Mar 2016
I took four pills in hopes I'd sink, and then took four more to **** this sting.
The ache in my chest isn't going away. I'm not fading into my bed like the usual haze.
Have I built up that much of a tolerance?
I think I need something stronger than this.
My medicine is running out and surely without it I will die.
But I've been told before that you can't die from anxiety or panic attacks.
I think that's a lie.
Because when the things I can't control come rushing in, my heartstrings rip, tear, and break.
And I know for a fact that you can die from that.
Loss of breath, loss of air, loss of oxygen.
Just sum up everything to loss.
What stage am I on?
I think there are five, but every single one I go through I think that I'll decay.
It's like a constant circle of words on replay.
Those words that affect me and hinder my day.
Regressing is not a good feeling.
Remembering is not a good feeling.
Feeling is not a good ******* feeling.
Can't I just go back to being numb?
Can't I just go back to before you lit me up with your sun.
Light shines on a corner in the room.
Bodies entwine.
But this is not a cure or a solvant for what's happening inside.
You say you're not like the rest,
But I can't help but feel like I'm the cause of this mess.
I enter lives and then they end up destroyed.
I am a walking breathing shock wave of feelings.
And everything leads back to leaving.
Run, run, run.
Be sure not to play with guns.
Or knives.
Sharp objects have to be hidden from sight.
I dare you to speak your mind.
You are confined to four walls, getting shots just to conform inside.
God forbid you have a thought in your own head.
God forbid you actually speak. But speaking reality just turns into screaming.
And then it's a battle of whits and fists.
Fighting the knots tied to your wrists.
Thrashing in a cold bed, four white walls closing in.
Please, please, please don't touch me again.
Please, I'll conform, I'll take your stupid pills, I'll pretend like I'm normal. I'll shut up and fall in line, I'll take the shot right into my spine.
I'll go limp, and fade away.
And then will come another day.
But tomorrow, don't worry, I'll have nothing to say.
I've learned my lesson I promise. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of this.
This is substance.
Sustanance.
This is my soul leaving my body.
This is me losing time.
I guess somewhere inside, though, there is still a fight to shine.
The ache in my chest isn't going away. I'm not fading into my bed like the usual haze.
Have I built up that much of a tolerance?
I think I need something stronger than this.
My medicine is running out and surely without it I will die.
But I've been told before that you can't die from anxiety or panic attacks.
I think that's a lie.
Because when the things I can't control come rushing in, my heartstrings rip, tear, and break.
And I know for a fact that you can die from that.
Loss of breath, loss of air, loss of oxygen.
Just sum up everything to loss.
What stage am I on?
I think there are five, but every single one I go through I think that I'll decay.
It's like a constant circle of words on replay.
Those words that affect me and hinder my day.
Regressing is not a good feeling.
Remembering is not a good feeling.
Feeling is not a good ******* feeling.
Can't I just go back to being numb?
Can't I just go back to before you lit me up with your sun.
Light shines on a corner in the room.
Bodies entwine.
But this is not a cure or a solvant for what's happening inside.
You say you're not like the rest,
But I can't help but feel like I'm the cause of this mess.
I enter lives and then they end up destroyed.
I am a walking breathing shock wave of feelings.
And everything leads back to leaving.
Run, run, run.
Be sure not to play with guns.
Or knives.
Sharp objects have to be hidden from sight.
I dare you to speak your mind.
You are confined to four walls, getting shots just to conform inside.
God forbid you have a thought in your own head.
God forbid you actually speak. But speaking reality just turns into screaming.
And then it's a battle of whits and fists.
Fighting the knots tied to your wrists.
Thrashing in a cold bed, four white walls closing in.
Please, please, please don't touch me again.
Please, I'll conform, I'll take your stupid pills, I'll pretend like I'm normal. I'll shut up and fall in line, I'll take the shot right into my spine.
I'll go limp, and fade away.
And then will come another day.
But tomorrow, don't worry, I'll have nothing to say.
I've learned my lesson I promise. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of this.
This is substance.
Sustanance.
This is my soul leaving my body.
This is me losing time.
I guess somewhere inside, though, there is still a fight to shine.
