Nobody cares About the kid in the twenty one pilots sweatshirt Cause they think he's like Stacy's mom But there ain't nothing going on. Not after the the verbal attacks, The nagasaki bombings of his social life. And honestly he kind of Wants to Off himself right now. But he can't say that aloud. No that's not allowed. It's not allowed To hold your own opinions, And say how you feel. But what you know to be true I guess is never really real. At least according To the people who care about you. And the slow-motion train wreck That he called a friendship Is now just a sinking ship. And it looks like he's going down. But his hoodie's warm So he'll be okay in the ice Cold Water.
Pressure around my lungs cutting off the air Agitation and alarm shooting through my veins Negativity surrounds my thought in a haze Inkblots in my vision from asphyxiation Crushed with the heavy weight of it
Part six of a series I'm writing called "The Little Words".
i feel it in my chest with every breath feeling heavier than the last, like someone is playing jenga with concrete stones on my body
my eyes burn the same type of pain that comes from gripping a hot pan or pouring acid on your face
i sit atop my bed, restlessly scratching my arms or my heels dissecting the layers of my skin trying to feel something or for a sign that I’m still alive
then the thoughts come creeping in about how my body is disgusting and i should never eat again and how i’m just not smart enough and no matter how much stress I put into my work it will never be enough
even my meds know that I’m not enough because even the proper dose can’t help me
Wasting time, hours spent doing nothing. She once thought she could hold the world in her hands, stand on mountains and face the gods. Now she's stuck. Lost, trapped and out of time.
She worries about time, watching clocks tick by; her hours are spent trembling, anxious of the rising sun. The moon holds her gaze, gleaming down from her kitchen window. "Why did you leave me?" she calls out, eyes sorrowful.
The moon just stares, fixated on the girl in the window. Time keeps ticking by, the moon turning into the sun. As the rising dawn arrives, setting fire to the cold sky, she holds her head high and whispers,
"The sun will always rise." The sun smiles back, radiating warmth that keeps her from turning to stone. Smashing the clock, shattering glass on stone floors. The girl breaths a sigh, the clock's ticking stopping.