Can I, just one more time visit your bedroom window as an intoxicated Romeo.
I will perform my love verses that I have written on beer mats throughout the night.
Let me dance for you under the streetlights of hazelton drive.
So sorry for wearing white, did not mean to be stained with the blood of window pane knuckles.
I am always fighting
Never truly winning
But breathing each day
and waiting for the next.
And my thoughts.
Lies that run so deep
They become the truth to me.
A never ending battle
And to breath
But I put a smile on
when the anxiety hits
i used to sit there letting it consume me
i refuse to let it consume me now
i write because I know I am heard
i am not alone
anxiety does not own me or you
we decide if we want it to consume us
or if we want to fight it
How does the world expect you not to kill yourself?
I do not understand why we are put on this earth.
We are born and we already have expectations put into us, then we are put into school by the age of four.
Forced to stand in line like some militia.
We get 30 minutes of free time then are summoned by a whistle and teachers go down checking to make sure we are all aligned.
Tell me how that sounds moral!
We are in school for another 14 years after that, and it just gets harder.
Soon, teachers start choosing favorites and start telling you that you're not good enough, smart enough, or quick enough. You try to do a sport you love only to be told "somebody else was better."
Your friends start to leave you to go join a different group of friends and all you get is a subtle wave and half smile as you walk down the hallway.
You graduate high school and move onto college.
Another four years of school.
Maybe nursing, maybe education, maybe psychology.
Whatever it is it's preparing you for a job that you have to have the rest of your life.
You don't get to have fun everyday.
You have to work, and though they say "the right job is fun." The right job is stressful. The right job is hard. The right job is still a daily struggle. The right job is still a constant battle!
Why were we put on this earth only to continue working, and making our life into one big unhappy nightmare?
Yet, when someone say they want to kill themselves, everyone replies, "oh but the world is so wonderful."
Embers burn in a flash of light
Flying through the night
Flamboyant flames dancing
Dancing, it's the demon
The demon who follows me
Stares at me with its intense eyes
Flailing it's arms, taunting me
Taunting me in a provoking manner
Shoving me reaching
Holding me up by my shirt
My chest, infecting my lungs
Gripping me so tightly in its arms
Escape, I must escape I must
I must fight it
Quietly, without a word nor cry
Glaring intensely, infuriating
Fighting a battle that will go unsaid
Untold, unheard of, a tale with no writing
Battling and scarring each other
Determined to win, to defeat
We are determined to kill
One must die for the other to live
To live and grow, for our beauty to show
We must fight.
We must fight without sound
Without word of mouth nor page
Fight till one is gone
Kill so one can leave
i scraped my knees in the
realms of time
i don't know where to hide
under the willow tree
to find and harvest
the new moon
a cracked ceiling blinks
with long lashes
my long lost friend is
still ice cold
it is not yet spring
greet my reflection if
i go too long
a transparent person
it looks a lot like
and I chew my lips
until they’re gone,
though that’s what
lipstick is for,
to press to your
collarbone and hope
am I ever enough–
this dull pounding in my chest,
gets heavier, harder
so I reach out to you
I hope the demons
will accept me,
allow the gifts I bring
to reside deep within
your chest, like the bones
of your ribcage
but they blanket my words,
reduce my efforts to cinders
like the day she left me
Behold! My sorrow storms straight through daylight.
And not on the last stroke of midnight, when demons sleep.
To entangle me with its invisible ropes, ropes tugging me tight.
Twisted, Swooned, crushed, haemorrhaging deep.
Labyrinth of shame, heralding my doom, looming ever close.
Earning waste with each second more, till sudden salvation.
That scarce shall cast upon my dim verse hugely verbose.
Inside this too stagnant a mind flows nothing but indignation.
Malaise made manifest with the profusrness of a poet's pain,
Entitled as imbalanced brain, a fresh sign of insanity.
Idle hours thrown away like confetti and time spent in vain
Narrow words written by young hands but a spirit of mundanity.
Morbid fascinations of mine with this lack of hope.
End so soon as I leave this world, unable to cope.
I am writing stories about you. And poems. Lots and lots of poems.
I am filling words with fantastical versions of love so people won't see how broken I am.
My characters dance.
Their laughter echoes throughout the book.
But here, look at my heart:
One big wound; blistering blood.
often I'll juggle many
in attempt to avoid them
and pretend I'm empty;
nothing can hurt me!
but eventually I mess up
and break the tossing.
One struggle breaks
right after the other,
and in the end
I usually feel much better.