September 30th 2015 5 am

Unwind, unwind, unwind, unwind unwind, rewind, look at your hands. Do you even recognize your own fingerprints; you never did.
But you recognize theirs, every uneven swirl and pattern.
Now burn them off.
Can you recognize their fingerprints on the body that was found dead behind a 7-Eleven dumpster?
Can you even recognize that the body is yours?
This is what you asked for. This is what you asked for. This is what you asked for.
Hands, fingers, hands, fingers, nails, knives.
You made this mistake.
They found your fingerprints on the shovel that dug the grave just for you.
Your mistake, don't give second chances.
Your mistake, no fingerprint will ever the same.

When I was younger I was taught in school never to talk to strangers no matter how polite they look.
But they never taught me what to do when someone who isn’t a stranger kidnaps my heart and leaves me as an empty carcass.
Someone who I trusted the most…
And isn’t trust a funny word?
Especially to a child that is so easily manipulated.  
So quick to jump when a man needs help with a finding a lost puppy.
Or when they say your name in just the right way.
But once they are found dead in a wasteland is when they realize how foolish the word trust really is.
And if someone who kidnaps and kills is prosecuted why aren’t you?
Why aren’t you taking your seat on death row?
Oh right, Because I’m still breathing.
And causing someone to be dead on the inside isn’t a crime.
I was just one of your trophies and engraved on my back was a black and blue target for your flesh tone arrows
It was all just a game.
A game that isn’t fair when you stole what was the most important to me.
I let you hold on to my trust like a little girl would and you clenched your fist, letting me crumble.
What makes you think it’s acceptable to come back and ask for a second chance?
Another round?  
The little girl didn’t have a second chance to decline her offer.
The vile man didn’t have a second chance to leave the playground.
And I didn’t have a second chance to keep my self locked up tight or refuse you to touch me in that way even though you said it was “okay” because “loved me”
And with a love like that you didn’t need to ask right?
All I know is if I there was a way I could go back to that night where you asked me to dinner I would say “Sorry, I don’t talk to strangers.”

I am a raincoat on your way home, sheltering you from the storm. When its thundering and lightening my only wish was the electricity spreading through every single one of my veins to keep you warm. I could write and write but it's never electric enough to keep you sane. And every single sympathetic step towards the end, towards bathtub I wish I was the one who took the pain. I wish I was a toaster accompanying your stares towards the water and I'd slaughter all the distressing thoughts that make your mind wonder.
But the music in my head made it stop. Everything stopped and it was calmed at suicide. But how do you run and hide?
And how do you explain your neck slipping like butter?
The rope sending you into a suffocating slumber.
Do you say it was an accident?
Do you say it was the thunder? That sent you into a frenzy in which you'd never recover.
Now tape yourself together little wind up toy, just for a little while.
Because even rain or shine if someone asks you how you're doing, you always lie and smile.

Soft shriek where the pain hurts
Loud scream when your words hit
Swift kick to the chest when I know that you meant it
Playing over and over in my mind like I'm on a cinematic hit list.
But I miss when we were quiet And absent  we cannot thrive after calamity and we cannot live hell bent
And not when the days that we spent were full of romantic torment
I wanna touch between your tendons
I wanna scream into your arteries like I'm in an empty tunnel and it echoes back into my sleeves
DONT GIVE UP ON ME
DONT GIVE UP ON ME  
DONT GIVE UP ON ME PLEASE
and don't... give up... On us..
But if you did. I'm sorry it wasn't enough
And you couldn't hold on
And you couldn't choke up the words to tell me you were already half way gone before I woke up.
And my eyes popped open like the hiccup in our path to where we stopped and where we picked up. I guess I slipped up and I let go it was my fault because I stepped up before you even got off the tight rope.
We fought fire with fire to the point of no return.
Why are you screaming when I was the one who got burned.

