im getting better
but im scared for the downfall

Every day on this train station,
I stand and wait for confirmation.
She's standing on the other side,
and lets her hair out in a glide.

Shadows spilling on the platform,
wind is blowing in my face.
Number 23 incoming,
she is getting on the train.

And as I stand on this train station,
she turns around in confirmation.
The train doors close, I wave goodbye.
We'll see each other in no time.

The air feels nice, the station – empty,
next train is scheduled, one of many.
A windy summer afternoon,
it's cool, it's quiet, it goes too soon.

Adrift in shadows, hollowed by the night,
Yet gratitude still flickers, frail but bright—
A thirst for dawn, though weighed by whispered sorrow,
We clutch the fraying thread of tomorrow.

The ache of absence hums, a silent hymn,
Melancholy’s wine pools to the brim.
But in these ruins, treasures softly gleam:
A map of scars where longing dared to dream.

Our story trembles, ink on splintered wood,
Yet pulses warm where hopelessness once stood.
The thread, though thin, spills gold through vacant air—
A silken ladder climbing despair.

We’ll stitch the rift where darkness bleeds to blue,
And weave the tale our hunger dares renew—
For even fractured light still claims the skies,
And dawn persists in tired, stubborn eyes.

I write with uninhibited passion,
Drawing inspiration from the depths of my wounded soul.
The scars etched upon my chest,
Like riverbeds carved by a relentless force,
Serve as a constant reminder of my struggles.
My heart races like a war drum,
Creating a rhythmic cadence that resonates through the pages,
And reaching the very eardrums of those who dare to read the scriptures.

I write with the grace of a healer,
Smoking sage and smudging against the ramparts of my own mind. In this act of purification,
I strive to cleanse the filth from the membrane of my thoughts, allowing them to flow cyclically like filtered air—
Clean, pure, and easy on the chest.
I take deeper breaths, allowing my spirit to soar.

However, when praise is bestowed upon my efforts,
And the inkwell dries, I become chary of their accolades.
To captivate you in awe, I must bleed upon the page,
Pouring my heart and soul into every word.

Bleed out of black clouds
So I can drink the rain,
Turn into a tourniquet
So I can salve your pain.

No matter how the tide comes
The blackest skies, take away your shine
Show me the reason I can’t stop
Burning my eyes, watching beauty die
When I can’t stop, burning my eyes

Cut my throat wide
So I can smile again,
Let my soul spill
And paint me as you will.

No matter how the tide comes,
The blackest skies, take away your shine
Show me the reason I can’t stop
Burning my eyes, watching beauty die
When I can’t stop, burning my eyes

I can’t feel my fingers
Tendon’s severed and I feel numb
I can’t lift my fingers,
Picking at the palm at rusted nails,
I can’t stop burning my eyes

Fester like a wound,
Worm escaping the womb,
Burrow deep in the earth
Staring at the sky,
I can’t stop burning my eyes.

i wish youd let me go
so id stop hurting you

i wish youd let me go
so you dont have to see me in pain

i wish youd let me go
so you could get better

i wish youd let me go
so i stop hurting us

i wish you stay
so we get better together

I smiled so wide my molars got jealous.
Everyone said I looked stunning.
I said thank you in the voice I reserve for customer service and playing dumb.
That’s the closest I’ve come to a scream
this week.

I wore the dress that says: I’m over it.
(It lies.)
I walked like a question mark
straightened out with rage.

There was a man in the corner
making balloon animals.
He asked what I wanted.
I said surprise me.
He handed me a noose
shaped like a swan.

No one noticed.
Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself
to feel interesting.

Later, someone told a joke
I didn’t get.
I laughed like I was being watched.

The punchline wasn’t funny.
It just echoed
like something I would’ve said
before I got careful.

I stood in the kitchen
with a paper plate of olives and nothing,
holding it like proof
I was doing fine.

Someone spilled wine on the couch.
I said I’ve ruined better things.
Everyone laughed
like I meant it to be charming.
(I didn’t.)

A girl in white heels asked me
how I knew the host.
I said same way I know most people—
by accident,
and with the kind of premonition that wears perfume.

The bathroom mirror was cracked.
I counted the breaks like confessions
and chose not to atone.
The soap smelled like fruit
that only exists in dreams
you wake up crying from.

I reapplied my lip stain
like armor,
like alibi,
like an exit strategy.

Then I left without saying goodbye
because I couldn’t figure out
how to do it quietly
and still be missed.

old friend
my blade
once again
like before

theres this ache in my heart
it never goes away
not fully
only dulls

i tried to cut it out

that didnt work

i tried to burn it out

that didnt work

i tried drown it in pills and alcohol

that didnt work

so

at last

i tried to **** it

took out my blade
went to work with it
as i had many times

took out my bottle
and felt the familiar warmth spread throughout my body

and finally
took out the pill bottle

took them all within two swallows

and i decided that wasnt enough

so i took the bottle of cough syrup

chugged that

and went to bed