I'm so, so very tired.

The past two years of the fluctuating, of changing, of tears, of sorrow, of mania, of certifiable madness have drained me. Gods only know how awful I will feel in the years to come, if I feel drained right now. How can I live a lifetime like this?

My fingers are heavy on the keyboard, slamming down every word, like trying to made an imprint of myself on this laptop, so I may live forever somewhere, particularly since it is so likely for me to die.

I hate to admit that. I hate it. I'm not suicidal right now, but in these moments I realize I may be the cause of my own destruction. Correction, it is highly likely I will be. And I am so very tired of fearing everything, including myself.

Tired of all the eyes watching me, and all all the hours wasted crying, and...

I'm trying to find something to pride myself in, and the only thing I can be proud of is the fact I have not pined profusely over a boy in weeks. I have pined, that is true, its hard for one like myself not to fantasize and latch onto someone. But I have not felt the heavy weight in my chest of being so in love that it hurts.

All my poems have been about me. Kind of self-centered, huh? But I guess its an improvement, trying to find myself over trying to find myself in others. Over losing my mind over some person.

I'm still tired, though. I'm surprised I managed to write this much, for my hands feel too heavy to move much.

Maybe I'll curl up on the couch and pray the emptiness goes away and maybe life will stop allowing me to feel terrible things.

Just maybe.

I seek refuge in my solitude.
A means to recharge my batteries by draining the life of the things around me. Soaking it all in with the intention of feeling alive again.

beginning to see that it was a false positive.
Like when you overuse your phone to the point of twenty percent in just ten minutes. Pulling out the battery over and over. just to find that your personal philosophy might just be wrong..

All used up, and ready to be put in the drawer.
That's how I feel. To some extent anyway.

I'm only twenty four.
I'm supposed be a long way from here. Doing at least something with my life. Not sitting here in the dimly lit room. Speaking with fog on the end of each breadth. Spelling the word hell into the negative space we call a silhouette. Sitting, contemplating, slowly etching away at the frame. Waiting for the scene to flip. As if I'd actually paid for the show.

I didn't, I just like to think that I'm entitled.
A sad product of this day and age..

So in the end
Night fell upon me
And swallowed me whole
And left nothing behind
But my fallen tears
No one was there
To watch me fall,
Drown in my eternal nothings

So in the end
Night fell upon us
And you were left with
My smiling face, the one
I forgot, I left with you
Because I love you so
And didn't want to trouble you
Any more than I already have

So in the end
Night fell upon this city
And to everyone that had ever
Laid their eyes upon
My matter, matter with no reason
I give my memory
Take it and breathe it in
Let it fill you with life
And then exhale

So in the end
Night fell upon me
And swallowed me whole
And left nothing behind
But a sad, selfish rabbit
Who loved being alone
And yet despised being lonely

I'm disgusted with the skeleton that shows through my skin,
and my heart palpitates to a beat that I cannot trace,
I feel so weak and you stand so tall,
and I wonder if the roles were reversed,
if I could stand up as straight as you,
and if you would be able to keep yourself stitched together,
because I am always trapped in a state of frigid failure and I think
that I might be falling apart on the inside and out but
yet I never change and nothing ever happens
to make anyone notice tha-
I wonder if I will ever be whole because some days I cannot
even decide what to wear in the morning and I always,
always think about perception and things like that,
for example I accidentally dropped my earring down the sink
yesterday and I just started sobbing into the mirror and I wonder
what people thought about me,
like maybe I was having a mental
breakdown but then again,
perhaps that earring was a family heirloom that was worth
more money than a lawyer would ever make,
yet seeing yourself from the outside is different
than seeing your own reflection,
Jesus I never wanted to admit this but I think that I am dying
but I cannot stop myself from keeping the same habits and patterns
and the feeling never leaves anyway
and I always wondered how people had the time
to pray to a higher power
because I could never even wake up in
the morning without four alarms set just in case,
if Jesus decides to come down from chilling up on a cloud and talk
to a little person such as me,
I wonder if he would be able to see all the emotions
that I carry or if he would try to convert me to Christianity,
even though I was raised that way I always just felt lost
and I just could not wrap my head around self-sacrifice like that
until I met you and I realized that your life was most defiantly
worth at least ten of mine,
I'm frightened to think that one day I could end up all alone,
even though I'm pretty sure that I already am because
I push everyone away that does not understand the way that I feel.

My hands shake and tremble even when I am holding yours
and I'm sorry that you are trapped by someone like me.

hearts bought and sold on whimsy
dark secrets screamed aloud
resonate in empty heart chambers
dislodging logic
as ripples shift sense to passion

sold for a song
bought for practice
eyes open, heart shut
heart open, eyes shut
bubbling cauldrons
casting spells
deeper, deeper, deeper down
darkness blinds normality
and bends reality

let go/ hold on
tighter, until hands weaken
watching shadows of self
chasing shadows of yesterday
fear or excitement
aroused or afraid

enchanting eyes in navy winter
trust a stranger and lose yourself
trust yourself and lose a connection
tied in musky fog
to the inside of another
chained to that which claimed you
for nothing more than cupidity

Life is a gift, both, over friendly and unwanted.
How could it not be?
Outcome of supposed love,
nothing more than selfishness
hidden behind a mask.

One day you'll be sitting there
Thinking about me.
And I'll be somewhere,
Doing the exact same thing,
Thinking about me.