I’m tired of the *******,
of the same ****** up routine.
I’m tired of saying this times different,
when it’s so obviously obscene.

I’m tired of the poison,
that I pour into myself.
I’m tired of the fear,
and becoming someone else.

I’m tired of the monotony,
of same **** different day.
I’m tired of not being truthful,
with every word I say.

I’m tired of not remembering,
what I did the night before.
I’m tired of acting like it’s ok,
that I should wake up on the floor.

I’m tired of the pain,
and the stress of it all.
I’m just so ******* tired,
of the black outs most of all.

How many years,
have I shaved away?
How many tears,
have I cried through the days?

This **** has to stop,
because it’s truly killing me.
I tried not to see that,
but now it’s plain for me to see.

I’m living to escape,
but the escape never comes.
It just gets ever shameful,
when I realize what I’ve done.

So today I’ll make the choice,
that I dreaded all these years.
I’ve broken something inside,
and lost myself among the fear.

I’ve finally realized,
so I’ll finally put it aside,
because what I have been doing,
is committing slow suicide.

So if you are reading this,
and you can somehow relate.
Turn away from Hells entrance,
before it becomes too late.

I wake up every morning,
and I just ignore the sounds,
of the absent ******* echos,
of a mind that’s gone to ground.
The motions are insanity,
that repeat and verberate,
beating voices through my head,
like ragged nails across a slate.
It used to drive me crazy,
now it’s simply just routine,
watching ghosts around me,
as they move through my daily scene.
There you’re making coffee,
and a laugh just filled the hall,
there you’re singing softly,
hanging pictures on the wall.
Then my mind shifts left,
into what I think is true,
but maybe I should lose myself,
and try to interact with you.
I know that’d make me crazy,
but let’s face it I am there.
I’m ignoring what I see,
but perhaps that isn’t fair.
Reality’s a concept,
and I don’t care if it’s not real.
I’d rather love the ghost of you,
than live a life that I can’t feel.
So tomorrow when I see you,
maybe you’ll smile for me,
and we can finally be happy,
at the cost of my sanity.

Did you know that I used to melt at your smile?  That I used to be so overwhelmingly happy in planning little surprises and sweet things for you with just that smile as a repayment.

Did you know that I got so scared when that smile started to become less and less?  That I knew that something was wrong, and even though I was still trying to do those little things that I could see they didn’t mean as much to you.

Did you know that I always blamed myself for us growing apart?  That I would torture myself trying to find the reasons why you had become so distant and unhappy.

Did you know that when I lost you that I lost absolutely everything?  That I honestly felt like someone had taken the purpose of me and threw it away, and that my heart hurt so bad that I didn’t think I would be able to stand it.

Did you know how bad those words would hurt me when you said them.  That realizing that you never loved me, and that you used me to better your situation for seven years took every smile you gave me and turned it into an agony of falseness that I would never be able to escape from.

Do you know that I still love you?  That after everything, I still dream about you and lie awake at night after three years as a slideshow of you runs through my head.

Do you know that even if you never loved me, that you will always be my true love?

Do you know?

The worst part is the lack
Of color
Vibrance…
And no amount of Giant Steps
Could avoid the emptiness.

I heard about a torture technique
Where the prisoner is placed in an
Empty white room
With only white light to see
And white rice to eat.
I think the alienation I feel
Is like a form of that.
Lifelike solitary confinement.

You’re gone at last, so at last I can think.
Insulting! Humiliating, not to be able to fire back,
As you put me once more on a mental rack.
It’s no wonder that I want a drink.

But by now I want so much more than strife.
I want to scorch your villainy with shame,
To crush your “triumph” and ruin your name,
And make you watch how you poison life.

Yet I am stuck beneath your wealth,
Undone if I demur in the least.
You spring upon me, a mental carnivore’s feast.
While I resort to stealth.

My father watched your villainy from the beyond,
from the so-called “Heaven” in which you planned to meet him,
As if that will ever happen! As if he would want to see you!
Is enlightenment part of the afterlife?  You should hope so.