I am a dark entity.
I yearn to do more than just exist.
I yearn for more than to just touch and smell and taste and see.
I am the 6th sense.
I am your consequence.
I am nothing more than flesh and bone hollowed out like a pumpkin.
But I’m afraid I am no jackolantern.
There is no light inside.
Hell is not a place I’ll visit after I die.
I carry it with me every day and everywhere I go.
And when Lucifer isn’t whispering into the  strands of my hair,
The silence is palpable.

my friends don't wear smiles on their sleeves anymore it's been months and the drugs stopped helping all of us.
my friends don't smile in their sleep anymore. My own personal nightmares are taking place behind their eyes.
My friends don't choke on their own teeth anymore they learned frequent tastes of your own medicine can get poisonous real quick
my friends don't exist anymore,
their mistakes looked like demolition  
they fall one by one and they do not get up  
And I'd gouge out my own eyes just to see myself crashing my car over and over and over and over...

the sadness came and it didn't look like you or the words that erupted like volcanoes from your vocal chords. It looked like me with my eyes wide watching every mistake I've ever made in the mirror on my bathroom wall. It looked like every last drop of alcohol that comforts my throat at 10 in the morning. My knees bleed and I make sure I don't remember falling.

My only escape are these words but I always want to pull my eyelids over my body like my bedsheets every time I write them. I've always blamed myself for my parents silence. If my father couldn't love my mother, how could anyone ever love me? I'm ashamed of comparing that closet door to my body. And how it still comes mind every time I try to slam it shut into the depths of my mental crawl space.

I feel like the blood rushing through my veins is turning to rust and no matter how hard I try my mind refuses to rest. It runs like the second hand on a wall clock and stress crawls up my spine weaving spider webs in and out of my vertebrae. No matter how hard I try to sweep them under the beds of my finger nails like an old couch and forget, they always seem to find their way back.

I 'd crack my ribs to pull you out from where you reside inside me but I've never been strong enough.
I'd ***** up all my organs but that wouldn't make me any thinner.
My body is nothing but a hive made of bones harboring swarms of pointless thoughts and I'd do anything to exterminate them. But that's not my line of work.

The loneliness pours in waves and I can never breathe while dryly drowning. The cigarettes don't help either but when you're scratching your skin to stop thinking, they give your hands something to do. I'm losing the small grip on reality that I'm still holding onto by a pinky and thumb.
and If my walls could speak, they'd say "I'm sorry". So I'll continue to break my fingers praying I'd die in my sleep and lose myself in these bedsheets.

I guess I take after my mother. The way she walks, talks, screams and disintegrates.
It's not fair, I didn't ask for the comforting feeling of falling off a 300 foot building just to land face first at my dinner table.
And my hand writing looks like an etch a sketch trying to paint a picture of how we're still holding this family together. But it all falls apart so quickly if I give it a shake.

If you cut me in half you could count my scars like a tree stump. And they branch out with my misfortunes hanging on like leaves.
I'd do anything to cut down my family tree
Or for my mother to even hear me speak.
If I could I'd take my fist through my her voice box and wash her brain cells with rubber gloves and dish soap.
If I could just cleanse her ears with my screams.
How could I take after her when I'm the only one that's listening?

You ever wonder what it would be like for your own mother to find you in your room with dangling from your ceiling fan?
I know it's selfish but I can't go one ******* night without thinking about what would happen if I blew a red light
I am already two feet planted at the edge of the roof of a 17 story building shaped like the home I grew up in. Each floor is a year of my life I never got back.
The voices in my head saying "don't do it! don't jump" But I've already reached the ground before I even stepped off the ledge. Nothing's different.
I'd ask to stay home sick but they don't have a thermometer to measure the amount of love you're deficient of.
And they don't have a cure for neglect.
I didn't ask to be born with self destruction
Or to have to make friends with all of my grudges.
They're shaped like the ones that have raised me.
But they never left me less than empty.

