A sense of fleeting,
feet planted firmly on the ground,
but my mind is abysmal.
Sometimes-
it's a whisper of my mother's voice,
or one of the five psychiatrists who seemed uninterested.
It was the comfort in darkness,
becoming the lore of my life.

There was comfort in wanting to die,
I tightly grasped onto the concept of survival.
How we became enemies;
never seeing eye to eye.

I love it,
my ability to control the pain I feel-
how little, how less
I can make myself hurt.
Although, I'd refrain from calling myself a *******.

I've gained no pleasure in harming myself,
undeserving, unworthy of all the blood I've lost.
There's no notable war,
when the cause is in my veins.

Gauze I've had around my wrists,
felt comforting,
keeping in the sickness,
I dreamed would drip down my wrist.

Doing this to myself,
I'm no *******.
Allowing myself to be chaotic in how my emotions were expressed.

I know,
it's a cry for help,
but I'm left wondering-
do I want to be helped?

I've become immune to the numbness,
a damaged girl as they all catch up,
comparing scars.

I can be who you want me to be,
carve a smile on my face,
I can be who you want me to be,
I can be happy.

point blank
straight into the eyes
pupils dilated, about 3 mm or so

rapid elevation
Where you aware you have high blood pressure?
no, I didn’t have palpitations before you

flicker
“we’re loosing her, fire up the defibiralltor”
bright lights never seemed to be so comforting
“clear”


pitch black
I don’t think I was afraid of the dark
But what scares you will eventually **** you.

smoke a cigarette
gulp down a whole bottle of *****
hook up with a random lust
scream
cry
run down an empty street
try to feed the demons, intoxicate them with filth
repeat.

nothing ever works.

We can be taught
How to read and write
And cook meals
And ride a bike;
We can be taught
Simple things
Like running, swimming,
And going high on the swings;
But no one can teach us
How to love and cope
Or mend a broken heart,
Or hold onto hope.
And no one tells us
How it will feel
When you're in love,
In love for real!
Or how to handle
A lying cheat
Whose poisonous words
Are full of deceit.
Or what to do
When your heart is full
And the one you love
Has your heart strings to pull.
Or when you're in their grasp
Running on their track,
With love in you're heart
But they will never love you back.
Because the thing about love
Is that it's followed by pain,
And when you're in love with the wrong person
It will drive you insane.

I don't care what you think
I never have
I never fit in
anyways
the more I try the more obvious it is I don't belong.

I'm a lone wolf in my own forest and I like it that way
I like being
there for me
and not having to worry about
stupid peoples insecurities
I like having
those 6 degrees
of separation between you and me.

I envy those who crave touch,
for I know not until I am

I envy those who can spread their wings
and become the social butterfly in the room

that's not me

because,
not trying to keep up with these sheep

I'd rather starve in my abandoned forest
than dress in their stupid fleece

66 six poems of searching for lawyers
(And) lacerating in paper lament
My muse being vamped by the land

Black and white, out-inside
Making no sense, as a tree
Falls into a drained sea.
A mountain is nothing but me

ugh.

yes, you read right.

ugh.

i don’t know if
ugh
is a poetic thing
to say.
but i don’t care.

i’ll say it
a thousand times
again.

ugh.

these three letters
that stand for
human frustration.
imperfection.
faults
flaws.

these three letters
that symbolize
a journey that will end
in a triumphant

yay.