Go to sleep, my love.
This ambulance is not for us.

Although, I suppose it could be,
following dark impulses.

Its sirens screaming of hell,
tearing pell-mell in a night

not tinged by blood –
no crime committed for want or violence,

only help arrived too late
to save us. It would go silent then,

as we have been silenced,
locked in a terrible tableau.

You, still, curled around my heart,
me having found for us oblivion.

I was driving home late at night
after I crashed on my friend's couch in the middle of a movie
hands less on 10&2 and more on 7&5
mind less on the road and more on my speed
how easy it would be to stop steering, to just
crash into something.
When the light turns green I hallucinate headlights in my rearview,
but when I look back there's nothing but black asphalt following me.
Look, Mom, no hands.
Look, Mom:
No hands.

But this is only for tonight
Only this chance

Only here in this moment  & only for this space and time

We won't be able to try again

Come morning we'll exit here
and I'll dissappear

We'll have this one memory
this one chance

It's only us

Only here

Only this moment 

Only for this space and time

We'll  make it last & make it sweet

You'll be satisfied

I'll be content with it all baby

And never again
can we repeat what we do here

So take your time

Enjoy every fiber of us
every touch moan & screams

Love me like you'll never see me again because you won't

Since I'll only do this once

ONLY FOR ONE NIGHT

Insert possible Trigger Warning for my fuckity bluntness today*

God knows if you've read a lot of my work, you know I am all about the metaphors and symbolism and all of that, right? I twist everything into run on sentences of Wonderland madness and all of that.

Well, today, **** that.

You heard me. **** my words and my poetry, today we are being blunt, as blunt as a person who feels uncomfortable at the mere mention of some words when she's feeling down. But this isn't about me right now. Well it is, but not. Anyway, here we go.

You know what ******* *****?

Suicidal thoughts. And thoughts of cutting. And insane impulses. And moving vehicles and how nice it sounds to jump in front of one sometimes, even if its simply because you want to know what it feels like.

I lie a lot, ok? I am probably able to be diagnosed as a pathological liar at this point, if we want to be ******* honest for once, because I am so scared of terrifying people and hurting them and making them feel bad that I keep the truth inside. I tell snippets or water-downed versions, but I literally want to bash my skull in half the time from unwanted impulses or put myself in a straight-jacket for how nice causing myself pain sounds. Its crazy, I know its crazy, but its my head and its me and that's a hard thing to live with when saying 'I'm not like the other girls' stops being a fashion statement and turns into a curse.

Impulses and impulsiveness in general is not ******* cute, ok? I look at a car and I want to run into it. I see any attractive person and I wonder what it would be like to flirt and kiss and see their body naked. I see a train and wonder what it would be like to run away. I finish a book and I want to publish and quit school and be a full time author with half a writing degree. I see a knife and I wonder what it'd be like to stab someone with it. I am not suicidal or nymphomaniac or a murderer, and I don't truly want to do any of these, but the ******* impulses. In that moment its the only thing that sounds like a good idea, and I feel my body pull towards it. Just one step into the street, just a few hours of running away, just a little cut. I all ******* sick and I know it but its my head and though I control them better now I can't stop them.

I can't change people either. And because of my fuckity condition of moods and impulses if I get sad and get a suicidal impulse, it latches on like a *****. And I want it to stop and I want to feel better and I want help, but how do you tell your friends that the one little sentence they said turned you into a death-seeking mess?

I'm broken, and I'm ******* hella crazy, but I still want to be human. I want to be treated like I'm a person and not a ticking time bomb. I hate telling people anything going on in my head because I don't want to be treated like I'm some invalid. I am valid, I am real, and I don't deserve to be treated like a monster when I never do anything, I just have these ******* impulses.

****, ****, ****, **** impulses.

I hate impulses.

I am fully aware I'd feel empty without my range of emotion, but can the impulses go away, please? I don't want to even contemplate cheating on my boyfriend when its nothing that I want, I don't want to be afraid the impulses might get me to jump off the nearest bridge, and I don't want to cut my wrists.

I am fully aware people can't always get what they want, but why the hell do I have to fight a raging hell-monster that whispers all the things no one should do? Why do I get that special ******* pleasure? If this is some sort of 'gift' to make me stronger, guess what? I. Don't. Want. It.

I just want to be a normal quirky girl who's a little emotional and likes to write stories. Why is that such a hard dream?

And by the way?

I still ******* hate impulses.

i failed once again
my impulses take control
i find no reason to fight it
i fell like ive lost it all

the demons
come creeping back in
they help me pick up the razor
and put it against my skin

one little line
soon becomes more
its not long before
the drips hit the floor

im falling down
back into old habits
its a neverending fall
into neverending pits

it's time for me to go now
the gashes need to heal
ive been torn and torn myself up
none of this seems real

Freedom,
Like the rain, it washes all away
Past memories, horrors - everything is rinsed away; relief remains.
It feels like sand between your toes,
Leaving you lost in your impulsive throes.

Freedom,
In her dissolving smiles,
Her mischievous flirts,
Her sweet small skirts...

You've missed her for so long...

The touch of her spine,
The caress of her thighs,
The weightless good byes--

Ah! Freedom, *she smells like rain...