I’m a hoarder
I keep letters of sorrow and happiness,
Getting high off of borrowed moments from the past that I know won’t last.
My tolerance will grow,
And I won’t get the same high that I now know.
But I keep them anyway, all the momentos from my childhood that cling on to the last hope I carry in my heart from times that were better.
Letter by letter I read them and try not to realize what I’ve lost,
But instead realize what I had.
And even though it’s not the same as it was before the memories bring a smile to my face that I try to keep as long as I can before it melts into a much more depressed state.
Because you can’t think about what you’ve had before without realizing what you lost as well, they’re hand in hand.
I don’t want to be a hoarder anymore.

Poetry is my check of reality,
Where I put my past in front of me
And analyze for hours, using all my power to discover what it was that went wrong.
I wish it didn’t have to be that way,
Because all my scrutinizing does is lead me astray from the path I was meant to take,
accumulating more mistakes,
and in the end I only end up with more heartbreak.
Last time my heart was this broken,
Nothing I felt went unspoken.
Now that the same part of me is missing,
Nothing I feel goes unwritten.

my habits have been away as long as you have
i don't pick or bite my nails in half
seeing as you've been a goner
i don't bounce my leg any longer
ever since you beat it
i stopped stress eating
because you shattered my heart in my chest
i'm on my phone much less

and you claimed it was all for the best
at the time, i never would have guessed.

why would you settle for anything less
than passion
why would you want anything other
than madness
why would you desire anything except what you
can't fathom
wouldn't you be intrigued by something you
can't imagine?

I want to wake up.
So I try to sleep.
Counting sheep,
one two,
what more can I do?
Three four,
please don't fight anymore.
Five six,
I'm going to be sick.
Seven eight,
I start to hyperventilate, screaming the only way I know how
without making any sound.
I breathe in and out, crying out,
'I don't want to hear it anymore
don't make me listen to it anymore
why are you making me listen to it more?'
I pray to a God I'm not sure exists,
I ask for forgiveness,
I beg and plead Him to take my family on a leash
and lead us to victory.
I can't afford to lose my family.

I scream for it to stop.
Everything. Anything.
Can't it all just stop?
The madness, the confusion,
the pursing of my already declining mental state,
which only makes me more irate.
I need the noise, the pain, the way the thought of you used to burn happily in my chest--
I need it to rest.
I'd rather be drowning in the feeling of emotionless internal bleeding than burning from the inside out on your account.
You hurt me once before, and it kills me to let you do it anymore.
Save me or slay me,
but don't just sit, savoring the torture I'm in currently.