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Mitch Prax Mar 2020
The skies are
fading
and the leaves are
withering
underneath
my skin.
I've got the
Autumn blues
again.
Mitch Prax Feb 2020
Dear diary;
Today was
a good day to die.
But worry not,
ready or not,
I'm going to
live young
and die fast.
Mitch Prax Feb 2020
Dear diary;
Sometimes I wish
I could stop existing-
no, not to die,
but just to stop feeling-
just to stop being.
Mitch Prax Feb 2020
Dear diary;
last night I met the moon.
She forgot how to shine in
the darkest of nights.
We grew close-
a bittersweet bond
since one of us
was fading
away.
I have been through hell, beyond what anyone will truly understand.
There’s emotional damage that’s been done as consequence for having such an open and trusting heart.
I’ve fallen too fast, I’ve loved too easily, and I’ve trusted too many.
I am damaged and broken in ways that will never be mended.
I will never be who others want me to be because that is all that I’ve ever wanted to be.
My friends need me to be their crutch, my parents need me to be their perfectly well-rounded daughter, and the man I’m falling for,
well...
I just want to give him the best of me.
How does one pick and choose who to be for the ones they love, when regardless, the love almost always remains unreciprocated?
I would love to be their perfect daughter, but that’s not who I am.
I would love to be the perfect friend who picks up every call, but for reasons that I cannot control, that cannot be me.
I would love to be cared for, protected, and eventually loved unconditionally by the man who’s almost too perfect to be real.
But, I can't have the one person that makes me truly happy because everything else remains in my way.
I've been damaged,
broken,
bruised,
and used.
All I want is happiness, yet she shall remain a stranger to me until I find my escape from the overwhelming demands of everyone that I care for.
Mitch Prax Feb 2020
I am too
many tragedies
disguised as a man with
too many wounds
disguised as
memories.
Mitch Prax Feb 2020
Sleep's not the cure
but it sure as hell helps to
ease some of this pain

6:53 PM
18/2/20
Fenixx Menefee Feb 2020
I'd like to ask you to repeat what you just said but I'm afraid to ask.
I've never been able to bring myself to ask anything, in fear of being wrong or sounding dumb.
This is a predicament, without questions I don't know what I'm doing but I cannot force myself to ask you.
I cannot ask you to make an exception for me either, for I don't speak up at all.

How does one just ask a question? I freak out about just speaking.
I can't even speak up above my name being pronounced wrong!
Could you please repeat your explanation? I'm softspoken and don't like speaking.
I can't bring myself to physically ask you so I just look miserable until you ask what's wrong.

Questions. It's all I have, yet I can't bring myself to say anything.
These anxieties I have are dead weight, I can't keep going.
I hate it all. Why can't I speak up? Why can't I ask questions? What's wrong with me?
Am I incorrect?

It's all the same depressing thoughts. "You're never going to make it through life."
I hear it every day. The same phrase. It repeats itself, something I could never do.
I can't feel anything because of this, I feel the need to repress it.
I'm going to ask again; could you please repeat yourself?
I can't speak up.
Kaela Feb 2020
I look in the mirror to notice that there's a stranger looking at me.
Tears roll from her eyes, a face painted with misery
- in fact it's quite ugly.
She looks down and stares at her screen, realizing she's just been left on read.
Honestly, I wonder what's going on inside this stranger's head.

Cursed vivid thoughts start to ricochet inside tightened manacles
- she's not OK.
Her palms turn clammy, sweating  with fear until loneliness and heartbreak causes her skin to shear. With chilling sorrow fulfilling her eyes it causes more pain to enhance her cries.

I look into the mirror and notice that the stranger remains staring at me.
Mitch Prax Feb 2020
Dear diary;
At last,
it is Friday
and now I want
to make bad decisions
that I can survive.
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