There’s an alarm going off in my brain
I stand there and let it fill my head
with its familiar deafening sounds
Everyone watches and waits for me to turn it off, to take care of it on my own
you know, the way I usually do
Except this time I don’t try to turn it off
I don’t try to quiet it down so it won’t disturb those around me
I plug my ears so it only grows louder
And this time I let my insides burn to the ground
Because anything is better than the thought of rebuilding myself over again and again, anything is better than this cold

I’ve submerged myself into
something of an abyss
Most will say they’ve dug themselves a hole
they cannot get out of,
but that is not the case for me.
A hole indicates that there is a bottom
to reach and a way to move upward from there.
What I am part of does not reveal a way up,
Or a way down.
I am surrounded by a nothingness
that is endless in all directions.
Unsure of where to go,
I do not move forward or backwards
I simply stay where I am
and learn to live with nothing.

If it feels like I’m a million miles away,
it is because I am.
I listen to the people around me
with wind tunnel ears
while clouds roll endlessly through my skull.
I have a throat filled with cotton fields,
my words always swallowed with the seeds.
My lips curve in ocean waves
endless, the same, on repeat,
a head bobbing in the water.
I try to see life with a sharper lens
but the fog never leaves my head.

I force open my crusted eyes
and wipe the blood from my face
while I wonder how long I was gone this time.
I shake the cobwebs from my knees
and straighten my broken spine.
My heart is laying on the floor in front of me,
the ***** meant to be keeping me alive
has only been the very cause of my demise.
I fix myself and allow myself to heal one last time,
I will never die for anyone else again.

I’m hoping I make it long enough
to fill this book with my heart.

We're all just a bunch of dying writers
trying to live again,
only able to mend ourselves with words
never spoken aloud.
Poetry is born out of brokenness and healing,
so whether you are hurting or putting
your pieces back together,
please never stop writing.

You say you like them dark and twisted,
yet you call her crazy.
She's a lovely girl
with the most corrupt mind,
no, not the cute type of corrupt
that makes you blush
with an inappropriate sense of humor.
She's the kind of twisted that
leaves her own body begging for mercy,
her tongue stings with the poison
of unkind words only meant for her.
She bends and bows at the feet of her demons
for only they can grant
the kind of release she longs for.