My father and I joke about ending it all, we laugh in unison but I know that we both know neither one of us is joking.
If he died he would die in my closet, with the skeletons that kept me alive.
They'll bury him with my secrets that didn't **** me but kept me dead inside.
And in his eulogy I will concoct up a swarm of lies to commemorate his broken promises.
But he can rest with an clear conscious knowing my I'll live the rest of my life pretending to not be haunted.

If this family was a time capsule I would put in a letter to my father every single time he wasn't there to tell me to believe.
So I can open it 10 years later and remember that the fault here wasn't mine to keep
I hope your mistakes sing you to sleep every night you never did for me.
And every nightmare causes your eyes to bleed because every single time that I needed you, you were too blind to see.

If the apple doesn't fall far from the tree why do I feel like I'm so close to bouncing back.

Your words hit my chest like salt in bullet wounds and under your knife I was defenseless.
I let you rearrange my body parts to ensure your happiness and you forgot to stitch the wound.
Your shoulder to cry on is everyone you ever loved playing Russian roulette and you're the one holding the gun.
And our future was that gun pointed right at my face and I opened my mouth and begged for a taste
You cannot kiss death without death kissing you back
And I would've been so lucky

Last night I had a dream I had slept in your bed but things were different, it was colder on your side and I tried to reach for your hand but I couldn't find it.
I woke up to the feeling of my organs being ripped out of my stomach.
I found your hands.

September 27th 4:56 am

Sunday school never sang me the song of the night terrors. Never taught me how to wake up from disaster to calm. My heart races as I  continue to pray.
The bible a book in which neither fact nor fiction but figurative scenarios that were made to be the peace for those who know there's nothing that can save us. We just wanted a salvation for mistakes.  a home in which our wrongs were forgiven. And each story has my eyes rolling in circles and my  faults screaming for release. The author was my entire life in a bucket hanging on a tight rope, step by step i prayed to fall. Father, I didn't mean it. I was bent on a bargain between heaven and hell before I could even say I'm sorry.
Penance could never cleanse me. My mind is so filthy I could be 6 feet deep in a shower and still be dirtied.
Amen amen amen I want another chance but when your skin is all dried up, purgatory is where you rest.

I've been sitting here so long i cant tell the difference between ribcages and coffee tables.
And the blood vessels in my eyes are starting to look like my family tree.
Made friends with my shadow that only comes out in the night time and with the dusty books I'll never read because I can't invest myself in things that have a certain end.
I can't let things end because that means the ones who got away have won. And even my shadow has now left me too. My hands turn calloused trying to hold on to ink cartridge people who have run out of time.
Our hands intertwine as if we were a clock, always on the same hour but never on the same page.
Of these books I can never read.
I swallow everything including my pride.
How long have you been afraid?
And why can you read palms of strangers you can't let go but you can't read those ******* books in your closet?
And why can you clean out your junk drawer but you can't wake up with clear conscious?
Why are you blowing your whistle when your lovers have already died?
Your childhood isn't slipping away stop clenching your fists.
Where does lucid dreaming really take you when you can't see straight?
Why won't you stop shaking?
You're afraid that these stories will rewrite your own because you could never get it right the first time around.
If they could get it right your skin wouldn't be stained with regret and emotion
Who's scratching at the walls?
Who's crawling in the attic?
Who's scratching at the surface of this panic?
Who the **** is knocking on your front door and why can't you let anyone in even when you send them an invitation?
Step right up
Guess my fate
Why does it even matter what those books have to say?
And why could I never give myself a break?
Hiding under my covers when my parents turned into earthquakes
Those stories don't matter
The only one that does
Was Christmas Day 2010
When everyone around me finally gave up.

My dad doesn't understand visiting graves.
He says when you're dead you're dead.
That's when I realized death switched from a fear to a feeling.
He was always good at turning problems into cadavers
And painting on a fake smile with a chest cavity full of black matter.

I never did cry when my dog died
I put the constant in numb.
And sometimes I sit in that parking lot and I chain myself to my memories in protest
If you want to move past this you're gonna have to go through me.
I let the pavement swallow me whole
And think about what would've happened if she made it inside.

