The murderer in me is suffocating,
The strength in his grip is overwhelming,
There is an urgency to his cries.

His whispers are disguised poison,
Sweet to the tongue but bitter to the soul,
He knocks ever so lightly,
But just enough to alarm calm me.

I have no where to hide,
Outward is too bare to the world,
Yet inward is too crowded for my own liking,
Where shall I hide you,
If not bury you deeper?

If everyone has a problem with you,
Then you are the problem, they say,
I wish he understood that.

Imagine taking thousands of dollars
and flushing it down the toilet.
  Imagine taking 4 years
    and making them disappear.
     Friends only remain,
      so to that, I will cheers.
       College education, what a waste.
      Applying to jobs,
     only to get **** on my face.
    Experience this, experience that.
   No one wants to give me a chance.
  Their loss, not mine.
 I think, I'm doing just fine.
I think.

Frustrated and hopeful
Angry and happy
Impatient and patient
Dead and alive
Hopeless and trusting
Terrified and overwhelmed in His love
Depressed and joyful
Tense tense tense tense.......!

I will call upon your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in your embrace

I am yours and you are mine,
But I have become suicidal over time

I'm getting tired of walking into brick walls
Wherever I go. This time when I talked to you
It didn't sting as much because I now know to shower
In acid before we converse. I don't mock you... Ever.
I have never laid a figurative finger on you,
Yet when I open up, even if it's just a small splice

Down the center of my chest, you swat away what I
Have to say like it's nothing but a pest. So, I will humour
You, since the only thing your low opinion of me does
Now is amuse me. I chew on your words, let them cut
The inside of my mouth like knives. Your look, your laugh
Resonate within me until I am thoroughly encompassed

By a magnified mocking so alive I can't tell where that
Image ends and I begin.

I LET YOU WALK ALL OVER ME LIKE I WAS YOUR LITTLE DOORMAT AND I LET YOU PUSH ME AROUND AND PLAY WITH ME LIKE I WAS YOUR LITTLE TOY JUST SO YOU COULD FEEL THE SLIGHTEST BIT OF HAPPINESS BECAUSE I KNEW THAT WAS A FOREIGN CONCEPT TO YOU. I LET YOU TREAT ME IN WAYS YOU CLAIMED TO BE AGAINST; THE THINGS YOU SAID TO ME AND DID TO ME WERE OKAY WHEN THEY CAME FROM YOU BUT UNACCEPTABLE WHEN THEY CAME FROM MY END. YOU KNEW I WASN'T GOING ANYWHERE AND YOU HAD BEEN TAKING COMPLETE ADVANTAGE OF THAT KNOWING I WOULD ALWAYS BE THERE FOR YOU. I LET THE CIRCUMSTANCES YOU FELL UNDER BECOME THE EXCUSES FOR THE WAY YOU MADE ME FEEL; I EVEN MADE EXCUSES FOR MYSELF. I SLIPPED INTO A STATE WHERE MY INSTANT REFLEXES WERE SECOND THOUGHTS AND GUILT AND I BEGAN TO FEAR THE WAY YOU FELT ABOUT ME BECAUSE I DIDN'T WANT TO BE THE REASON YOU ENDED UP HURT AND YOU'VE GOT ME INTO SITUATIONS I WANTED TO AVOID AND PLACES I DON'T WANT TO BE AND I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO TELL YOU THIS AND IT'S TEARING ME APART.

t.m.

In the darkness of night, or by the light of day
Waiting for hours with nothing to say
When wonder turns worry and knowledge to doubt
The truth becomes lies and silence to shout
The louder the cry the more muffled the plea
Lost miles away from where we should be
Open and honest and ugly and raw
Without wasting time with the hem and the haw
Memories fight oversights hidden by masks
Begging a thought is a torturous task
Still waiting for a hint or a clue or a sign
That the strength of a heart beats the power of mind

Nothing I do is perfect, and that's what terrifies me.
I stare and stare at the crooked lines and microscopic germs,
not able to be seen under the naked eye.

My room intimidates me to the extent in which I'm afraid to enter.
The mess is obscure, chipped paint off the walls and pencils thrown to the sides in utter frustration.
I can't focus when what I'm doing isn't exact.

Math causes me to panic.
Not because of the algebraic expressions, but because of the erase marks that always litter the paper afterwords that never seem to hide.
They're always there, showing off how horrid my handwriting looks.

The idea of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder makes me want to scurry.
I know I'm a living example of it, and I know how nerve-wracking it is being around me.
Because everything needs to reach my standards, and nothing ever does.