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Heavy folds of thought
can become nightmares
you barely wake from.
And the insignificant
fleeting play across your
mind can become a living
confusion of facts all
muddled and demanding.
The only cure is to hear-
the wind, the rain, the cries
of the wilderness calling.
Hello old friend
it's time again for flannel shirts
and dead leaves
bitter coffee and cold breezes
jack o' lanterns are our totem
and 4am that knows all our secrets.
its autumn again and the veil is thin
I hope the witching hours Find you well
it takes over*

it suffocates my thoughts

it steals my breath

and crushes my *joy
but we can't let it
"Are windows open?"
Said he, "I'm cold."
"Only the windows,"
Said I, "of your soul."
Beautifully
             Insecure
Freely
             Bound
Confidently
               Invisible
Positively
               Negative
Lovingly
                Hated
Unbreakably
                  Broken

Every piece of me you think you've figured out,
I'll show you how it should look.

Not extended, edited, or pondered about.
Just a character in a book.
I was hurting, suffering
From a pain so great,
That words, screams and tears
Were not enough.

So I did the only thing
I knew how to:
I danced,
And danced,
And danced some more.

I danced
Until my feet bled,
And my vision was blurry
From the sweat and fatigue;
Until I was breathing so hard
That it burned my lungs;
Until I could no longer feel
My legs aching;
Until my lips were so dry and chapped,
It hurt to smile or move them at all.

I let the music carry me,
And with every note,
With every beat,
I would imagine a string
Attaching to my limbs
Allowing me to lose control,
Allowing me to surrender
Until I was no longer in charge
Of my movements.

It felt good.
That pain felt comforting.
Normal. I understood it.
It let me know I was alive still.
It let me know I could still feel something.
And so I welcomed it.
For it was nothing compared
To the one that I felt inside.

The one that was invisible,
Yet suffocating me with its presence.
The one that left me numb every night.
The one that filled me up with fear
And still drained me of all emotions.

The one I tried to ignore,
But seemed to never leave.
Always stalking me,
Hiding in the shadows
Waiting for its moment.
A moment of weakness,
Of solitude
Or ultimate numbness,
A moment I was terrified
Would soon come.
I know this poem is sad and sombre but it is how I felt and I know a lot of people can relate. One thing I would like to say however is that it gets better. It really does. Once you decide to get better, you will.
some slash their wrist,
ingest a bottle of pills,
jump off a high rise building,
hang themselves, or
blow their brain off.
and in that moment,
when they are bleeding to death,
closing their eyes for the last time,
hanging loose in the air,
about to let their weight drop
and let that
bullet pierce through their skull
are moments, they fell the most alive
maybe suicide
is meant for that
so very "special moment",
to feel alive
just once before
you cease to exist
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