I want to tell you about when it was that I stopped sitting in doctors chairs and why my nightmares have teeth.
How I wish you would treat me like a tombstone
About how I want to be buried in the park across the street from my house.
How there is nothing beautiful 
about names that read like funerals.

I wonder why some houses keep lights on in every window
As if they're waiting for someone to come home.
That never will.
And if there is a light that never goes out
Why does the darkness come creeping back in every chance it gets?
And when are you coming home?

I use the term I miss you as loosely as the string I tie around my index finger so that l don't forget to never use that phrase again.
Because I miss the person who came with Decembers wind chill not the person who left in June's volcanic ash.
Sometimes I wonder if you can feel the ache when you press ******* to where your pulse should be but then I remember that you're most definitely cold blooded.
And you can't feel unless you fake it.
And I most likely never really mattered like an animal in a cage.
But I could've sworn that you felt it. The pain before the punch hits.
And the pleasure of me screaming through the lies and the regret.
I know I'd listen to your answering machine a million times if your voice could make my ears clean again.
But I am not your scapegoat
Do you even remember?
I think you don't because you would've cared more
And you would've been there when I needed you but instead you're stuck upside down.
In a car that should've killed you.

Okay New York here we go, today's the day.
That we're speaking in memory of someone who spent their whole life pretending to be someone they never could be
Loved by many but everyone who has ever loved you was a figment of your imagination
What is a person without a spine to hold them up right?
A snake in every sense of the word.
You slithered around your whole life glorifying your misery for a retweet and a spot at an open mic
What better describes the life of a starving artist than to sleep in your car but be found dead in the morning
You said you wished she would meet you at the rocks in Montauk but you were at rock bottom the whole time and no one would meet you there.
And you were down with abandoned ship that washed up against your loneliness
And abandoned things should stay abandoned when they're full of black mold and pathetic
I wrote this poem with my left hand because you felt like you were someone else
And I used my left hand when I finally pulled the plug
Time of death November 28th 1986

I'm still a little selfish about it.
I wanted you to bleed out I'm sorry's through every wound that's ever laid on your skin.
I wanted it to physically harm you to admit your mistakes even when it's something so simple as taking a wrong turn.

Of course you're as shallow as the bathtub I'm sitting in trying to scrub your filth from the beds of my fingernails.
But as soon as I splashed the water, my lungs started to fill up with all the garbage you regurgitated from your own down into my throat.

I sunk and you threw my headstone at me.

You were trying to paint my flesh in the shapes of your fists and its so rude of me to think it's anything less than beautiful.
1,2,3 I could count your paintings as quick as your heartbeats.

Yet, when she walked in with your keys imprinted into her skin I wondered when it was that I started tasting better than she did.
And when I stopped.
I guess I'm an acquired taste that was clearly too bitter to accommodate your tongue.

I knew that you can't make homes out of people but I didn't listen.

You're just as dangerous as every single snake etched into your chest. Your fingers mimicking their actions around my neck.
You taught me to find calm in the way my spine breaks like a mouse you chose to feed you.
And I'm starting to stitch myself up crookedly.

There are parts of me still as fragile as paper.
But I swear I’ll never break apart my ribs again just so someone can fit more comfortably inside.
I swear I’ll never tie up my veins like I did with you.
I swear I’ll remember the way my mother called me beautiful before I remember the way you said I wasn’t.
and I'll remember to cut the grass before I let someone in.

Wash your hands in the river
Fall asleep on the stairs
Sending out strangers to get the paper again
Cigarettes radiate off strands of her hair
You think you're in love again

Static stereo night stalker sing me to sleep
Put me out of my misery in my kitchen sink
Please don't call the doctor he said I'm not clean
I am not your poltergeist but
But I lucid dream that you love me, outside of my body.

I heard it in the voice on the radio
That clicking noise from the back of my throat all the way down to your stomach
The kind of thing that will give you the shakes if you're not careful with it
I don't wanna control it, my fathers sadistic
and so is my mother.
But we only pretend that we love her.

