how to tell my parents
how much I've been hurting
I don't want them to feel responsible for my brain
being ill
i don't want to scare them
i don't want them to worry about me
i don't want them to be upset with me for not
talking to them about why i'm always crying
i don't know how to explain to them what i feel
because if i tell anyone fully what goes on in my
brain i will actually be all alone, even though it
already feels like i am.

The bartender says “It’s time to go”
“Because the moon has clamored high
And the sun was banished low.”

They were only speaking to me
I raised my glass, took a swig
belch, “i’m not even empty.”

They grab and toss it in a bin
The crash of glass, the waste of gin
Pollutes the air and that is when

They spoke. It was stern it was cold
“Get out right now! Before I leave
Your chest all gaped. Your chest all holed.”

“I’m a patron,yet you’ve decided
To push me out into the darkness
Lonesome and unguided”

“There are other bars out there,”
“No need to bother us, They said
I bit my tongue so as not to swear.

I made a choice, a simple choice
To sit and stay at the counter.
I cleared my throat and raised my voice:
“Do what you must. Let it occur,
But understand this, we will not be deterred.”

I could write
on emotion alone.
Through bitterness,
I sought beauty.
With rage,
I expressed
the torrent within.
All was aflame,
all had burned brightly.

But now,
it is naught but a flicker.
I pass time quietly,
as the ash of past emotions
blanket the landscape with grey.
I am tired.
I fear I may
never recover.

This man has lost all twenty-seven emotions
Like a robot -
Any whiff of emotion even feels too much
Every word this man says is snubbed
Every sleep - his heart beats slower

          From the pain this man suffered

The drugs this man used to be
So afraid of -
Scares him no more
For it had almost wounded him
Right by his own bed

          Which he saw as a liberation

This man is tired
He's ended up becoming
What he used to fight against
It has consumed his soul
To the point of no recovery

         Which is no longer necessary

This man has zero life
He lives for no one
To be precise -
To pay the price -
This man shall die tonight

          At this point, death would hurt less

respect: earned through suffering
no food no sleep no rest
worth: deemed by usefulness
idleness is useless is worthless

a cart of ideologies
hurtling down an infinite hill
pushing on to the next poor fools
who receive and continue

maybe I need to slow it down
throw myself in front and
bump
did that work

is one made a martyr
or just a conman, the easy way out
refusing to play the game
opt out of self sacrifice with self sacrifice

the falls of the walls
make me wanna crawl.

it makes me feel small
of the constant withdrawal.  

of all & all
i just want to mentally
uninstall.

a slow inhale as i wake
aches in every muscle
every nerve on its end
exhausted and heavy
time blurs into itself
into a single moment
into picturesque bliss
on a rotting canvas
i am rotting with it
the world keeps spinning
my clothes become tatters
my knees become weak
my feet bleed
if i could just close my eyes
for five more minutes
five more hours
five more years
which is better
to stand and fall
or kneel and live
to live is to suffer
to forever kneel
for those who tower over me
to always be less
to always be this
to feel the world crumbling around me
again and again
i kneel and cower
to protect myself from debris
that crushes me anyway
life is kneeling
so maybe i should stand
and fall
because kneeling
isn't living