No one ever told me getting high outta my mind till 9 meant that I wasn’t acting fine
Numbing out the pain I can’t remember my name or the numbers we gave
Addicted to the PTSD and the tests you had me take
Leave me in this lost lake and the dreams I believed weren’t fake

I come down for something to make
Fix my hunger with some left overs or some cake
The bottle whispers my name and the percentages got me going insane
Knowing that 14% won’t get you off my brain

Coming at me like a tidal wave
I thought you had me saved
Hallucinating about you rolling up
Getting high on WA-20 and playing the best cuts

I feel so alone so I pull out my iPhone and text:
Purple heart emoji
You don't know me
You never knew me
I was manic me
Did you fall in love with me?

Backspace

Texting hearts and smiley ****
They're for my crew
And for the love I thought I had with you
Should I drive to the Southside, get lit n both with you?
Should I bring this crew?
Tripping all over you

Its been a minute since we kicked it
so I take another hit and
reminiscing about that spliff and
**** it so you’re not missed and

Stoney
Let’s play some Post Maloney and get a little toasty
Low-key coasting until we finish that Gold Leaf
Corny as ****, but this is how my mind gets stuck

Wasted Times is what I’m trying to be good at
But can I waste that time with you?

The doctor says I’m ill
Unable to function so they give me a pill
Still unable to get rid of this condition
But trying to fix me seems to be their mission

My muscles are weak
Poisoned by those drugs, I can hardly speak
Is this cure supposed to be this bad?
Because if this is I’d rather be mad

Just at the edge,
Not yet overflown.
So close to that moment,
But still not down that road.
Almost there,
Hoping i won’t make it.
Just a thin line
Between both sides
There can be no turning back-
but i’m already there

Too spun to know the sound of pain
But the notes are there
Everyone's feelings are different
Time is medicine
Among other clichés
But feelings should be humbled
Time as an hourglass
stretching across the desert
An eternity to heal
An eternity to forget
Needles to the skin
Lonely painted rooms
Yearning for attention
The house, an empty cardboard box
What alone really means
A golden shrine to kneel in front of
A stone to plant flowers
Bringing about memories
A slap on the face
Black and white movies
Tears
Humming an unknown tune
The taste of salt lingers
Presence no longer with us
I searched for traces of her existence
The voice
Gentle hands
I found her hoard of papers
Among them,
One I wrote
About how I cannot connect with family
stomach voided
wanting to connect with you
Chest tightens
I just didn't know how
And here it goes again

The rifts have opened once again,
Their darkness, thin and heavy.
Pouring malicious, defeating thoughts.
Self-doubt, hopelessness, it is agony.

It has been months, what seemed like eons,
Since such dark matters poisoned my mind.
Yet, a single word was all it took to open a wound.
"Trauma", the irony of a word as a trigger.
It ignites the sky of thought, in an absence of light.

The delirium begins, mania rises.
Shield and sword to the gravity of sadness.

I danced
under savage flame
and the sound
of wood splitting.
I could not see
that I burned down the house
until the moon set
and I stood cold
amidst charcoal
that crumbled
in my palms.

The books we read,
vinyls we spun,
letters we wrote,
clung to my skin
like a crime scene.

He was blackened too -
watching from afar
as I danced
and sowed gasoline
over everything
he loved.

He was blackened too -
and crumbling
within my palms.
Waiting from afar
for the last ember
to die.

I burned down the house.
Again.

But he picked me up
and carried me
to our bed.
Scorched -
where we cried in agony
at a whisper
across our skin.

Every sunrise
we're washing the charcoal
from the sheets
and purging cinder
from our lungs.
Planting seeds
where foliage
was lost.

We wait now
for the day
the flames in our eyes
become another Polaroid.
For the day
we can laugh
at how I burned down the house,
and finally saw
the mxthxrfxckxr crumble.

Yet still,
he doesn't
break.

I was to supposed to write of the Thunderstorm.
High winds. Pouring rain.
Uprooted trees. Burning wood.
A terribly terrific piece.
But, I let the words float on.
Drowning in a sea of unwritten dreams.

