Trigger warning made me smile,
all the bones in my body craved to show,
all the blood in my veins wished to run free.
And then I found myself awake in the middle of the night
wishing for the impossible.

Trigger warning romanticized the struggling,
my blood was red like love,
my hunger made me perfect,
throwing up was liberating,
punching myself were like hugging,
bruises shaped hearts up and down my arms.

Trigger warning reserved a hospital room just for me,
left me unconscious for three days.
Trigger warning taught me how to swallow pills,
how not to eat a thing,
how to keep smiling while bleeding,
where to lay down the blade,
when to lie to my therapist.

Trigger warning makes me cry,
trigger warning leaves me shivering on the bathroom floor,
trigger warning makes my stomach sick,
trigger warning breaks my bones,
trigger warning makes my wrists bleed.

Many people say that love is handing someone else a gun
and point it to your head hopping that they won't pull the trigger.
I didn't gave away my gun,
and now I know I should have,
it would be less dangerous,
because now I spend the nights pointing to my head
hopping that someday I'd have the guts to pull the trigger.

Trigger warning broke my mom's heart,
trigger warning left my body empty and bruised,
trigger warning cut my wings and tied my feet.
Trigger warning made me want to die.

I don't expect someone to take a bullet for me,
But I expect a friend to pull the trigger.

I hold in all my sorrows,
and listen to people ****** whine,

you're having a hard time,
but I'm begging my whole body to stop the urge to cry.

and you put me down,
and my eyes tear up,

This is why I shut everyone out,
this is why I cried,

all alone,
by myself,

I thought that it was
just a dream,
What happened between 
her and me.

When we met I was
extremely glad,
But I could tell inside
that she was sad.

She had told me she might
have to leave, 
And that when she was gone
I'm not to grieve.

I had told her that she 
would be fine,
Things would get better 
if she gave it time.

I woke up and felt 
something was wrong,
So I rang her doorbell but
it took too long

I rushed inside and
saw the scars,
They were on her legs and she had
gashed her arms.

And what I saw when I looked
in her eyes,
Was that she knew that she
was gonna die.

And what I felt when I knew
she was gone,
Is that she was right
And I was wrong.

I wish you the greatest love you could ever possibly experience.
I wish for you and your lover to be together for years and years to come.
I wish for you to grow an unbreakable god-like trust with your Lover.
I wish your lover to tell you the most perfect and wonderful things.
I wish your body, heart and soul to be 'wooed' by your lover day and night.
I wish for you to witness the most indescribably joys with your lover.
I wish for you to experience a passion you have never understood until your lover hath shown it to you.
I wish for you to be shown something so great and beautiful and rare to make you truly believe nothing could ever go wrong with your lover.
I wish everlasting happiness with just and ONLY your partner alone.

All so that one day... your Lover may look  upon your eyes... and say these words without a single flinch or blink in their eyes... "it's over. I don't feel the same way anymore" as though it was all a game and that it's time to come back to reality. "I'm sorry" as if the words might put a bandaid on the open chest wound they made upon slowly ripping out your only reason to feel alive... To feel used... weak... as though your not enough to love.. and you never were.. bleeding and coughing and choking on the floor... begging for some form of mercy... only to have your agonizing screams echo into nothingness.. realizing... your alone.. you always were.. and you always will be... not because you are doomed.. but because you do not wish to every feel such a pain like this ever again.. that is if you are able to survive.. "You'll be fine others will say" selfish and cruel and unaware of the burning inferno in your chest and throat... and all you want is to be held.. and rocked and cradled like a child.. vulnerable.. terrified.. I do not usually wish this upon anyone, even my enemy's but those who think... 'it will be fine'... what do you know of pain? true, emotional, mental and physical pain of a true heartbreak... there is no pain in the universe like it... 'Death' seeming like an easy, quick medication only to end you pain and infect others...

i am mentally ill.

i have been since i was born,
or at least, that’s what i’ve been told.
although perhaps
i never knew it, perhaps
the symptoms
were triggered by trauma, perhaps
it was something that never really seemed
like an illness to me until i knew
what was considered normal. but
i am mentally ill, or mentally disordered, or mentally whatever.

and i ******* hate it.

i hate it
because i cannot think logically most of the time.
i hate it
because whatever chemical imbalances
are inside of me
make me want to scream
and bleed
and punch the walls of my home
until there are more holes than stable ground. i hate it
because me having to speak in front of
my ******* friends is cause enough to
cry for three days, because
my friends don’t understand why
i am ecstatic
around them one day when sadness
crushes my skull the next, because
my friends don’t see logic in a matter of feeling
that doesn’t make sense to them let alone me.

i hate it because
i cannot give a logical reason for this.
i hate it because
i don’t understand why i am the way i am
or what i did to deserve this.
i hate it because
i don’t understand my illness,
i don’t understand how people can
just go out into the world and be happy,
i don’t understand what it’s like to
have something go wrong in life
and react in a way considered to be “healthy”.

