When I look inside
my very own room,
I see a room that
used to be owned by my older sister.
When I look inside
my very own room,
I see a shelf of some
of the toys I have
received over the years.
When I look inside
my very own room,
I see a twin sized bed,
that I got a couple years ago.
When I look inside
my very own room,
I see a shelf with
gobs of my favorite
books.
When I look inside
my very own room,
I see a bunch of,
sports posters around the wall.
When I look inside
my very own room,
I see a dresser
with some very special
items on top of it.
When I look inside
my very own room,
I see a closet
full of clothes, puzzles,
and boardgames.
When I look inside
my very own room
I see a window
that I look out of
every single day.
When I look inside
my very own room,
I see my very own
personality.

In the canyons between the grey matter, lives something much darker.
Swimming comfortably in the river of my mind.

Her voice sounds like mine.
Her face a perfect reflection.

Invading my thoughts with whispered obscenities.
Filling my vision with clouded water.

Her presence is shifty.
Here one day and gone the next, but she never really is.

They tell you not to name your demons
But it’s hard when they already have one.

I have an intruder living inside me.
And the scariest part is that she is me.

My name
Is the colour
Of the heart chakra
I gues I am
All heart
The colour of grass
The colour of green apples
The colour of summer leaves
The colour of
Jeffrey Star’s new lipstick
All with heart
Cause
Green is the
Colour
Of the heart chakra.

Rhythmic incessant thuds,
Drum rolls of flowing blood.
They ringed in my ears,
Welcomed my deepest fears.

A fragility of the flesh,
Shredding open with each new lash.
A fortress of stones, bone-brittle,
Shattering like an overflooded skull.

Haemorrhage, haemorrhage
How they gush,
Bright red, lovesick
Always in a rush.

To think that each wall I built
Only heightened the fall.
Each scar was a sensation,
I know they watched in awe.

Of flesh and stone,
They contest my throne.
Non-consensual,
but eventual.

In the silence, I sit and ponder,
It fills up most of the day,
It does me no good to wonder,
Why my mind leads me astray.

The tablets in the morning,
Are doing me no good,
These feelings strike without warning,
And stay longer than they should.

Harsh words echo inside my brain,
From a conscience full of hate,
Regret flows through my veins,
I lay awake at night and shake.

My life plays out before my eyes,
Every moment drenched with shame,
I cry and cry and try to dry,
Theses tears packed full of pain.

I think of the people who I’ve let down,
The times I chose myself instead,
Why do they still keep me around?
I wish that I was dead.

I beat myself up daily,
I never suffer enough,
How long can you hide? I pray thee,
Behind a masquerade of trust.

My knife starts to vocalize,
It’s stunning sirens song,
It wants to sink so deep inside,
I know it won't be long.

My emotions switch from bad to worse,
I can’t control the way they play,
They pull no punches and aim to hurt,
Soon I can’t see through the rage.


My blood, it boils at the sight,
It hurts my eyes to see,
My imagined, alternate perfect life,
Could it have been this way for me?

No matter what I do or say,
Nothing ever seems to change,
The emotions will eventually fade,
Will I still be the same?

Will I fail, will I fall?
Can I deal with it if I do?
What’s the point of it all?
These questions help to tie the noose.

There’s nothing left to do for me,
So here I sit and here I stay,
I’m too scared to take the knife and see,
What lies beyond the grave.

I guess I’ll wait and carry on,
Waiting for the sacred day,
I’ll keep singing this pathetic song,
Until the time life takes me away.

Jealousy, a final decree.
Admittedly a fallacy submitted formidably... impervious?
She'll move onto sea.
Move on from those who can't see.
They'll show us what it means to see.

Presently a mistaken alignment of aliment, yet so indicative of the deceptive.
An intervention of emancipation requires degradation of the love that relegates, brainless.
Vindictive of the culture, fault, to penance, too addicted.
Somehow she heads an isle of the vile whom are consumed by denial.
Normality brushed aside with the hand whom highlights brushed, melting eyes.
Life, an achievable yet inconceivable lie shrouded by personality.
Subjective to the respective hospitality.
"Aint no love for thee..."

I'm not your good girl
I'm not your angel
I'm not the innocent bliss you want

I'm the mess of the world
Im the party girl people judge
Im the **** you're ashamed of

I'm not who you think
I'm not what you wanna see
I'm not this prairie girl

I want to be me
I want to do bad things
I want to be a *****

Why won't you let me be
Me