Amphetamines in the dark.
Sitting here, heart pounding.
All bite and no bark.
My shame compounding.

I’ve been up for days.
Heart beating, chest thumping.
I navigate the haze.
My internal engine pumping.

Amphetamines in the dark.
I haven’t had this energy in years.
All started by a spark.
It will only end in tears.

Love you! With an exclamation mark; like it’s far away.
Distant with the things I do and the things I say.
Squandering my time; gone with the wind. A decay.
Every day is the same thing on replay.

I’m awake and I’m caked in
a place where I’ve grown.
Where fights became earthquakes,
the same place I call home.

Molehills became mountains,
and the trees became gallows.
My personality weakened,
and all that was left there was shallow.

A proper diagnosis,
That says I’ll be addicted or dead.
It only took a lifetime of neurosis,
And a psychiatric ward bed.

To be molded by your worst traits,
To be malleable by the bad.
To shatter under the worst.
To be battered and sad.

I feel enslaved by my emotions. Stuck in some weird paradox,
I can’t seem to act myself as if stunted by the equinox.

As soon as summer came around, my sense of self started to slip
departing, disregarding how I’m supposed to live like this.

Therapy and meds, both are slow processes.
They help with the dire, but never the nuances.

I feel enslaved by emotions, bound from the core.
Nowhere but inwards, I’m chained to a carpeted floor.

Known for comfort and recollection of my childhood days,
Carpet only reminds me of my body’s binding chains.

I’m much too tired to continue writing now,
Please, I plead, please don’t let me drown.

I’ve been starving since I was fourteen.
Please just let me scream.
Rusting like a machine,
Oil is hard to swallow.

I’m tired of passing out on the floor.
An underdose, lying by the door.
An absence in my core,
A gag when I try to fix it.

Putting on shirts, worried about how wide they make me seem.
Too self-conscious to wear something tight around the seams.
Pretending my future is only a dream,
I’m becoming dusty on the internal.

Withering away, I feel my soul leaving.
Blowing with the wind, I am still grieving.
I’m more used to the sound of heaving,
Than the sound of myself eating.