
that would violate me at midnight

forgiving you
for leaving me alone
at the age of ten

to take care of a toddler
for
hours

in and out of rehab
as i moved in
with grandma

and i always believed

that you'd be better
when you came home

Symphonies of steel dance up and down his skin
leaving trails of crimson behind them

he digs a little deeper every time.

Maybe someone will hear before its too late

or maybe he can just let go.

i am an addict
clinging desperately to the hope
that somehow, some way
i will get more of what i need.

by any means possible.

serotonin doesn't come easy,
but some day i'll feel it again.

My skin is melting off my bones as they deteriorate
and yet I have never been so alive.

He trudges through an endless, desolate plane.
He opens his mouth and all that comes out is some inhuman noise that makes him sick to his stomach.

He goes back to smiling as he walks.

His bones are shattering with every step.
His ribs bend on themselves and scream as he goes, and his spine constantly cracks as knees threaten to give.

He smiles a little wider.

His skin begins to peel and melt away
Bones showing through patches,
his hair falls out and he falls

he keeps crawling towards this end that he cannot even see,
and everything burns hot and white on top of an ache deep within that not even he can pinpoint.

The noises that come from him are far from human,
but then again so is he,
as he crawls, a pile of bone and rotten flesh.

He just keeps crawling through this endless grey,
with his throat screaming for water, his stomach for food, and his heart for release.

And as he continues to crawl

he smiles, just a little wider.

Sometimes, no, usually,
I feel as if the whole world is against me.

Maybe its teenage angst,
or something bigger,

But no matter how much the lexapro can suppress it

it always comes back, and usually hungrier than the last time.

this, monster inside me that claws and digs at my brain,
trying to take every piece of me away.

Jokes on him,
there wasn't much there to begin with.

At this point
I am nothing more
Than a rat at a zoo.

Not interesting enough to be the main attraction
but still there,
and occasionally laughed at by pedestrians.