I dare you to look at me the way you would at your fathers grave
Pin me to my coffin tell me I'm safe
I know you're not scared of me yet
But you need to be.

Put me out
I gotta get out
Put me out
I gotta get out
Put me out
I gotta get out of this hell in myself.

I always hide in my basement
Waiting to die
I always hide in my basement
But I never tried

I would drown you in the tears that I shed for you if it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t shed any at all.
I’m sitting here with my hands in a *** of boiling water attempting to cleanse myself from the feeling of your palm against mine.
It’s hard to accept the fact that I could thoroughly wash my body to get rid of your smell but I cannot wash my senses from it.
And there is not enough water on the earth to wash the memories from my mind.
I could brush my teeth a million times, but, what would that do when I still taste your tongue on the roof of my mouth?
If I could just dig my nails through my skin and remove the burning sensation that once was your finger tips tracing my spine.
If I could shake your voice from my eardrums maybe I could sleep at night.
It's like you've imprinted your soul in mine and I want it out so ******* bad.
You wanted tough and i showed you parts of me that were sad.
They have meetings for bad habits but I couldn't sit in a room when I need you like nicotine and don't want to talk about it.

Your eyes, like the sun and if I stare too long.
I'm blinded
If I get too close
my skin is boiling,
I'll disintegrate into dust on your bedroom floor.
Open mouths sitting upon a bed of nails
I am not your poltergeist
Don't treat me like you can't see me
And don't look at me if you can
my mind is as sporadic as your freckles.
Eradicate my thoughts with your fleshy fingers
Sinking sinking sinking into the webs of mine
I am not your poltergeist but
I lucid dream that you love me, outside of my body.

TAURUS: Overall you were rigid. You wore a fake smile and hid behind brown eyes that glistened when they stared at the face of trouble.
But only if it wore a dress.
Told yourself what you were doing wasn't wrong, that you couldn't be wrong if you weren't happy.
Slept peacefully at night in those freezing silk sheets your mother gave you on Christmas morning and maybe that's apart of the reason you are the way you are.
Like a glacier.
And I am the titanic.
When we collided with stuttered breaths and clenched fists it was a massacre to everything I've ever known.
You were the artist.
But the masterpiece was quite different than what I had asked.
Paint me like someone you actually loved.
But you couldn't.
You were stubborn.
A puppet master at best you were always in control.
Pulled the strings of your lovers to the tunes of the songs in which you ironically named after them all.
Including myself.
I adored you.
You are the color red which grew to be my favorite until it faded to the pink that shaded the bags underneath my eyes.  
And the color of the handprints along my once porcelain skin to state your authority.  
Lies were your stability along with alcohol and under a drunken haze was the only time I was enough.
But I took what I could get.
Made me question love like a game show host and you made the bet.
Undressed me like curtain number 3 just to find trouble once again.
But this is all in your nature so are you really to blame?
Be careful with your tongue for it might be cut off by the tears of the wrong person because you said the wrong name.

I had a dream I had slept in your bed but things were different, it was colder on your side and I tried to reach for your hand but I couldn't find it.
I woke up to the feeling of my organs being ripped out of my stomach. I found your hands.

Loving you was either falling and getting right back up or suffocating waiting for the paramedics that never arrive.
We were a hurricane inside of a desert drought,
I was caught smiling into blue eyes of the storm
and it hasn't stopped raining in my peripheral vision ever since.
I was the dog behind your shed that you shot so many times but refuses to die because it has never loved anything more than I loved puking on our first date.
Loving you was like running my fingers across a map but never finding the X that marks the spot because it was under my shirt the whole time and you're some kind of twisted open heart surgeon.
And Happy ******* new year
I hope you got your wish
No matter how many times I blew out the candles the memory of your floodgate lips hasn't stopped drowning me in my sleep.
Loving you was like throwing stones in glass houses that still echoed your name.
And It was like reading this poem to a room full of blind people who have never seen love first hand but know exactly what I'm talking about when I describe the freckles on your shoulder blades.
Like being 5 years old and breaking my ankle over and over again
Like that hotel with a no vacancy sign lit up like your smile even though it has been empty since it's been born.
And I will love you until the clock hits 365 and decide that it's enough.
Because I was in love with the person you were pretending to be and not the demons that kept you up at night.
I could put your baby picture on the back of a milk carton but you're never coming back and I should stop looking.  
But love has a habit of hunting you down
And I'd cut my own hands off before I'd ever stopped the search party.

