sometimes,  
    i       un-know  
        the shape  
         of self—  
               dissolve before  
                       remembering.

   i sit  
     in the ache  
     of heat,

and nothing
else.

       minutes  
                   dissolve  
   into  
          maybe hours  
or never.

drip,
  drip,
    drip,
      drip.

          (i­ can’t tell  
     if it’s dripping  
           or if i’m unraveling  
                 in rhythm.)

             thoughts            blur,  
      slide,­  
              melt—  
                        into tile grout.

i breathe —
maybe i don’t.
maybe the air is too soft to hold.

    maybe i’ve been  
                      gone  
                          thi­s whole time:

     what was i  
              thinking?
  (was i thinking?)

            just heat,         and water,  
and the pressure of something  
                    heavier  
                       ­ than skin—  
    but not quite grief,

                      not quite anything.

    and still i sit.

       and still,  
                       the faucet sings,  
             and still,  
                    no one knows  
      how quiet  
                       i’ve become.

What kind of life does he life if not astray?
Drinking his vows away,
He has mastered a simple lie,
He says he doesn't pry,
Yet he looks around in hope,
In pursuit of his answer to why,
Why is it that he madly deluded himself?
Why is it that he doesn't find himself well?
Why does he borrow,when his nature is to give?
Why has he swallowed his own guilt?
A  plaintiff of his own crimes,
A hypocrite and an insect,
Shriveled up in the hopes of summer,
Only to find himself trampled and deserted,
Suffocated under the knowledge of his distasteful being,
He finds himself aligned to a menacing repercussion,
The cause of it all he has yet to attain,
He inquiries ,"Why do you wish for me to live when I find it all in vain?"

I know how I’m going to die.
Trapped inside of my mind with no room to stretch
and no oxygen to breathe,
surly my own thoughts will suffocate me long before
I turn to stone from my rigid posture.

I’ve always wondered what I was meant to be
and if I will ever be able be that..
To attempt to accomplish everything I’ve laid out for myself
is terrifying, especially when
those I loved the hardest
already have a mold ready for me.

as if this was a twisted tale of Cinderella,
I was forced to wear something that could never fit me.
Blisters and bruises weren’t the only things I received.
now I hide inside of my mind,
a body inside of a body,
because how can he hurt me if
the real me is hidden ?

Have you ever hated someone so bad
That it made you want to end yourself?
Not because you felt bad about it..
But because the anger was suffocating-

So suffocating that you could not breathe
And did not want to live
Knowing you had to feel that again.

Anger can **** but it is mostly poisonous.