I overslept again today.
Terrified of living life.

Too afraid.
To chase the sun.

I wish on the stars.
To play their part.

Wondering if I will ever be,
Good enough?

To live the life I've always dreamed.
Instead of falling fast asleep.

There's no room for me to breathe.
Suffocating and sabotaging.

The life I want for the life I don't.
Wasting away another day.

Running on empty.
Will it always be this way?

Instead I'll fall fast asleep.
Dreaming of what my life could be.

it is no surprise
that it feels
so suffocating
with a mask held
this firmly in place

I’m clawing at my chest,
Because I want to make this itching ache stop
But I am unable to reach into my chest and grasp my stomach and clench my heart;
I am unable to tell it to stop its fluttering
Just as I am barely able to hold back the sob that wants to rip through my throat in an agonizing scream.
BUT I CAN'T.
Because I can’t do anything.
I have no control.

And normally I would be okay with that,
But in these moments losing control is the worst thing
Because it is the one thing I so desperately need.
Just when things are going well I collapse into myself again like an exploding star.

The cycle is repeating.
This is the hardest part. It’s the most painful.
It is crying all the time
It is anxious
It‘s having fidgety hands
It's headaches from furrowed brows
It's seeing the inadequacy of yourself and not being okay with it.
It's like having a microscope on yourself
Its being exhausted all the time because you can’t stop the overthinking, the analyzing, or the constant pity parties and comparisons

I’m sick of being so emotionally fragile.
I just want to move on to the next stage already
To the numbness that follows
So I can stop caring
Stop crying
Stop hurting so **** much

I just want it all to go away.
I want the pain and hurt to go away.
This ache isn’t numb, it's not sharp, but rather it is suffocating.
It is hands around my throat squeezing  just tight enough so that I feel like I'm dying, but aware that I can still breathe.

My city...
I was here before it was even one,
my toys are older
than the high-rise buildings.
Yet all of my oldest dreams
have long been gone,
this is where new people
from far-away are dreaming.

People dream to visit here
even for a day,
I can't count the years
I've been trying to escape.
People travel here
to have a sip of coffee,
even the taste of water here
can tell that I am sick.

In the inner city,
while everyone takes photographs,
I try my best to walk
with my shoulders not dropped.
In the chic cafes
where others strike a pose,
I knew I never wanted more,
I had my dose.

My city,
that many people dream
of visiting and living in,
why, then there's me
who's here and feeling livid in.
My now-larger-city
that still feels like a small town,
I feel suffocated,
as if all my life I'm in a tight gown.

the red light distorts the cigarette smoke coming out of your nose. in the haze, i’m caught up writing prose with a bottle of coke in my left hand. trying not to choke on the heavy smoke ruminating throughout the suffocating room. your eyes the same shade of blood red as the lights. i’m boarding windows claiming i need no fresh air in my paper mâché lungs. pollute me more.

i am trapped.
glued to the floor.
quicksand around my ankles.
enveloping my lungs.
can’t breathe.
can’t stop.
dragging me down to the depths.
the depths of inescapable nightmares.
tumbling.
sinking.
begging.
screaming ****** ******.
sand filling my throat.
scratching my esophagus so roughly.
clawing at my sensitive skin.
scraping my neck.
open wounds.
hourglass specks falling on top of me.
quicksand pulling me under.
can’t think.
can’t breathe.
arms reaching for anything.
branches, safety—more sand.
bubbling stomach with layers of salty sand.
pleading.
suffocated by the dust.
head underneath.
engulfed by the vicious sand.
gone.