Every touch of your lips to my porcelain skin flushed memories into my blood stream.
I choked back the drunken tears and apologies and replaced them with 'I miss you's' and the minutes I had the privilege of playing with your hair, I was at peace.
I missed your hands and the way you worry about my relentless insomnia.
I missed you squeezing my hand as if though my life was in danger.
Every second spent with you feels like my lungs are collapsing and I've never felt more alive.

God ****** every night I feel like dying but the fact that you exist in the big wasteland of **** is enough to keep my impulsions quiet.
The fact that you breathe and you sweat keeps my heart beating out of my chest and I can't get my vessels to find cessation.
I itch and i crave to be your favorite mess.
I want to kiss you where it hurts until it hurts even more.
I want to heal every wound that cuts deeper than your pores make you believe that your worth is so much ******* more than anyone who's led you to believe that it wasn't before.
I am the hollow tree trunk coffin where creatures go to die and you are mine.

Until I realized you were rotting.
You became cold and unaware that your impulsions could get the better half of you. Biting your tongue became a habit you couldn't break And I know I fed your addiction.
I was sick and you were quiet.
Your branches just couldn't withstand to hold the weight of my heavy heart and I dropped.
You cut off my leaves and pulled out my trust.
And it just wasn't enough.
We withered away.
They dug up your roots and I watched you decay.
And it was my fault, it had always been.
I am your rotten apple, your Pandora's box.
You cut me open and unleashed the chaos. And I'm sorry.
You didn't deserve that. No one does.
I'm a hollow body and I'm sorry my soul tried to swarm on yours and erupted.
I'm sorry about the buzzing.
I'm sorry I couldn't hold you up on my branches.
I'm sorry you didn't love me as much as you love her and as much as I love you.
I'm sorry I...

I fell in love with an angel who kept the devil underneath their tongue.
Who would preach about how love is sacred but would lie to their mother.
And I'm on my knees but the pads of these shaky fingers that once got the privilege to grace your sinful flesh will never dare to pray again.
No one will listen for me to confess
about my deal with the devil who used my heart as collateral but never once gave it back.
Exercise me, my skin is burning
I beg and plead for the voices to stop
Bless me father, for I haven't stopped drinking.
Satan was an angel once and he couldn't be saved so why did I think you were different?

I delight in listening to the wind.
It’s so content and subtle, yet, so destructive.
Much like love, the way it slowly strings us along with bad intentions.
So reposeful we fall for each other and so maleficently we fall apart.
Too often we love things that aren’t any good for us.
We let emotions manipulate us.
Victimizing us into an impractical mindset,
Where we are convinced that love is permanent and nothing hurts.
But, love is a bizarre thing, much like the wind.
They both exist to eventually tear things apart,
Whether being our homes or our hearts.

When I stepped on to the train I felt the air depart from my lungs.
Nostalgia kicked in and it felt like a loaded gun to the chest.
Anxiety crept up, tip toeing up my skin like a child and flooded my veins. Realizing familiar surroundings couldn't clean up our mess and I was stuck in delusions and concepts that could.
I'd tried to forgive and forget but when I look around all I see is your hands and I'm suffocating.
You were where I used to lay now I wish it was these tracks.
No matter what I do, you're never coming back.
It was the same drive but a different person and I finally accepted that things have changed.
So I'll continue to make friends where I last saw your face.

