She grabbed my neck, one hand, and her fingers quickly connected,
“You should have some more self respect, you’re taking this further than I expected.”
I swear that I’m eating again,
but I won’t try to pretend,
that the food doesn’t make me hurt, the removal of my organs didn’t mend.
I ask her to forget it and to just talk about the weather,
the topic wants to drop; she won’t let it, she knows I’m not getting any better.
I was always too much of a lost cause to trust I’d ever be repaired,
for years she’s held the gauze and just silently waited and stared.

At 21 my mother died from a long battle with cancer,
I toughed through it to provide comfort I could never allow myself to receive.
So my own sickness was inspired by Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer”
it was never my goal but what my
brain wished to achieve.

I told them all to leave me,
I didn’t expect they would do so,
a few stragglers stayed who wished to prove they were strong.
It’s still shocking that they believed me
or were they waiting for a polite out to go
one that they could argue wasn’t wrong?

And I’d rather break a mirror
than to see the reflection everyone else shared,
it’s not that I would fear her,
but through seven years bad luck I’ve already fared.
I made a choice and a deal
to give my worthless life for just a few good days,
you can’t put a price on how you feel,
you can only hope and pray that that feeling atleast stays.

I became best known through all encounters in every social gathering
as the laid back confident joker, because they never saw me shattering.
I assure you that after I was always in my Honda drowning,
arguing with myself if it was better to be fake than the person always frowning.
I was dying for interaction beyond just meaningless conversation
and only ever met the odd soul to bring that alleviation.
I was so used to the shadows from the comfort of my basement
that I flinched when I saw sunlight and only after felt amazement.

I was a skeptic and untrusting as to why the sun would ever shine on me,
and the refreshing waves that brushed my feet carried potential for drowning.
And just when I got used to light and a natural source of heat
the darkest cloud in history attacked until it did retreat.
Then I thought that drowning in the sea wouldn’t be the worst,
if it didn’t carry me into a current, perhaps it could wash away my curse.
But even the tide will move away when you decide to take that step,
past the point of clenching a fist, every muscle I own did treppe.

Los Camp said the sea was a great place to think about the future,
but I know it’s a great place to think about the one you lack.

i have not written since my last disaster.
the hopelessness, and the empty,
they were horrible feelings, but they held a beauty not worth having.

today, i worry. because tomorrow, the world demands results.
today, i worry. because so many people have told me so many things.
today, i worry. because so many people want me to join their laughter.
today, i worry. because no one knows what i’m doing.

the sun came back -did you know?
however, it is so much easier to study in the rain. i feel the need for my life,
when in reality my life should be tomorrow -because the world demands results.
because those results i also demand of myself.

yet, my heart, ever persistent, collides.
it whispers to me -can you believe it? she knows about that?
and it tells me -you can’t miss these things.
even though i can’t solve these things, they won’t let me rest until they’re solved.

but the world demands results. it wants a girl with a voice,
a girl who can turn circles and spheres and make something out of what she’s been given.
most importantly, it demands a girl who can solve any problem,
reason out every thought for hours. those are results.

and day after day, i change from i to she. because i am me. and i’m also she.
she, who can be the girl the world demands.

she has no time for this, she knows. her whole life is results.
as it should be. and when she’s done, she rests her shoulder against her bed.
and once, long ago, used to wonder who found her beautiful.
once, used to dismiss that feeling.

now, she carries it. each time the world demands, she gives.
she gives everything for results, and everything else for those people.
expect one thing. one, who she can’t see. one has held her hand twice,
one who makes dreams with her.

one, who she makes dreams with. because when the world is done demanding,
she’ll send her letters in the form of keys,
and think about what they’ll become.
she rests her back against her bed, and wonders what it would be like if she was sitting next to her.
holding her hand under the moonlight and holding her in heart as she allowed the day to seep out of her.

help me,
I want to die
I want that knife
I want the lasting peace

I hate me
I hate how I have everything,
and I still feel like dying
I hate how I cant love her enough

I want to die
I want an end
I am sad
I am depressed
everything that should be happy,
just isnt

I need your help
I need something
I want to keep going,
but I want to die

I love her
She loves me
I have everything I have ever wanted
so why do I feel this way

I am empty
a void
I need help
I dont want to leave her

she is everything
I dont want to hurt her
I am scared that I will,
if I say that I still want to die
help me

Im Watching others pass me by
Watch closely to those who catch my eye
Although such beauty and such grace
I behold tho I shall not chase
For efforts are nonsense for the broken
No two words will ever be spoken
To the one with the beautiful smile
I’ve only see every once in a while
I Don’t care to know her name
Because if I do it will be the same
We may talk a time or two
But two weeks later it’s nothing new
For hopeless romantic such as I
I’m always faced with reasons why
Why I shouldn’t say hello
Or why I always watch her go
The Reasons why go on and on
But nothing except my hope is gone
She walks my way my heart will pound
But walks right past and lets me down
I walk away from the hopeless temptations
For I am a hopeless man with hopeless aspirations

Thing's that make me uncomfortable:

That feeling when you get mad at me,
because I didn't do the thing, you didn't ask me to do, cause I can't read minds; I'm not your parent.
That tone in your voice when you go off about how unfair the world is, triggered by the slightest setback.
The feeling when I sacrifice all that I am for the sake of your mood and happiness, in vain.
That sound of the exacerbated sigh when I ask you to run an errand, as if I am not also tired.
The pressure of carrying us both on broken legs.
The pit in my chest when I ask your opinion and you say "I don't care," but you actually do care, because whatever choice I make is laced in ridicule.
When you say you're doing something for me but you're just trying to make yourself feel better about doing it for yourself.
When you use my disorder as a justification or excuse, but when I actually need your help you seem burdened and annoyed.
That "okay then" moment when I give you everything you ask for and you take it as if you never wanted it.