we
       both
know
       that
within
        time,
you will finally
                     lose that
blue
       look of yours
              and have a smile
         on your face
that looks a lot like
        mine.

im ******* on my mind and my brain with the wrong wrench
my tongue is no longer connected with my thoughts
and my soul is somewhere out in the open
searching for a new home.

do you know of that time where the sun has just set,
you're home alone,
and can't keep occupied.
it's only 6pm
or 7pm or 8pm
but you feel so tired:
you're eyes are fighting to not give in to just a wink.
well my vision is faded and blurry and i don't know why.

it's eating me alive,
i can't shut down.
i'm more awake than ever.
did you know? i can't hold on anymore.
"it hasn't even started" they say,
but i want it to be over already.

the dark no longer scares me at this point
and my fear of the unknown has faded.
the black space all around me just seemed to **** up everything i was once worried about
like the scars on my arm being visible
or the way i looked when i was not breathing

the sun pays no attention to the burning heat
and the moon couldn't care less to the dark and cold nights that should be spent on sleeping and dreaming.
but as the days twist and turn
i can see where land and sky meet:
on the horizon where everyone lay dead.

twist and turn it again and you'll see yourself in a blurred mess from then
in the same hollowed out face to full.

twist and turn once more:
and you won't like what you see

THOUGH I DON'T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN IT,
MY ANXIETY IS LIKE A CONSTANT *** OF COLD WATER TRYING TO BOIL
AND WHEN IT GETS TO THAT POINT
I WANT TO SCREAM
UNTIL MY LUNGS TURN OUT LIKE A BALLOON BEING TOUCHED BY A PIN
BUT IN THE END, I ALWAYS REMAIN QUIET

there's an angry voice inside of me
i need to write down
and let loose.
but it only comes out as a whisper.

i use the things i won't do,
like death,
to inspire me for things i try to do,
like being alive.

THE DOCTOR SAID IT TAKES A LOT TO MAKE MYSELF BLEED SO I TESTED THE BREAKING POINT ON MY SKIN IN YOUR NAME

all my friends hate me


this isn't a poem
this is a sign up sheet for a friend.

x.

i held the one i loved one last time
and get caught up in my thoughts:
i was a bush
and she was a tree
hugging me and dancing to the beat of the wind
as i stood there admiring her from afar.
i knew that would be the last i saw her
but by the time that thought came to mind,
i had spent our last hug thinking
instead of embracing her warmth like i pictured it would be.

as if it was my choice to go this route:
stuck in the rabbit hole.
i was alive without a doubt,
just without control.

there's a whisper i hear
and i don't think anyone around me can
but it's telling me i should stay for the aftermath of the storm.

now,
i'm not one to take advice from a stranger
but this one has a smirk on her face
and a lighter in one hand.
fires don't usually last in pouring rain
but for some reason
i see it in her eyes instead;

i also see letters on her forehead spelling your name.

aren't you scared of what you might find
behind a short hallway and a closed bedroom door;
where the kids have red on their foreheads and staples in their hands?

they don't know any better.