You joined a gym to carry the weight of your heavy heart but you quit a week later because you've never been able to stick to anything.
Except for him.

2. People aren't baskets. Their handle might look as strong as steel but they will never be stable enough to support you. One day you will be dropped. You will shatter and you will believe you'll never be fixed again.

3. You can click your heels together, there's no place like him but he was the house that fell on you.

4. When they say stop romanticizing depression as if we all never done it. Don't get angry. Their minds haven't felt the love you were given and got taken away.

5. We're all looking for that one person who understands the knives removing our intestines but will sterilize the wound.
Who knows what it feels like to drown when you're miles from the ocean as well as helping you swim.
But people weren't meant to be ladders. You aren't going to fall off the roof so stop shaking.

6. The only person that can fix you is standing in the mirror with tear stained cheeks.

7. Remember there's always sun after any natural disaster that felt like home.

I wish I let the feeling in my stomach stay as empty as your promises.
And here I am scraping my knuckles trying to dig deeper into my cracks
Hoping you'll be there to pull me back when I scratch too deep below the surface.
But I was 6 feet deep without a refuge and you were handing me a shovel so I could bury myself even deeper into the thoughts that keep me under. And of course, you liked that.

I told myself it was just a dream
Just a dream that left me on my knees praying I'd fall back to sleep because if I knew I was awake, and I saw your hands, there's no way in hell I could live with that scene.
But we were more than just a movie. A nightmare concocted from the mind of a man who cracks his knuckles to the tune of shame and I would give my bones away for just a chance at a second take if it meant that you would finally learn from your iron filled mistakes.  

I wonder if when you die you can choose where you go because when I was with you I knew what hell felt like and I just want a second chance to know
But how could I ever sleep when you haunt me like a ghost that snuck it's hands underneath my clothes
And isn't religion a funny thing?
If God was real you would've stopped because I prayed so **** hard when 'no' just wasn't enough
he wasn't there when I had to wipe my blood while you were banging on the bathroom door screaming "get the **** up" and so I did.

The time I spent in your bed was like lying in my grave.
I wanna breathe in every mistake that you made until my lungs are as black as your mothers.
You know you're just like her, admit it.

You stunt my growth with your words like cigarettes burning in my throat.
And did you know, that when you touched me I wished your hands were a rope. So that when I fell in your arms I'd detach my skull from my body and I know hurting me was your hobby but I thought you'd be more gracious than to watch me while I'm rotting.

I wish the chemicals in my brain would release memories of you before they released sadness into my veins. I feel like I'm going insane, so caught up in your lies and how you've changed. I want so desperately to forget your name but it echoes through my ears every ******* day. Shut up, shut up, shut the **** up, I could yell but it wouldn't be enough. After all, you'll never listen to the words I try to construct to tell you about how I'd love to tear my skin from your touch.

And *******, after all of this, what I would give to have you put me in and out of consciousness. But I could never miss the toxic notions you let out between your lips.
those 3 words that I wish you never did
Love me? how dare you say you love me when you'd rather put your hands on me.

and how dare I say I love myself when I let it happen...

A year ago today the clock struck 12 and you pressed your lips against mine so hard it took the breath right from my throat.
And I was still fighting to find where it hid while your friends pulled you off of me because you couldn't get enough.
Today is exactly 200 days since I've been without you and the irony is cutting right through my liver.
When the clock strikes 12 I will be kissing a bottle in celebration of the fact that it took you the count of 10 fingers to forget me and I will spend this year forgetting you.
I will destroy my brain cells to commemorate how you have not left my mind for a single second.
When that ball drops my mind will be screaming Happy New Year! I'm sorry I wasn't good enough, but I tried.

You're in every single cigarette I smoke.
I inhale you into my lungs and I ash you out of every one of my friends cars.
But I don't exhale you out

You wear the mentally ill on a sash around your body and your heart on your sleeve screaming "everybody look at me I want to die"  
using it for dollar signs acting like an  advocate but you couldn't hold hands with sympathy even if it dug it's picket sign into your vertebrae
Mental illness is mightier than the sword; or you'd like to think anyway.

