I'm in a mental state that I can no longer comprehend.
If I said I've lost my mind,
It sounds overdramatic but I think it sums it up just fine.
I felt the room shake under my feet,
I felt the walls shudder and I forgot how to breathe.
Staring deeply into a mirror in the bathrooms of a club.
I hope no ones looking.
I'm squinting my eyes so hard to form a figure.
All I'm seeing is a ghost so I'll blame it on the liquor.
But I'm only 3 drinks deep and I can see perfectly fine.
That's when I realised I had lost my mind.
I'm beginning to slowly convince myself I'm etherial -
but not in a good way.
I believe I'm completly indestructable,
So I'll hurt myself again.
And I'll do it again and again, I'll even let others join in.
Face fuck me with my greatest fears,
I mean't that as a metaphor but here we are again.
It's okay I can take it, I'm used to it now.
This will just be another few more notches on my arms.
How much more pain can I put myself through?
It's almost like a competition now.
When I'm face down on the ground sodden in a puddle of blood,
Maybe then I'll finally win first place.
Now when I hurt myself it isn't good enough.
Each cut is not deep enough, each bruise does not ache enough.
Every momentary loss of breath from starving myself should last seconds longer.
If I'm going to do it, I should do it right.
Isn't it crazy to think I do all this because others have hurt me?
Maybe I should look into self care and self love.
I've read the books and they make my skin crawl.
I do not want to care for myself, I do not want to love myself.
I want to hurt myself like others have hurt me.
But no matter how hard I try it doesn't hurt me as much as the horrors of 2013.
Elderflower Poison Liquor, I will take a sip.
Drink the tears that fall from the devils eyes.
Elderflower Poison Liquor, I will finish the bottle.
And I will find the devil, so he can finish me off.
I haven't seen him for 4 years and look at me?
He clearly did it all wrong.
Because I took his hands from around my throat,
because I kicked down the bedroom door.
Because I ran in the street screaming you never loved me.
And I was right.
I tend to lose days when my eyes stick, stoned Haze, I couldn't tell you the last meal I ate, or how many hours I've been awake, just that the days and nights have been a passing phase, no more than light change, I've always been a night owl anyway.
See my life started spiralling when she died and I cried hard enough, but not for as long as I need and now my heart is barely beating unless my lips are pointed at fire, and sometimes the flames are men 13 years older, sometimes the flames are tips of cigarettes and my own arm because I'm manic and driving and I'll barely feel it.
I feel nothing and everything all at once.
Usually, this is when I tell you I met some boy who made my heart stop beating so quickly, when I would tell you how his kisses soothed my burns, but this, is not that story
I met a man who kissed softly, who touched with purpose but delicacy. Who tasted my soul before my body, and made his chest a place I long for... but cannot reach.
My hands hurt from pounding on the walls inside myself, I want to let him in, but my body breaks into shake, my body shudders at the idea of being left again, my voice barely makes out "I love you" before my mind starts racing with what it will look like when he leaves.
I drafted a poem the other night and all I could get down was that the poem I write when he loves me, will never be as good as the one I wite when he leaves, and I still believe that's true, no one has ever shown me a love beautiful enough to write well, or maybe I've just not had enough practice.
It's days like this that I wonder if I knew what time it was, would I still be thinking of you, if I knew what day of the week it was, would I still be stuck in your bed, with your smoke, and your smell. I can't remember the last time I felt so intoxicated without a line, I speed faster from your touch than the red bull and adderall, but love, I crash harder than 3 day binge when you leave
They say addiction will make you forget how to love, but you are a much more dangerous vice.
I'm suffocated by thoughts and words.
Choking on letters and half strung sentences.
Being alone at midnight gets more dangerous each day.
Every song I listen to constricts my throat,
Every melody line hits me in the chest.
Every solom note of piano chords only ache my bones.
I'm looking at my tendants in the reflection of my window,
Forever wondering which one would be the least painful to lacerate.
I relapsed a week ago, now it's all I think about.
I've got visions of crimson blood flow on my brain.
It seems I don't cry anymore,
I don't speak how I feel anymore.
I sit silent in the therapists room with quivering lips and damp eyes,
grinning and laughing that I'm doing just fine.
But I'm not doing fine, all I think about is suicide.
It's like I'm screaming for help into a forest,
But I no longer receive anything but the birds early morning call.
I no longer know how I feel anymore.
Things that once gave me joy only leave me confused and bored.
If this was a call for help, no one would pick up.
I'd recieve an automated voice message,
that no one can make it to the phone right now.
But this is a call for help.
I'm just too nervous to pick up the phone.
I need someone to help me because I can no longer help myself.
Listening to one more piano instrumental is only bad for my health.
I don't know how safe I am from myself.
you made it so hard to care for you. you made it so easy to love you and easier to lose all progress, collapse in on myself every time we touched lips, when yours moved your words hollowed me out like a rusty locket I never took off even when it hurt me to wear, I was never fully aware of the fact that you did not love me back because it hurt to know that once again, I was the one who loved more. I got sick of the silence, it ate away at me like a wasp's nest invades a tree unexpectedly, I loved silence until I loved you and then it drove me crazy. You made me lay my past out across sidewalks of the town we grew up in. I told you everything. Please don't go. You convinced yourself that loving me was going to be easy and when I fainted and fell off my pedestal you darted before anyone could tell where you were going and no one has heard from you since. Please don't go. Why am I so hard to love? Why did you promise me that you would never hate me and then leave? Why am I so hard to love? Please don't go. I wear your whiskey stained sweaters as an armor and I fight with the mirror and the keys that you left in the door. Where did you go? Please come home. I won't ask you to make the bed anymore and I won't tell you the reasons I felt I was unlovable, I know it drove you crazy when I talked about myself like that. Why did you go?
She starts to believe
She is as hollow as the glass is empty
so parched she becomes
Quenching her thirst in unpromising promises
We accept the love we think we deserve
Or sometimes the love that presents itself at 2 am
The kind that warms the vacant spots
Until there are no more vacancies in her ravaged heart
Fools and lovers are all the same
I keep telling myself to sleep it off and maybe these feelings will go away.
But I keep waking up in the night,
rolling to the left side of my bed and seeing that you're not there.
My hands within your hair is now where mine like to lay.
You're tangled in my sheets and I'm tangled in your arms.
I'll write you as the main character to my most recent novel so I can write us a romance before I ruin it.
Fawn eyes and caramel skin is all I want to see these days.
And I'll write myself as the hero because you have an ego you need to tame.
Can you handle me at my worst because you haven't even seen a glance of that yet.
I'm scared to get close to you in case I run away.
I'm a burden to myself, so I'll be a burden to you too.
Are you sure you really want to do this again?
I've got a dark past and darker thoughts,
you've got hidden emotions and a overwhelming front.
I've always prided myself for my way with words but when it comes to you my throat turns numb.
I've always wanted to date a writer,
but I'm not even dating you.
If we were, would you write about me?
Would you confess my insecurities onto a page,
could you turn them into something positive and re-write me again?
I'm scared to show you the real me but I can't seem to push you away.
As I raise my hands I find myself falling into you instead.
What are you doing to me?
I think I adore you.
Some days I paint my skin
with the same colors as the sky
The way that it looked that night in July
when we exchanged souls
For the very first time
But my palette is watered down
But I want you to look at me,
The same way you did that sunset sky
Before vulnerability came in chains
Instead of white silken sheets,
Before promises came in broken glass,
And intimacy a day dream
I miss the way you used to look at me