When luxury is 3 walls,
cement.
Too high to reach, too sheer to climb
Waist high rail with a metal fence
Assuring you don’t,
What?
Jump
Fly
Maybe now I understand.

When release is paper you can’t see
Sitting in the down-
pour with the dark,
wishing you had one person.
One soul there,
In your space that you share

Two others unconnected.
Friendly
But so **** distant, washing
sheets in desperate attempts to quell
all that leaking in your stomach.
In your throat
In your mind
Twisting deeper every night
The uncertainty, the **** sinking in your gut
And you can’t even make it
prose.

Playing god
Playing maker
Playing yourself
Or this self
Who is,
Or is not
The person you are,
Or might be.

Anchorless
Without one to soothe,
one to help you
Remember

That yes
I am.
Yes, there are people
Who would choose me
Over you
At any time.
You don’t even think,
because you don’t know if it’s true anymore
And how could anyone care
Enough about you
To care
To care
To care

About what?

The words steal
themselves from you.
Your mind is blank
You play at poet
Play at person
And you can’t get either right
But in the end
Does it matter
If no one knows you well enough
To see the façade fall

Oh they flow, my failures
As a river towards the valley
The defining feature in an otherwise
Sparse, pale
Landscape

Each sin like a raindrop burgeons on
And my river grows
Oh my river flows

Steady as a sieve, leaking o’er my head
In my eyes, soaking into my soil
And I’m flooded, no I cannot breathe
Under the weight of my stream
But ****** if I’ll open my mouth and
Let the water course down my throat
In my lungs

****** if I’ll drown
No I cannot let them find me
Bloated
Sodden
Choked by the rush as it consumes me

But how I want to
How one scream to release me weighs
On my mind heavier than the river I’ve made
A pressure the ocean itself
Could never hope to match

And what a trick it is
What a sick practical humour of the universe
That my river grows
And my river grows
Only as I try to keep my mouth shut

Once upon a time I could say
I never understood why
‘they’
did what they did, what I do
why did we let them dam break?
oh god I know

It's not like I was trying to get away.
I knew
that this road
was going to hit a
dead end.
I didn't want to get caught up
in this head on collision
of what I thought was a
soul connection
rather than just
false intimacy.

I thought that when we touched
it was a charge
that could light up the solar systems
or these streets
and
in our eyes
or fill our veins
with an adrenaline rush
that could only amount
to the closest feeling
of feeling alive.

But I don't want to feel this real again.

Take two of this movie scene
that I never asked to screenplay
and I'm tired of the same plot twists
again
and again.
I'm not your cheesy script
waiting to be denied and burned,
tossed and scrapped.
I don't want to be a torn piece of
anything.

But hey,
at least we had fun while it lasted.
don't expect for me to not
feel a little ashamed
or blame you
for doing what you do best:
"Attention *****-ing"
your life
while dropping
everyone who
mattered
behind
anyways.

Outwardly I am a titanium barrier, inwardly, a net of strings hold me together within confining my true self to my mind. The metaphoric needle posed between thumb and forefinger, sewing patch after patch across my ruined skin, holding in the things that threaten to burst. The thread is my self value, thin and dissolving.
Watching in the shattering mirror, who I am, as tears and blood slip past trembling fingers.  Reaching upwards towards light, but I drown in the darkness. I am swallowed by hopeless misery.
Floundering and toiling in the shadows of my own faith and nearly forgotten beliefs.
Sorrow floods me, consuming in a cold fire that doesn’t burn, but freezes to the core.
Refracting shards of light that escape like a song. They fall like a melody from my lips.
While the heat of the world swirls around me in shades of blue and black. I am bruised and ask "why do I hate myself?"
I never have an answer. Only the memories of a life so beyond dysfunctional that I have to resort to story writing to make believe a happy ending, never truly believing in it.

What were these whispered words that squirmed and infiltrated my mind, what are those lost secrets and memories left to fade away. Tormented, still I remain silent. Suffering quietly. Wondering if I'll go down without a fight, or would I take my own life. It is the loss of my humanity. I transcend in definition, no longer resembling who I was.  Silver tears, dripping from the eyes of the moon, as if such a cold distant satellite mourns for and with me.

Fear remains, as it always does, clutching my heart in an iron grasp. Despite the freedom of a new life, my knees are buckling, I’m poised to run, as if there were a place to escape to. Walls arise on all sides. I am locked in a box, where I hide away from the world, and I become, cold and distant as the moon. Fighting myself endlessly.
Hide everything I am from the world, and put it out of sight of myself, I don't dare to confront it.
I ask myself again. "Why do I hate?" I know a vague answer to it this time. I have allowed the evil and cruelty of a despondent life before this one to shape me, even after my resurrection, despite my belief and faith. I had let it consume me.
My heart, a thousand splinters of ice, would once break, even if it was looked at, or touched, cracked and shatter repeatedly. I only watch, making no attempt to heal myself. Content with viewing my own nails clashing with soft flesh that gives way to pain and agony. Slicing into cold abysmal depths, bleeding a metaphoric spectrum of ****** colors into my veins that then spill down the drain of my heart.

I wonder if there is any capacity within me, for the remnants of a shimmering soul to return to hope?   I'd abandoned love and hope for so long, had they dissipated completely. Do I dare to uncover such a startling miserable revelation?
My voice catches in my chest, as I sing halfheartedly for my freedom. To be released from my anguish. My voice not carrying past my lips, stolen by the wind of despair circulating around me.
I had changed, believed myself worthless and ugly. Melancholy, a kaleidoscope of emotions contrasting with one another. Dripping together to create the painting of my life. Magnificent, yet lonely and sad. Like forlorn splatter-paint tears down the side of eroding walls.

I was told once that I was shiny on the outside, and dull on the inside. Gilded. I want to change that. I cannot hide the scars I have been dealt, nor can I conceal the ones I've inflicted to my own body. I remember each slice to the skin with shame. That I had knowingly marred perfect flesh.
"What value could I possibly have if I'm constantly looked down upon?"  I pose questions like this to myself.
Everything they say makes me feel worthless, like I'm not supposed to be here.
Maybe I'm not, I wasn’t supposed to live was I?
“Worthless. Freak. Stupid.”
Do these words define me?
Are they who I am?
I am a shadow, As I sink into the depths of my own insignificance I stare speculatively, emptily up at the opalescent translucence far above me. I’ve always been worthless,  but now I am nameless. I’ve never been to solid in my own emotions, right now I don’t know what to feel anymore. Where and what is joy? What happened to the light?
I dissolve into toxicity and an almost chemical stasis of depression, seeping into my heart with the thickness of sick black tar, dragging me farther than I’ve ever been beneath the surface.

I become nothing, for that is what I presume I always was, nothing. Only a mirage burning holes into the fabric of lonely hearts longing, a haunting memory left to torment into seclusion and sorrow.
An empty shell of what once was a girl with dreams, is all that remains to decay in the dark. While the shudder of sobs dies down into a tempest of self loathing.
An incandescent nightmare, flares out like the petals of a blossoming flower, they unfurl and cover the dystopia of eloquently disfigured words that curl and uncoil, only to surround the wounds of me that pour from a inky black liquid that has replaced the blood in my veins.
The push and pull of the sorrow and hope mixing into the discordant symphony of life. The sound that is the melody of me.