It is not your title it is not your fame mental illness wasn't written on your birth certificate in place of your name
You didn't open your mouth for the first time for in place of a cry be a poem about depression that ironically rhymes
You can't possibly praise yourself for sleeping for days and waking up to realize everything is exactly the same.

I'm glad that you're coping but how much better can it be when you wear a smile with teeth made of OCD.

"When I grow up I wanna be a mental disorder" and you sculpted your craft, i bet it's exciting to build your delusions a life raft.

If I peeled back your layers all I would find is all of your ailments standing in a spotlight. A collective of people trying to be defined by every single problem they've had in their life.
How much depth could you all even hold when the hour glass is running thin on your throne made of unstable gold?

Pain is beauty and I get that but don't act like you're better than me just because you like being sad.

3 blind mice they play with a gun.
Don't worry about this poem though, we'll all be fine.
Mental illness is not my name, but i wrote this with mine.

1.The closet door on Christmas morning with bullet holes the size of my fathers fists holding the death of my childhood behind it on hangers.  

2. The basement door when it slammed as I watched my father walk away. Not knowing if he'll ever come back, and if I'll ever come back from this.

3. Your bedroom door when your mother was banging on it at 4 in the morning asking why there was blood all over the bathroom walls. It was yours. And that was the night I realized if you could lie to your mother why wouldn't you lie to me?

4. The front door when you got kicked out of the party and I went find you. You told me you loved me for the first time on the front porch. And in that moment it was finally quiet no matter how loud it was in my head.

5. The car door with rain slamming against it like your clench fist the night you had to drive me home after I screamed my lungs out that it was enough.

6. The hospital door that morning all my friends and i were held captive in our own minds trying to keep each other together. But there was so much blood.

7. The window that led to the door of an abandoned house that felt like home to me more than mine ever did.

8. That bathroom door 14 pills and a razor. It will never stop.

9. The back door when you heard me say I didn't really love you. I lied.

10. My car door making friends with  a guard rail. Spinning around and around like a carousel. 150ft to my death wasn't low enough.
11.
I know there were suppose to be 11 doors but the last one hasn't opened yet. And I don't know if it ever will

To whom it may concern,  
Please keep an unbiased opinion on what you’re about to read.
I promise this is not what you think it is even if it seems to be.
And everything is never as it seems.
This is more than an admission that I’ve gotten myself under control.
Please don’t doubt me.
Why are you looking at me like that?
You’d be shocked to find out that I’m as good as I say I am
And I’ve been remembering to take my medicine.
I know you’re laughing. Why are you laughing?
I just meant that If good things happen to bad people then I must be a saint
Because misery loves company and despair and misfortune
It does not discriminate
Before your roll your eyes please let me explain.
I’m trying to tell you that you’ll be happy to know i let go of the shadow that only comes out in the night time
It’s easier to write myself into the dusty books in my closet that I finally got myself to read than write about what has brought me to the exit of a street that never felt like home to me.
because I’m afraid of how my life will play out.
Please understand what I mean.
I already know these stories now so it’s easier to imagine myself with an ending that wasn’t by my own hand.
And I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to find that my end is where I began.
Hitting my head on the bathroom floor again.
That’s not how this was suppose to go.
I’m sorry
That concludes my letter
I guess I’m trying to say that
I see myself die in third person all the time and
I know I won’t get into to hell
Because purgatory has always been my security blanket.
I’ll send you a post card. Wish me well.
This is the part where you’d be bewildered to find out this is a letter to my bathroom mirror
because it’s always easier to lie when you’re not looking someone in the eyes.
And I was strong enough to look up
And say that I can finally admit it to myself that The sadness came and it didn’t look like a stranger or the words that erupted like volcanoes from their vocal chords.
It looked like me with my eyes wide. Forgiving.
I think? At least I hope.