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kayzamo Jun 8
---TRIGGER WARNING: themes related to self harm---

I swear to god,
I'm the 13th reincarnation of Sylvia Plath,
Only I'm bad at poetry.
I write, I hide in my bedroom with the light off,
And I grow a little crazier everyday.
One moment I'm singing a gentle song,
Nurturing the sweet daisies sprouted in my carpet.
A minute later I'm slicing open my forearms,
Cackling and painting something on the walls in blood.
Call 911 and shove the phone down my throat,
It feels good to gargle disappointment.

My writing has evolved over the years:
From naive, soft, and shallow murmurs,
To a steady, dull hum,
Then a defiant yell of a freedom.
However, it's time to enter another stage.
One of scratching, beating to the rhythm of a delusional dance.
It's tainted at the corners like an old, ruined photograph,
With a faint sour smell.
The final stage of my writing has come -
A frantic, hallowed, and deranged wail.
How long until the words I scrawl
Become nonsense?

So stay away,
Don't come through the crack in the bell jar.
Please, I'm trying to suffocate myself,
All in the name of art.
Let me stay in this vaccum of madness,
Pushing and pulling at my mind.
I'm telling you, it's going to hurt if you get too close.
My turbulent muse is ready with a match,
And I don't have the strength to stop her from burning you.

Let me revel in my obsession for a little longer.
My selfishness, my self-indulgence, my depravity,
Or whatever the hell you want to call it.
I know I'm a fool for wearing Plath's wedding band,
And swallowing her barbiturates.
I can't help but romanticize her legacy,
Writing her initials on Wernicke's and Broca's foreheads.
I don't care if I'm a copycat.
Critiques welcomed as always! Thanks!
Alexander Oliver Mar 2019
The planet closest the sun                                
Harbors me, myself, and I                                    
I am the path on which it moves                          
And the axis on which it shifts                              
I meet the sun every day, every day                    
Waving hello with every waking moment              
In this world that’s not my own                            
      I alone feel welcomed                                                  
ǝuolɐ llɐ sᴉ ʇI
sɹǝǝd sʇᴉ ƃuoɯɐ plɹoʍ ɐ uI
ǝɹǝɥʇ uǝʌǝ s’ʇᴉ sʍouʞ ǝuo oN
ʇɥƃᴉu ʎuɐ 'ʎɐp ʎuɐ uns ǝɥʇ puᴉɟ ʇouuɐɔ ʇI
ǝɔɐld sʇᴉ puᴉɟ ʇᴉ sdlǝɥ ǝuo oN
ɥʇɐd sʇᴉ ƃuolɐ ʇᴉ sǝʌoɯ ǝuo oN
ǝuo ɐ ʇou 'lɐᴉɔǝds ǝuo ou sǝʌloʌuI
uns ǝɥʇ ʇsǝɥʇɹɐɟ ʇǝuɐld ǝɥ┴
baby doll
remember when we were glad participants in something that we knew would take us nowhere but to the closed closet door behind the stage?
remember when we couldn't get enough
of summer eyes and pretty days
i have seen too many of those
feed me something new
feed me spiraling star shine
feed me the blood of pretty girls
feed me something
*** i haven't touched food in a week

i broke my leg sneaking into homecoming
and danced on it for three weeks before they told me to stop
i ate too many pills at once because the doctors told me to
and was laid up in the hospital for a month
my muscles that once bunched tight under rippling scars
have been eaten by my bones

i kept the elevator key because i needed help up
now sitting in an empty college dorm
wondering if i love myself and
whether or not they really love me
drinking in their attention like wine
or at least like a slurry milkshake
but i can't tell if anything is getting down my throat
can't tell if my belly is ever gonna fill up
and most nights i think it won't
when i love i love so fully that i leave no room to be cherished
and when i wilt *** no one watered me
my roots leech bitter resentment
it is what i take in
my god
my god

— The End —