remembered my meds;
didn't clear my head.
still thinking of you,
tempted by the blue
overdose by one or two
hundred, something to do.
maybe the pink;
she'll make me think
of nothing at all,
be as blank as a wall,
still as a statue and twice as calm
as i used to feel tracing hurt on my arm.

seas of
entire
realities
take their
rhythm from you
and stop me
living
in
normality
eternally

you had me in large chunks
and at some points, you had me whole
i had you in crumbs
and at some points, i had you in pieces and it wasn't fair
that's part of why i had to run away
you knew me too well and all i knew of you were the tiny, sad parts
but eventually i realized that she probably knew these parts, too
and i didn't feel like i knew you at all anymore
and still, i wonder
do they know what i know?
do they know about the bullets you held so close to your skull?
or about the xanax you would lay on your tongue when the sky was starry and your blankets were wrapped around your shaking body?
or about how you are so scared of people being behind you that you shake like a puppy and sweat beads up on your freckled neck?
does she know that?
will she?

the pills are useless
you just can't cure a kid that's already dead
my mind's gone
replaced my tablets of therapeutic poison
i'd give up
if it weren't for the people i'd leave behind

i’m faster than the wind when the meds don’t work
and that’s when you say you love me with soft words like honey
you like the neon lights in my eyes and i love your tear-stained eyeliner
you said you were intoxicated by my danger, you said we were invincible
i’m bright eyes and bad ideas, I’m toxic waste with a lipstick smile
i’m a bottle of *****, ****** knuckles, bare feet in the snow
there’s no sleep, just a restless head and electric eyes
it’s not poetic when it’s your life
and it’s time you saw that

I’m down again soon and it’s sad, i guess
im the boy with scars on his hips and a past he’s hidden
I’m the boy with shaking hands and blood smeared on his mouth
you don’t see the light anymore, you said the flames went out
the pills i swallow are too much for you, just like i am
i’ve never been invincible, just untouchable
there’s nothing beautiful about it
you should run, baby
they always do

i think our love was ill-fated
you’ve got his hands in yours and you don’t miss mine
you said soulmates never died and our love couldn’t expire
the signs were clear, but we never read the warning labels
maybe it’s how i flinched at your touch and my inability to trust
or how you never heard me when i spoke
i’m a live wire and you’re a swimming pool.
i should have seen this coming
this is how it always ends

I spend much of my life
within the confines of my mind
Some days I am unsure
Whether I am dead or Alive

But the medication that I cling to
removes the existential fear
and allows my thoughts to relax
yet, it also seems to suppress my wonder

Without the pills,
I can intently watch myself write
As each stroke of my small wrist
Leaves grey stains across the blank page

With them, I can feel happiness
I can detach myself from life's pain
and realize my distractions
instead of permitting them to anchor my heart

But with my medicine I cannot create
not in the ways I wish to
They build a border between substance and surface
while it blocks out the depression
it also limits my humanity

Yet, if I were to quit taking them
the darkness would return to haunt my world
strangling my limbs, until I have no will to fight
or even to move for that matter

Without them, I can expend myself
in this art that has kept my heart beating
My emotions can freely guide my movements
in the hopes of creating something beautiful

But those pills have also saved my life
and yet, they have a dark side too
The anxiety they breed produce
such a significant strain on my actions
that I can't tell if I'm truly living

So as I sit in this barren hallway
listening to the echoes that disrupt the silence
I wonder whether my temporary refrain from my "lifelines"
will lead to my success or my demise.

how is anyone supposed to live like this?
some comfort a bed is when i'm alone and crying in it
when i'm alone and nauseated and i wouldn't mind dying in it
when i'm lying on a full bladder and i'd rather **** myself than move
when moving feels like too much commitment and i have commitment issues

was that gross? blunt? disgusting? does the idea of a grown man ******* the bed
make you sick to your well-fed stomach?
are you outraged that i gave a gory detail?
that i didn't romanticise the illnesses that drain the life out of me and leave me pale?
colourless, frail,
if i were a metaphor, i'd be the pallor of a dead man's skin
rotten and cold and withering from within

halsey's grey man has nothing on me
and my pills aren't blue, they're yellow and green
and it's been a little under two months but i swear they're not working
i've been sleepless and anxious and overthinking when i'm not dissociating
i guess this is an honesty "poem"—i put air quotes around that because i don't feel poetic
i could give you other "ic" words that would describe me much better
pathetic, apologetic, agnostic, pessimistic and ******* chronic

does it make you uncomfortable, reading this side of me?
brash and defeated and overwhelmingly ugly
get in line, darling, i'm uncomfortable every day
standing in front of the mirror and pulling at body parts and skin i wish i could throw away
swallowing down my dinner and consciously reminding myself
"the toilet bowl is not for food, that's no good for your health"
but god i wish i could halve myself, cut away everything that makes me wanna harm myself
and **** it, i won't lie — i didn't recover, just found a couple highs
i'm crashing hard now and you're **** right i wanna die

my mother might have cancer, didn't you know?
it's ******* awesome—note sarcasm—how even that can't get me geared up to go
i know i need to get paid; i beat myself up over being unemployed every ******* day
clearly you don't understand that i already have a job
my job title is depression and i'm slaving 'round the clock
my employer is generous, don't get me wrong
he wraps me up in duvet and keeps me warm all day long

i know it sounds isolated but don't worry, i'm an introvert! don't you know i thrive this way?
my mother all alone with her thoughts in the living room as my intrusive thoughts tear me apart
askjng, "what would you do if she died today?"
my friends getting on with their lives and probably not giving me a second thought
because how could they remember to when i've been locking myself indoors?
if seeing is believing then *******, i don't exist to them
doubting thomas doubts my existence and no amount of faith could ever make me real to him
the only person seeing me is myself and i'm not entirely sane
hey, who knows? maybe my entire life only exists inside my brain
maybe i could **** myself and nobody would feel any pain

"Tonight is the last pill,"
I said to myself for the nineteenth night in a row