The girl who cried.

Tears burning her cheeks,
Slapping them red.

"She cried wolf!" they spattered.
"It's not our fault!" they defended.

Strangled by her muffles
Burnt by her cracks.

The girl cried wolf,
They howled to show their support

Somebody save me,
Before I pull my walls up and before my pride takes over.
I'm in need of saving.

Usually I'm not one for these humble words,
I'd rather ramble, stutter and diverse the topic
Throwing jokes in mid air for you to catch and forget the situation
Only to quickly build walls and listen to my inner demons telling me that I'm alright and that they'll save me.

Somebody save me
Because who I was is not who I am
And that's terrifying,
It's petrifying
And I can't help but shake.

Okay stop.
Truth is right now as we speak, I'm building walls.
Regretting every word that utters,
My inner demons are telling me to stop, they are telling me that I'm fine.
That these thoughts are just non existent.

And trust me I want to believe that.
I want to be able to follow their instructions,
Because truth be told they are the greatest distractions.
But these subliminal thoughts are killing me,
Taking away everything that defines who I am.

I don't know what to do.
'Talk', they say.
' I do' believe me I do.
But talking does not help when they don't listen and try to understand.
I am on the verge of losing myself.
And I keep talking, talking but they keep brushing me away.

"It'll get better, it's all in your head", they say.
Sometimes to be spontaneous they throw half heated "sorry" or "Wow, I never knew", but they did.

Somebody save me.
Because my inner demons are fighting my subliminal demons and it's tearing me to pieces.
One minute I know I'm not okay and the next I say I am.
A few seconds later I'm ****** up and I want to cry and the next my own tears make me feel awkward because I'm okay.

I'm afraid of going home.
The thought is bitter,
It makes me sour.
My inner demons say that it's because I'm a city kid it's a phase feeling.
My subliminal demons tell me , I have not accepted and therefore I'm haunted by what is not home.

I'm afraid of being alone.
Sure my inner demons are on high alert.
They make sure that I am distracted.
That I'm always busy, fiddling, reading,  something.
But the minute I zone out,
Like now, I don't breathe, I Witness my pain,
I feel it.
I'm not alright.
But thankfully just like now. My inner demons take those thoughts away.

Nobody save me.
I'm alright

Been a couple of months running high on writers block.
Been searching for my sense of writing, wait. I haven't been doing that.
Been crazy focusing on school and the girl of my dreams.
Been stressing on exams and trying to get my life together.
Been hoping for some sort of light in my writing without trying to force it.

The beginning of my birth month has been a bit of a downfall.
Losing friends that matter and having a couple setbacks with school.
Lost the love of my life got her back but I'm confused.

It's in my best interest to have her  but not in hers to have me.
Should I tell her to do what's right even if it doesn't involve me?

I'm confused and this doesn't make sense I know.
I'm sorry, it's just that I need more than the physical to explain myself

Excuse me sir, but
"Heartbreak" isn't metaphor
It's physical pain.

Asking for someone to collaborate with me
If anyone is interested please message me.  Thank you

“we break things not just as a means of release but also to see
some other thing broken aside from ourselves.”*

You asked me how
I got my hand broken
And I told you it’s
because the walls aren’t
getting any weaker

While I,
I am tired of trying hard
and I’m too worn out to fight

I am fed up with
all the things
I used to love

so I’ve been thinking ’bout
taking my life
but I see the walls
are all around
and I get the urge
to let it out

and so i do…

If I can no longer speak,
the walls would
for me;

they’d tell you a story
on how I turn
into something else
when I’m sad,
and how they stop me
when I’m not
in the right mind
and they’d tell you about
these little scars I have,
and all of the frustrations
I’m keeping inside.

You asked why and
I told you,
’cause they hear me,
when no one else will
and they feel it all,
every inch of my skin
when I lay it on them

so if walls could speak,
they’d tell you how I
hurt them
to hurt me
every single night.

I'm a little traumatized for not being able to write for so long.
Am I somewhere between writers block or I don't know what to write?

I'm a little bit traumatized, well not a little bit but a whole lot bit.

My passion stays burning but where's my need for writing?