I was supposed to write of the Dancing Flame.
Rocking embers. Glowing rhythm.
Sweet cinder. Smoking desires.
A horrifyingly honest part.
But, I let the words smolder into ash.
Going down in an arsonist's dream.

But mania, oh mania.
Writing everything about nothing.
But me, oh me.
Writing nothing about anything.

I was supposed to write,
But didn't.

You're the Apple of my eye, the laces of my shoes, the breath of calm after an anxiety attack or heavy cry. You're the hand on my leg telling me I'm safe, the magnet which magnetised the needle in my homemade compass. You're the net of a dreamcatcher, the final **** after a long and exhausting hunt. You're the sensation of being warm and naked after a cold and wet day out in the snow, you're the report card with straight A's. You're there toe beans of a cute cat and the contagious laughter of a newborn too naive to realize that everyone in the room is only laughing because they keep laughing harder, the positive feedback loop exhausted by cheeks too tired to smile and a diaphragm too used to move.

The sensation of being tucked in, but not too tight. The phenomenon of waking up in your bed because you passed out on the couch and your dad carried you in.

You're the dream where you fall in love and everything is perfect and great, but when you wake up you carry over that charm into your day to day life and everything starts to go your way. You're the fortune cookie with a fortune of the numbers 3,4,8,17,20,26,38,48,70 and the phrase saying "your long held-onto grievances will vanish soon, you will find your peace."

You are the learning, growing pupil of the Master of the Way. You are the concept of fairness and rightfulness, of non-ownership and laissez-faire government and home. You are the beacon, cooking a warm meal at the stove, so tuned into her world. You are the day dream, where the ordinary melts and the extraordinary takes over our surroundings and enchants our creativity while boosting and fanning that little flame in our hearts that keeps us going.

You are the first kiss of morning, with morning breath so stagnant from an unexpected ****** release at 4 am and an explosion of positive neurotransmitters, the development of trust in each other's arms. You are the attempt to synchronize heartbeats in a very tight spooning position. You paint the image of our energies moving in complex shapes before entering the other, circling inside and maturing, then entering back into the other. The ouroboros of emotion and trust and love.

You're what I see when I close my eyes, and you're what I want to see when I open them. You're the concept of someone I can truly let be. The independent, growing college girl with her whole life adventure ahead of her.

You're the angel on my shoulder which speaks to me words of reason and progress and helps me ignore this rotten goblin on the other shoulder. You're the voice I hear say "I really like them, honestly," when I see tracers in my vision.

You're a lighthouse in my mind. One safe thought, one place I can escape to for safety. But that's not really you, it's just my concept of you and my memories. But sometimes just that thought is enough to fuel it, because I'll be thinking of you more than I actually see you and I need to find the best way to deal with both.

I don't want to put you on some unreasonable pedestal and I don't think I have. I only truly mean like a third of what I said about the poetic "you are"s, because it would be unreasonably romantic to truly believe most of that. But I believe it in spirit and that's what matters.

You're the voice whispering me to sleep, and the reason I don't always have to wear ear plugs any more. You're the person I imagine running their fingers up my arms and into my hair when I watch ASMR vidoes. You trigger my ASMR and almost no one before you has been so successful in doing so. My body responds to you naturally in burst and quivers of euphoria and satisfaction, the curiousity of how you can pleasure and tingle me and how I can please you.

Rubbing your back and shoulders, popping your back ever so slightly, exploring the surface of your skin in every area. I want to learn and map your topography and dimensions and watch those change gradually over time as you mature into this yogi goddess with such a brain it's astounding.

You inspire me. You're such a hard worker and you're so much further than your circumstances could have put you. You're so strong Zo. Even if you feel like you're breaking sometimes, you're handling the pressure better than I ever could.

I'm grateful for my time with you, but I'm even more grateful for the peace you've helped bring to my tumultuous mind.

I hope you're getting just the most wonderful sleep. Dreaming of forgotten kindoms, songs never heard, places and euphorias never felt or synchronized with. You're a good person.