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Wyatt 3d
Bursts of creative passion,
they used to come often for me
but now it visits for mere hours
every few months like a
distant relative that might as well
be another stranger.
That passion I had was a tool or a weapon
for attacking these things I hate about me
but slowly it turned into a question,
what didn't I hate about me?
I had no clue.
Practically I was
holding the pen to my throat.

What comes next after admitting
that you have some kind of problem?
I had no idea, so I would just
kept admitting it for years
because I was afraid
that the next step forward was
surrendering my sense of pride.
Giving someone else the keys to my mind
and letting them take it for a test drive.
They'd take it back to the shop,
get it's oil changed and
upgrade it's parts until it
resembled anything passable.
At that point could I even call it me?
Is changing everything
even an option for me?
Upgrading cars costs money
and so does their kind of therapy.
I just wrote until I couldn't,
I thought that was therapy
but I guess it didn't go so well for me.
So what comes next?
"Real" therapy? Drugs? Depression?
Looming doubt from everybody?
Disappointment? Embarrassment?
People asking what's wrong with me?
Decreasing health? A lack of help?
People mocking me and my struggle?
It's like an empire that crumbles
because there's a double agent
who makes moves from the inside.
That's like me versus me
'cause they're on different sides.
Dual-personality, a lost sense of self?
What can I make of my life?
What scares me?

Condemnation for my past?
Am I ultimately ****** to ****?
Have I derailed off-track?
I let my opinion
deter me from meeting fact,
when am I going to realize
real life doesn't have a hack?
Who knows?
I sure couldn't say.
If I ever did
I think I'd throw a parade.
See? That's what I do,
I make jokes because I've
got nothing left to lose.
What pride can I claim?
There's none in the truth.
I spend unhealthy amounts of time
thinking about learning to tie a noose.
Where's the joke in that?
Maybe it's me, I'm the joke
so maybe I need to meet the noose
for it to then be found funny.

I got no laughs for that, it's expected.
I think I killed the mood instead,
yeah it's pronounced dead.
I acknowledge there's a problem with me
but I'm too scared to take the next step.
Where do I go from here?
Wyatt 4d
I think my well has finally run dry,
my well-being has always been a lie.
All the ink in my pen has been spilled
but not one dream has been fulfilled.
Wyatt 4d
Softly, I feel it again.
A hand brushing over my hair.
Whispers in my ear, reassurance
that says everything will be okay.
I should feel relief
but I feel a tear run down my cheek.
Wyatt Feb 7
The best way to get through the day is to pretend that you're deaf. Ignore the noise, it never brings good. With shifty eyes I observe it all around me instead, which isn't much of an alternative.

Advert your eyes when the picture gets too **** or it'll swallow you whole. Sometimes I stare into the sun and that typical outcome is comparable to this moment. My eyes are damaged as well. The eyes of my soul.
I don't see the same.
Wyatt Feb 7
In the morning hours I tend to have a vision. Typically, I will see a massive wall of golden flames that surround me. In this vision the flames are slowly swallowing me up. I'll think about this for multiple minutes until I snap out of it. Usually I space out when this happens. I imagine that these flames hurt. I'm certain that they do. It feels like enlightenment. Like I gained something. The feeling annoys me, but it's almost familiar, in a sense.
This happened again. I've just now become aware of these instances that happen subconsciously inside my mind. A wall of golden fire.
Wyatt Jan 25
It's all just hunky-dory,
what they all said before me.
I try to paint a picture,
but that ain't really the story.
Want all eyes to adore me,
gotta keep it all pretty
and act like I'm still fourteen.
****, I was still depressed back then
just like I am currently.
I had it all when I
realized that I had nothing.
"No" to my current presence,
it all amounted to nothing.
Working that job that I wanna love
but still I hate it and I'm just
barely getting by working
just a few days.
My life is spinning in circles,
everything's caught up in a daze.
Am I articulate or delicate,
limelight's got me mischievous.
I wanna speak out and give opinions,
but they're too strong and they'll get distant,
these friends of mine that don't really listen.
Guess in reality it's all my fault,
my voice has never risen
above a whisper or a murmur
and sometimes I feel like
my soul has been murdered
after all of these years
hiding behind security,
gassing people up so they
do the exact same to me.
I never get what I give,
'cause what I gave
never came from the heart.
I rarely mean what I say,
so why should they even do their part?
Now I forget who I am
and what I really stand for,
what I really believe,
who I want knocking at my door.
A paramedic who arrived
too little too late or
a friend who could make sure I
never made it out this way?
But if I need somebody else
for my life to matter for a second
then did my whole life
ever really matter then?
I know there's people out here
who really choose to die,
who had more promising lives
so do I even have the right to cite
bad times to take mine?
I hate these holidays
that promote closeness
because I've got nobody like that,
everybody feels so different.
And I do this every-time,
I write sad realities
to question this life of mine
and it all spirals out of control,
I wonder which line's
gonna be my last line?
Lines on my wrist or lines in my mind?
It's all too complicated to keep in one,
so I made a whole book of mine.
This here is just a page.
Wyatt Jan 24
In the distance I see
so many happy faces.
Laughing, smiling, warm tones.
I can't help but feel envious of them.
Everything around me is
cold, dark and sad.
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