3:30 alone in my bed
thinking over what i said
my thoughts on repeat
like a song i can’t skip
wondering if i’m gonna slip
up in the air
but somehow still on the ground
it doesn’t feel fair
seems like i’m bound
to **** it all up
no matter what i do
so why does it matter
what path i choose?
if i always come back to
“what the hell did i do?”
why does it matter
what path i choose?
all i seem to do
is lose
i always end up back here
all ******
and bruised

this seeems to be
the only path i choose

Silence, like a blanket
envelops me.
It is comfort at first,
But all too soon
I am suffocating.

God help me
whatever deity there is
i cannot continue living this way.

Hand shaking,
Ink stains blotting
White paper now corrupted
by the words of an unforgiving society

Scarlet dripping on the floor,
my breathing becomes shallow
one pill at a time

my world shakes
my vision blurs
and all i can think of

is you.

I explode, I leave my reason aside.
I cannot do anything about the chemical mess in my mind.
And I think for minutes,
or maybe for hours,
feeling the pain
as it devours.

Thinking is a blessing and a curse.
As humans we jump to conclusions and can assume the worst.

Do I look ok? Is she my friend?
I know I’m driving him over the bend.

Do you think giraffes worry, as humans do?
Is my neck too long? Is my tongue too blue?

I guess they just eat their leaves and do what they can.
It is a strange thing being a human.

I often wonder what life really is
Maybe even too often

i don’t know what’s worse — too many thoughts thrashing around like a hurricane in my brain, or the still, eerie silence that comes after the rain

I held my pen
Pressed on the paper
Yet to write
It bled ink
Into a giant pool
Blots of my thoughts
Big enough so
There was no eraser
What did it mean
Was it something bigger
Does it have to mean
Anything except
New pens I figure

Everyday i overthink my overthinking about myself talking to myself about myself overthinking about you.

what is the boiling point
of the human soul?