when someone looks at me,
is my introduction what
they think theyd get?
theres gotta be more to me then this cell-
not just the clumps of cells i project,
but the prison within.
atleast windows are reliable,
no wonder about a double standard,
when both sides are see through and sane.
so many others have been locked in this same cell
it doesnt make me feel better as
im still here alone.
expect for the voices in my head
a imposter in my cell-
hovering in the corner,
the crack in the wall.
as i cry this imposter laughs at my vulnerability
my biggest hater.
my stomach twist says every flaw is right to be torn apart
a tornado building-
no flaw untouched.
the house that supports my head
aches already
i wish the tornado would take that too.
when the words dont come out of my mouth,
is what they see what they get?
i dissociated from myself a long time ago
my conscience is
floating.
hanging
from the rope i tied years ago
the real me wanted to summit to
the knife.
under my unicorn pillow,
not sharp but
cut to ease.
red cut the blue
and lines deepen with my smile
my wrist still stings even though
im clean.
im see through like long sleeves and slit wrists,
but more so like stained glass-
colorful and full of illusion.
clear windows are bland
but atleast theyre reliable.
Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 4:15 AM UTC
when someone looks at me,
is my introduction what
they think theyd get?
theres gotta be more to me then this cell-
not just the clumps of cells i project,
but the prison within.
atleast windows are reliable,
no wonder about a double standard,
when both sides are see through and sane.
so many others have been locked in this same cell
it doesnt make me feel better as
im still here alone.
expect for the voices in my head
a imposter in my cell-
hovering in the corner,
the crack in the wall.
as i cry this imposter laughs at my vulnerability
my biggest hater.
my stomach twist says every flaw is right to be torn apart
a tornado building-
no flaw untouched.
the house that supports my head
aches already
i wish the tornado would take that too.
when the words dont come out of my mouth,
is what they see what they get?
i dissociated from myself a long time ago
my conscience is
floating.
hanging
from the rope i tied years ago
the real me wanted to summit to
the knife.
under my unicorn pillow,
not sharp but
cut to ease.
red cut the blue
and lines deepen with my smile
my wrist still stings even though
im clean.
im see through like long sleeves and slit wrists,
but more so like stained glass-
colorful and full of illusion.
clear windows are bland
but atleast theyre reliable.
