There was a girl who would study various pages of different books, resting her back against the chair and browse through possible questions in her mind that might enter an upcoming quiz. She was quite beautiful, shoulders covered by the school uniform and eyes that sparkle underneath her glasses.

She was my classmate in High School.



There was a teenager who would always fasten a strand behind her ear, and tap her nails against the cold cup of iced tea. Under the shadow of the thick arms of a tree, as she sat on a chair and tapped her heel against the cement impatiently. She was quite beautiful, skin soft as cotton and the shade between the dark and light. She had pale pink lips and wore suitable clothes, blushes dancing on her cheeks.

I saw her in a Coffee shop.



There was a quiet woman, reading by herself in places of solitude; where none would bother her time of tranquility. She was quite beautiful, fading cuts on her wrists and black bags painted under her lashes, wearing casual clothes, a golden ring glistening under the rays.

I sat next to her, with a matching ring as gold as jewels in a crown.

I'm fine.
I'm crying,
but only when I'm alone.
So in front of you,
I'm ok.

I'm ok.
I'm losing my mind, 
but that's only in my head.
So in front of you,
I'm all right.

I'm all right
I'm pulling out my hair,
but I wear hats.
So in front of you,
I'm pleased.

I'm pleased.
I'm not sleeping,
but I conceal my undereye bags.
So in front of you,
I'm good.

I'm good.
I'm tearing my skin apart,
but my shirts have long sleeves.
So in front of you,
I'm well.

I'm well.
I'm killing myself,
but when I'm dead its all over.
And then I'm no longer in front of you,
I'm dead.

Who would’ve guessed,
The Nerd sitting by you failed their Test.
Who would’ve guessed,
The Emo in the back passed that Test.
Who would’ve known,
The Nerd sitting by you had sinful thoughts.
Who would’ve known,
The Emo in the back had no scars to bare.
Who would’ve Guessed,
The Nerd sitting by you wanted to die.
Who would’ve Guessed,
The Emo in the back threw away his razors.
Who would’ve known what went through that Nerd’s Head.
Who would’ve Known what the Emo felt.
When everyone
Expected
Him to
Do it
1st.

It cannot be described
only imbibed
through many sorrows
and sorries
until the pain
recedes to numbness
your compass
points to death
& you see the peace it brings
the silence
the darkness
you make your mind up
maybe not today
or tomorrow
but you know
you're going to die by your own hand
& you feel
just a brief
fleeting
happiness

...

that's the sound of suicide

There’s a teeny tiny girl
In a teeny tiny house
With a teeny tiny room.

The teeny tiny girl
Has a teeny tiny heart
That thumps teeny tiny beats.

With teeny tiny words
Gives her teeny tiny pain
She cries teeny tiny tears.

Her teeny tiny heart
Has a teeny tiny crack
Leaking teeny tiny drops.

She made a teeny tiny noose
And from a teeny tiny chair
Took a teeny tiny step.

The teeny tiny girl
With the broken teeny tiny heart
Now lies in a teeny tine grave.

I am aware
of all things present,
the pinch behind my eyes
the pressure in my nose
my deep, soft,
too loud–heavy–quiet breathing
(How?)
Give me back my bones
Give me back my sleep,
my dreams.
Too close, too much, not enough:
I am endlessly ending

Cry

Please let me sleep–end–cry–
somethinganythingplease

I realize I am too compassionate;
I feel everything at a 100% rate,
and I loathe it so much.
Why do they come on so strong all the time;
it mentally drains me.

I am destined to die early;
I can't see myself live past my mid-thirties.
I learn how to accept death as it is,
and I am slowly learning how to let go.

I want to cry, I want to scream;
I want to voice out this indecipherable torment inside of me.
But no one will understand,
and no one will know;
I can't take off this mask of mine.

It is what I yearn,
yet I want to scream the truth out to the world;
my alternating flow of thoughts,
my constant battle.
It goes down with me to the grave.

My happiness is an illusion;
I have a second mind that takes over,
and blocks away all of the hopelessness.
It brings forth a temporary elation,
a nonchalance,
a pretentious ease.

Is this better?
Does it make me better?
Or does it delude me to the point where I become more destructive
and cause more harm than cure?

Why does my mind run so much.
Why does this version of me exist.

Because I am born empathetic.
Because I am human.
Because I hold a good understanding of myself,
and a greater awareness of how I am.

But not behind in the how it came to be.

No one holds the answer, and I am forever left with questioning all these endless why's and how's.

Everything else is left unanswered

perhaps until the day I die.

— Y.H.

the end of the tunnel,
gentle fervor.