But since you finally let go of your empty  life,
I do not miss you, don't mourn you or feel that confusion
That people say I should, that I'd be torn with strife,
No, no! Not at all—I feel nothing at all.

This anxiety,
is making me anxious.
Feeding itself,
until it becomes dangerous.

It’s PTSD,
of some varying degree.
Each startup and failure,
taking its toll on me.

The inability to remember,
the pain and the fear.
Forgetting the scars,
that should be so clear.

The voice in your head,
reassuring you.
Saying this time will be different,
when you know it’s not true.

Louder and louder,
till it starts to scream.
Your anxiety grows,
and splits at the seam.

Then you give in,
letting go at last.
The voice takes control,
and repeats the past.

Another, another!!
It screams in a growl.
More, more!!
A predator on the prowl.

Then it is gone,
and you’re just floating there.
Trying to make sense of things,
trying to be aware.

Then it all crashes down,
and you’re drowning in hate.
You’re full of self loathing,
and memories that exacerbate.

Now the long road ahead,
seems to have no end.
Your chest hurts so bad,
and the tremors set in.

You can’t eat or sleep,
so you traumatize your brain.
You’re scared you might die,
but you’re more scared of the pain.

Four days and you’re better,
but the memories end.
Then that tiny voice,
starts to whisper again.

Over and over,
rinse and repeat.
Slowly killing yourself,
for a small fix of heat.

Intestines twisted into a bow
Skeleton, no skin, all bone
Chased into a grave
By someone "brave"

Head cut off, and hung at the hips
Mouth sewn shut, wires in the lips
Promised a voice
In a place of just "noise"

Ears forced down into the pharnyx
Tongue cut off, and swallowed
Chained to the dark
Left with a "spark"

Wasabi poured into each eye
Needles poked into the iris, to dry
Breathing fractured breaths
In the times of "stress"

Fingers shredded in blenders
Toes were sold by the vendors
Broke the rules
To be reduced to mere "molecules"

Heart frozen in ice
Lungs cracked in slices with a knife
Crawling towards a light
Dipped in "fright"

Genitalia, mutilated
Thighs and chest burned til it was disseminated  
Walking into the darkness
Trying to reach the "conconscious"

Frigida glacies

Playing a game of cat and mouse
but we both lose track of the bird.
My scorched soil I failed to douse,
I’m filled with such fuel; it’s so absurd.
I linger always alone in an empty house,
speaking two thoughts but I left out the last word.
They were meant with love but I turned to grouse,
either way they never seem to be heard.

I wish I was licking stamps
instead of licking my wounds.
My letter to you gifts my fingers cramps,
I hope one day you decipher it soon.
The one thing that I am best at
is always being a bad example,
I can elaborate on how to keep looking back,
but not on the best way things should be handled.
And I hope one day you’ll see your name
woven in each line and all my stanzas.
But I think when you see it that way, I’ll just explain,
not to go buying me green bananas.

When I was 15 I chose to sign up as an ***** donor,
but all are probably damaged, and the vital ones are no longer mine.
I offered them as tribute to a Queen I adore,
she collected them and added to her shrine.

My tongue is tied tight when I try to express
importance and just what it all means to me,
but if you listen closely to my chest
you’ll hear my heart beating steadily.
And when you’re dressed to the nines
I’ll still be in left in my pajamas.
Waving my arms to direct the signs,
just don’t go buying me green bananas.

I accepted your world became my cage
but I was loyal; I didn’t need a lock.
I reasoned it as the final stage,
I didn’t need a chain just for you to mock.

I’m not angry, I’m not sad,
no resentment from me, don’t go feeling bad.
I’d still take this dagger as long as it’s your hand that grips
I wouldn’t escape or try to stagger,
sadly I’m done with my trips.

I concede and admit that I’ve gone mad,
welcomed with hallelujahs and an amen.
I’m having trouble stripping off my plaid,
but I figure it’s finally time to change stripes again.