I'm hurting everyday
But I know one day he'll pay
Karma will rein
Revenge for my pain
My stomach aches
All my joy he takes
Every morning I wake
Reminded of my errors
I'm visited by night terrors
He's cursed my dreams
My mind full of fiends
The past 3 years
Haunted by fear
I still can't look in a mirror
Because I'm disgusted by what I see
An empty shell
Whispering a silent plea
Violated and used
My ego is bruised
Betrayed trust
My heart crumbling to dust

Killing myself has always been a back burner option
Been something floating in the foreground like an exit sign in a dimly lit room that I’ve never used
See, I wake up every day and choose not to use it
I decide it’s all worth it
The way the cold makes my thighs red on a Friday night
How the crisp winter breeze reminds me what it’s like to feel something
How you made me feel good, past tense and bad present tense but **** isn’t it a gift to feel this range of emotions again
I feel all this love and heartbreak that I never thought I would again
I thought the winter wind made me numb but instead it made me realize how wonderfully alive I am
I would never do anything to change that, I’ll never take the quick exit
For that, havent I won, something?

Overwhelmed is a term tossed around to the point of underwelming.
I am a depressed person in a glass cage, with no way to hide my fear.
Like a million little cuts across my body, and not a **** one distracts me from myself.
I feel like I'm pounding on the glass screaming, "I wish you would just be happy!"

I'm a depressed person wanting telling a depressed person the worst things to say to depressed people.
The irony is a silent needle that sews the lips shut.
Pretend you're alseep while pretending to be alive.
I sacrifice myself for others worthy of the life.
Exhausting to carry their burdens, and the tears they can't actually cry.
Faces rest in palms as if hands are any sort of shelter.
Inability to let things go makes me feel like I have to rip them apart.
Living like this makes you ill beyond belief.
All I want is a good night's sleep.

If I can identify the problems with
the actions that I take, and the moves that I make
mere seconds after flapping my lips, or
twisting my lips, then

why do I do what I do?
I don't know.
If you're asking whether I think
it's a good thing, or
a bad thing. . .


How long   is it before
"just what I do"    delivers
you to prison walls from paradise?
How far   is too far, to
let my personality drag my brain around?

If I'm self aware, I'm on the borderline.
Control me, will you, my rampant ways?
I have you centered in my sights better
than I ever have, and it's now I think to tell
myself, Action must yield choices more
than Piety or Wantonness. As a for instance,
if I see myself clearly, can I drop the gun
as long as I develop disclosure and transparency?

I'm ******* you, I already know my answer's yes.
From my experience, honesty invites
the utter end of communion,
and from this, you inherit an abject loneliness.

I get lost in my own words
don’t know where I end and the character begins.
Writing to keep the ink from spilling
the blood in my veins flowing.
Wishing that time would start slowing.
There is so much to do
so much time to sleep
so much time to fill
knowing that it is time to
replace the silence
and speak the truth.

Casted over me is a loom of doom.

Chained to the negativity it becomes hard to bare.

Crushed by my despair I drag it around and wear it as my armour.

Cursing at myself for the dark emotions, I shrike alone.

Covered by love I still reject.

Cannot receive when there's no respect for myself.

Chasing away the ones I hold dear is the only way I can endure.

Carrying memories that hold me back, I relive alone.

Costs I pay for my depression.

Alliteration isn't cheesy
Not for me.
When I use words to stave off the clutching squeeze of
A panic attack
I can write:

"There is pressure on my chest and I feel anxious."
or
"Pain presses me into purgatorial prayers."

Alliteration becomes the stutter into which I
Skid to a stop

When the smoke hits my eyes
Eyes then close
I left long before I last saw you
And your siren memory calls to me
A beckoning to a reckoning
Of
No closure
Smoke billows and stings
Like the memories of what never happened
Memories of maps you drew
Guiding me to my next destination
But
I forgot where I had been
I regret my lack of sight
Perhaps the smoke was in my eyes
Perhaps
That is why

My eyes burn
My hands clench
My skin tears
My chest bursts
My pain screams
My rage grows

It stops

My eyes deaden
My hands release
My skin burning
My chest heavy
My pain hidden
My rage buried