Crazy is the medicine
as is what the body does
Blood let won't be of my own
Problems? Come find
my home, secluded precipice
Hold up your hand
still it of the trembles
willingly consign
worry at the cost of
all you own

Medicine, come fight me!
Split existence, split to wind.
I'm paper, aren't I?
The weaker of the two.
You're ink, aren't you?
You will do.

What do you want from me?
Borderline personality disorder, why have you chosen me?
Have I not suffered enough in this pitiful life?
All I ask is to have a stable identity and sense of self
But you come creeping into my development and overtake
Labels are nothing
Labels are everything
No in between with anything,
Black and white thinking
Love or hate
Mania or depression
In the span of 5 minutes.
The only constant you allow me to feel is my hatred for you.
Every moment is a swirling vortex of losing hope and
Clinging to anyone who so much as smiles in my direction
But I suppose
When everything is switching
Faster than a traffic light
Because of you.
The thing to be most thankful for
Is to be able to hold onto you.
Borderline personality disorder, why have you chosen me?
My only sense of self, since you change everything else

A wind chime old and rusting on your grandmother’s porch
The song not as clear as it once was
The new tune so softly eerie that to a passerby it seems just fine

Waking up five minutes before your alarm
Sitting on your bed, wide awake
Just watching the time tick pass, minutes of your life
Until you’re past the time to go

In the idle of traffic, you become aware
Of all the movement around you
Babies whine, horns honk, people sing
Yet here you are
What are you doing?
Are you doing anything at all?

Your bed is a coffin, dusty from the days you don’t open it at all
The sunlight is foreign to your eyes
People prance around you, basking in its glory
They don’t even blink at your inability to see the light.

In the cemetery,
Gravestones surround you,
Bodies of the lost and souls of the ******
You can’t help but resonate somewhere deep inside your soul.
Not that you wish to be dead, no.
Just that it seems you already are.

give it a try
not your hardest
stained my skin and left all sorts of marks
rip it apart,
there is no truth
perspective leads to no singularity
perception leaving no place for reality
bleeding gums and a pity party of the ages
except instead of bottles and ashes its
pills and ****** fluids
now why i’m alone i don’t know
he had my heart, though
denial is an old arch nemesis;
my mother’s truest friend
she visits me in your absence
instead of facing an end
she tells me sweet stories at night
“he’s coming back, and never leaving again”
and then rage, rage, rage
whenever i can believe you’re gone for good
she tells me sweet lies at night
“i don’t love you anymore.”
sometimes i wish i stayed inside my mother
sometimes i wish you had let me die, that day.
now we’re left with this game we play,
this stalemate game we play with each other

A love song could never define you.

Your words are like whispers of smoke that escape your mouth
and disappear, forgotten before they are said.
Your tongue could twist circles round mine while our eyes dart for
narrow escapes, so you can take me under the moon.
It’s so taboo. Me and you. She loves you and you….love you.
But I am solitary yours. In my heart.

But please, understand this,
I am not your normal girl.
I will wrap legs around those who make me feel whole in your absence. This until I know
I have your heart as well.
For then, I would **** a million memories for the only ones with you.
Forget the past, which street I grew up on.
Hell, I’ll even forget my name.
I would be yours undying love, without borders or boundaries or limitations.

But remember my legs till your heart cracks wide enough for me to fall in.

I buy the cheapest cigarettes
that I can find
sometimes subsisting solely
on my own fears

too busy counting
and alphabetizing
all of my past traumas
to get to work on time

I’m too young to
feel this old
I’m tired of being
so tired

I’m still waiting
for my life to start—
I’m dreaming of a day
that I can feel young—

as young as these
bones that creak under me
and this flesh that bulges and
sags

as young as these eyes
that do nothing but stretch
and dilate
I’m always so afraid

but I don’t see ghosts anymore
it’s trite to say that what I fear is myself
but I know, I know how evil I can be
and I’m afraid of everything

how do I keep going under
the weight of myself?
why do I try when all I do
is waste so rapidly away?

A little girl rises from the wreckage that used to be her childhood;
her eyes have lost their fervour and instead reflect the despair from where she is stood.
She is the broken and the messy with so many cracks within her soul,
and no-one can help her out of the ashes or make her feel whole.

Now she’s a dead flower; wilting with her colours fading;
instead her head is filled with parasites that keep invading.
Hidden from the sun, she’s never been able to grow;
instead she’s left to slowly die in the dark shadow.

we're used to disappointment
our eyes shine brighter
without lights to guide them

we'll hold hands when we're done
when the moon isn't  the only thing
capable of outshining the sun

the night whispers in our ears
and the days rush forward
turning into years

we're used to disappointment -
we can't find stars in clear skies
so we don't need them to guide our eyes