I feel the force of the wind in my hair
And the cold winds blowing around me
The freezing calm and deadly storm
This sharp dagger of ice
That threatens to strike
My heart says no my soul says yes
But eventually my soul wins I guess

I let myself think of all the hurt I caused
The pain, the promises never kept
And let the emotions of loneliness and grief
Coupled with self loathing push me in deep

Ignoring the cold I walk inside
Not knowing or caring if I come out alive
Shivering a bit now, though my resolve doesn’t waver
I am enveloped by the storm
Now I become nothing at all

Many miles to walk,
In some shoes that just
Don’t fit.
Clouds above and in head,
Blind for all the doubt.

Escaping the pursing shadow,
The darkness we fear
That lives within.
Do I enjoy the flagellation,
Is that why I keep this whip wet?

I've grown addicted to the nightmare,
At home in the din.
The dream dies, in those desperate eyes,
Poured from the lies within.

When the ice berg hit,
I felt relief,
For this titanic,
That you all saw,
Has been shown to be
Just a piece of tin.

As I rust in the depths,
Nurturing my pain,
A diligent nurse,
I take comfort in this urchin bed Iv made.
Now, I know true darkness.

Lies swim in those eyes,
Silver flecks in a rolling ocean.

I got depths,
And there are sharks within.
You see the sun rays reflection,
But forget this mirror is just the knife's tip.
This oceans got more yin than yang.

Theres a certain satisfaction in self loathing,
See I have always wanted to be the best,
But too afraid to take the plunge,
I’ll settle for the worst.

At least when this wildfires burnt out,
There will be certainty at last.
All the bad and wrongs wrung out,
You don’t get no phoenix,
Without the price of destruction and ash.

The thing about rock bottom,
Is that it gives you something to push,
A solid base from which to build,
Now that I know the ends of my worth.

The jokes on you though,
He who types,
See perfection exists only in its totality.
A tree may glow, but its got knobs and gnarls.
The sun may shine, but it also burns.
We forget that sun kiss can ****.

So strive not to be the most good,
Or perfect, or unblemished.
For the destination doesn’t exist,
And the route, rough and wrought with misery,
Loops round and around yourself.

To avoid strangulation,
Let go.
Fall into uncertainty gladly,
And you will find wings that you didn't know.
And thats more than enough,
You don’t need no halo.

Pitiful.
I sit with the blade in my hand
And all I’ve managed is a slice to the skin.
There’s no blood no tearing of the flesh.
I’ve returned to cutting
But I’m not taking this seriously.
Where once I would gouge a hole,
Where once I would part my flesh to see the blood run,
I am now a novice.
Just pathetic.

Alive.
Breathing.
Can I be
Described as more than just
Existing?
Friends are
Great,
Helping when
I need them most.
Joking.
Kidding.
Laughing
My sorrows away.
No, not away.
Only
Pushing them down.
Questioning their validity.
Revealing them to myself and those closest to me.
Sleeping is hard.
Terrified by my own ineptitude.
Understanding that I
Very
Well may have wasted my youth just
‘Xisting.
Yearning for better things.
Z’s won’t be trailing over my head for some time.

I'm here once more, but then again when was I not?

as if my eyes have ever shifted from my reflection. I'm sick of it.

I don't know how long I've been here; this dimly lit trap gives away no time.

all else melts around me, pools into ripples of my distorted reality.

I sit and I watch my face. I long for the familiarity of yesteryears that I cannot trace.

my skin yawns open, wills to consume itself - porous, velutinous, and brittle.

this is who I am, this is what I see:

tyrian purple flesh decomposing, falling inside my bones that split and splinter;

my mind climbing out of my head, fugitive from the skull's prison;

breaths, ribbons of grotesque, not deep enough to last and not shallow enough to be numbered.

everything without is human (decaying though it is), and everything within is dissimulation.

this molten, fragmented un-being doesn't escape my sight. these eyes have cried out for respite -

and yet they exist, the odd and sole constant in the mirror before them -

wistful for oblivion and feasting on fear. what's gone has kept me alive for longer than it appears.

this body doesn't even feel real. my fingertips burn at every touch.

what more shrapnel does this heart desire until it plays out its final beat?

Records of times past
Fill me with an indescribable dread,
And recognition of the cliches
That come with these internalized nightmares
Keep me tossing and turning,
Weeping into the darkness,
Loathing the fact that I'll always be alone.

All it took,
Was another crack in the shell
To come crumbling down
In a river of red and regret
Out in the open,
Oozing out my soul for others to see,
Some relate, some scoff,
I need not their pity,
I need a break from blaming myself.
When will I break from breaking down?

When you look at me,
What do you see?
Someone creative?
Someone kind?
Someone beautiful?
I don't know many more,
I am not you.
But this is what I see,
When I look at me:
A monster with no heart.
An empty being.
A disordered pig.
A lost cause.
A basket case.
A lying, conniving *****.
A mental breakdown in physical form.
A high BMI.
A poser.
A wannabe.
An embodiment of indecisiveness.
But this is just when I look at myself,
So I'm fine if I just don't look,
Right?

There is something blocking the light in front of me,
And creeping up behind me.
A shadow without a cast,
Seemingly moving by itself.
Killing the light fast enough,
For the darkness to catch up.

What drives us to take our lives?!
What turns the hand against the one it belongs to?
Something we resist wants to bring us down.
It is creeping up on you.