I’m sleeping tied in knots,
I’m waking up still yawning;
it’s just become too much.
I’ve been multiplying my shots
looking for an ounce of calming,
but it can be hard to walk, without a crutch.

The stars are looking bleak
I’ve been busy living on the ceiling,
and prodding at my skin
as it’s become numb to all feeling.
And It’s always latest at night
when your head finds a light,
and your mind takes flight
then you gain blinding sight.

I’m sleeping with clenched fists,
and I assume with clenched teeth;
it’s just become this routine.
Body and soul contorts and twists,
layered both above and lying beneath
it’s the most flexible and restrained, I think I’ve ever been.

I had plans for this time,
but they’re reduced down to “oh well,”
begrudgingly accept that this is fine,
maybe dress it up with a “this is swell.”
I might never again see the light
but I’ll adapt to living in the the dark,
evolve, survive; flight or fight
I’ll be nocturnal existing in the park.

Victory has a hundred fathers
but it’s true defeat is an orphan.
The little things that no one bothers,
can be the greatest gifts; overflowing with endorphins.

Can you tell me where to find the bright side?
Apparently it holds all of the answers.
to cure the sickness that plagues my mind;
the worst but least lethal of all the cancers.

I’m counting the minutes
and I’m stacking the week,
and the intensity in it;
so insanely heavy I just can’t speak.
When will these thoughts diminish?
It’s growing stronger, it’s turning bleak.
The floors will shine and shimmer with wax and finish,
but it will never ever silence the creak.
The floorboards inevitably became weak.

These thoughts in my head
talk about me like I’m dead
“I’m here, you know!”, I say
but they keep talking away
So I scream all the louder
to get through their laughter
yet they snicker and cheer,
“Get out of here!”,
But I reply, “No!”
“It’s my mind you know!”
and I stay there instead
always in my head

You are real.

My reflection is foreign, it’s haunted –

You are out there (I see you, I want you).

Lover’s caress spills traces of colour,

Making pain in my heart even duller.

Wishing idly (to touch you, to feel you),

I’m stuck here—this moment, my torment.

Help me heal.

“Is it real when your mouth is on mine?
Do we share a heart when our bodies align?”
Thoughts are frantic in jealousy, torment,
As I savour this fleeting soft moment…

A girl not born but made with trauma

Her story so bizarre, it seems like a drama

But it's not

Her childhood, so terrible it was

None could face that amount of loss



The girl's mother was in her grave

Died at the hands of her father who treated the girl as a slave

He beat her delicate face every day

But no words ever came out of her mouth

For there was nothing she could say



Once she decided to throw herself into the river

So she could drown and leave this life forever

But a voice inside told her no

The voice wasn't hers

But it was calming and slow



Days after, she discovered more voices

One different from the other

But they all told her one thing-

Things would get better



One day, her father beat her again,

But the voice from the river now came out

That voice became a person and began to shout



The girl, proud of her voice

Took some clothes and a horse, and ran away

Because she would go anywhere but stay



She did not know where she was going to go

But she wanted to get away from that vile man she called father

She didn't care cause wherever she would be

Her voices would always be with her.



-Grisha. S