i hate it
because my younger brother sits
in class and suffers from his own depression
but refuses to speak up
because he believes his depression
is absolutely nothing
compared to mine,
when to me
it is everything.
i hate it because
he might be cutting himself open
every night
or at least wanting to

and

i hate it because
when i texted all of my friends
as i sat sobbing on my front porch
at ten pm
on a school night
with a bottle of pills
nestled safely in my jacket pocket,
several of them thought it was a suicide note
but none of them cared enough to push further
in my answer of “i’m fine don’t worry about me goodnight”.
i hate it because
the only person who noticed it thoroughly enough
was my ex-boyfriend,
who i scared half to death
when i told him “i’m sorry”
and “i loved you a lot before we broke up”
and “you’ll understand”
and he replied with “oh my god
please don’t
please don’t
please don’t”.

i hate it because
i ignored him.
i hate it because
i wanted out.

i hate it because
the sky fell through the earth’s floor
like shattered glass and the blood-orange
sunset bled towards the grass; i hate it because
i lay softly on the earth of my front yard
and allowed the blades of grass to soothe me
towards the afterlife; i hate it because
the world spun and spun and spun and
my vision blurred and
my heart threatened to beat so far out of my chest
and i could not stop my breathing
but i kept on taking more pills like a child eating candy.

i hate it because
when i realised i wasn’t dead,
i cried.
i hate it because
i had thirty two new notifications
from my ex and the people he had contacted
to see if i was dead
but most of them were from him,
all missed calls and texts and
heavy breathing on the other side of the phone
once he saw me calling. i hate it because
his hands were shaking
and i was talking
and sobbing
with an ex love
on my front porch as the sun and moon switched places
with half a bottle of pills in my system
and the taste of blood in my mouth
instead of talking to my friends
and family
and people
who were supposed to care about me.

i hate it because
the next day i had a pulsing headache
and a suicidal mindset
and all of my friends were cracking jokes
about how they believed i was going to **** myself
when they had no idea
how hard i’d been attempting to do so.
i hate it because
i smiled and lied through gritted teeth
and cried in the bathrooms
when a teacher pulled me aside to say -
he thought something was
“off” with me. i hate it because
i still wanted to die.

i hate it because
i can’t think straight most days.
i hate it because
sometimes everything is okay
and fine
and i can breathe without the alien invasion of
“panic attacks from the planet post-traumatic stress disorder”
and cinnamon doesn’t trigger memories
i would like to forget.
i hate it because
people don’t take mental health seriously
enough to understand why
i leave classrooms in the middle of the day
or why some kids miss school for
two weeks without explanation or why sometimes teachers
with dead eyes are more dead inside
than the human skeletons dancing in the science classrooms.
i hate it because
teenagers make suicide jokes
near people who are dying.
i hate it because
i don’t know if i got out of bed
last tuesday or how long it’s been since i last showered
or if i still love writing as much as
i used to
or if it’s just habit now.

i hate it
because my illness makes me hate myself.

i hate it because
my illness
does not define me
but it sure feels like it does.
i hate it because i cannot explain my illness myself.
i hate it because i hate my illness
and every part of it that creates me, shapes me, moves me
like a ******* puppet.

but ******* it all
if i am going to let it ****** who
i am supposed to be any longer.

5am wakes a blinding bright orange sun
Standing out against the pale grey sky.
Below, a cityscape of grey.
No cars and few people move this early.
Portland, like most of us, is having a foggy morning.

Two bodies fade to color on a rooftop.
Their crusty eyes
Crack to vibrant orange light,
Half expecting search helicopters
Or seagulls pecking at their limbs.
Praying, for ravens.

They only find each other.
A beach towel beneath them
Half a bottle of ***** beside them
Next to their backpack and undergarmets.
It almost resembles a prayer circle.
Kicked blanket at their feet,
Brazier overhead,
Belt and trinkets to the side.
Lord knows what they were summoning last night.
They sure as hell can't remember.

They only remember touch and smell,
Light lavender hips,
Big Bourbon chest,
Fingers tracing artwork in the dark
Admiring both
Memories and their permenance.

Unfortunately,
This wasn't permenant.

After they climb down it's
He to a hospital.
She to a husband and child.

The orange sun coo'd too early.
Just two hours of freedom
Before the goodbyes and consequences.

A short glimpse of another world.
Hoping for closure.
One step forward.
Three steps back.

When their bodies left the rooftop.
They held hands.

"c'mon! i dare you," i repeat more tauntingly than the last
and pull the trigger, he did.
the gasp i let out echoed.
he couldn't have intended on killing me, right?
that was just to make me suffer a little..
he knew how many bullets there were, right?
"right. there. i just made you suffer a little."
no biggie