You say if I'm actively suicidal you'll have to commit me, so can I please verify whether this is a passive or active feeling?
You don't seem to understand that I am passively active at all times, that suicide is not something you have to die to commit.
You don't grasp that I am both fine and alive while being broken and empty, all at the same time.
You don't see that I can comprehend that something is wrong with my mind for the way it whispers to me of deaths inviting embrace, that I know this isn't normal, but oh, oh do I wish it was.
You ask me to rate my feelings on a scale of 1-5, quantifying my mind's nuances before I have a chance to explain that I don't even know myself half the time.
Do your best, you say.

My best ran out when I stepped over the threshold, next time I'll know not to waste it on a visit to you.

ride out into empty highways,
headlights off, windows down

let the eternity contained in the heavens
guide your way-
trace the footsteps of millennia

paint your life outside the lines,
let chasms overfill with your blood
before you give in

If I tell you where my unkempt sneakers have been
will you still stay the night and caress my skin?
If I tell you what my wide brown eyes have seen
will you still want to learn about what resides between?

I don't consent,
I won't consent.
I know I said it was okay,
that I wanted to see where this would go.
I know I said that I was chill,
that I was ready, that there was no need to go slow.
But now I'm saying
Stop.
I'm saying I don't want it, want you, want this-
even if that makes me some sort of priss.
I'm saying step off,
and don't come back.
I'm not asking for a break,
you can't make up for what you lack.
I know I said I'd be down,
that I would be willing to try-
but boy, that's before I found my crown,
before I realized that it wasn't normal, how much you make me cry.
I won't tolerate any more teardrops, not in my sky.
So leave. Now.
Please.
Goodbye.

I'll never be rid of the taint of ****. No matter how well I pretend, my nights are not my own. They forever belong to the shadows, to rough hands and blank eyes.

What karma did a child accumulate to be punished for such a lifetime?

time on my hands, time to ****
the demons know where to go
a trigger to pull, thoughts to blow