Like a puppet without strings
I lay there motionless
Drinking in the seething pool of
Nothing that surrounds me like
The caged dog that I am
Dehydrated of motivation
Deprived of any real semblance
That I am actually alive
Outside of this heartbeat
That is a ticking time bomb
Destined to go off before
I find any sort of lasting solace
Trapped in a box of possibilities
Dreams that are never meant to come true
Ashes in my mind of the lies I was told
About how I could do what I wanted
And instead my smile is stapled on
With the capricious optimism
That dies every single time
I open my eyes.

Last night I realized I only keep photos of when I was happy as a child, when my brother and I had a nice relationship and before he turned out like father, when I wasn't insecure, when I was care free and worry free. I keep only those because I hope one day I will get that back but I know that won't happen.

someone planted a seed of sadness inside of him along time ago
it took root and began to bloom before he even knew
at first he fought it, trying to trim it down, choke it out
but it was tougher than he expected
so he learned to live with it
but each day it grew, its roots reaching to the tips of his toes
it poisoned any joy that tried to reclaim him
he started watering it and caring for it
more than he even did himself
It became so apart of him that he could not separate the two
he no longer wanted it to die
for fear that its death
might **** him

When upset, it’s relieving to hear the voices in my head,
The whispers guide my deranged mind to the intentions of never fixing situations,
Instead, it takes me to the land of make believe,
Where I live and continue to repeat,
The cycle of excuses to conceal the history of reality.
Battle wounds and scars pierce right through me,
Viewing the ghost within,
I keep my distance from those attempting to come in.
Time and patience will help me heal from the internal pain they say,
However, I confide in ghosting, while disregarding the feeling of void in my heart.
I remain blind to the difference of things,
Self expression, communication and social integrity make it difficult for me to see,
The truth in where liars lie.
But still, I persist,
Despite the fact that in all forms of reality, I’m struggling.
I attempt to pretend like life is going good and my mentality is okay,
This guilt only allows my body to relapse yet again.
Unintentionally and subconsciously, I’m hurting,
The people who “care” for me.
Instantaneously, the late hours control my eyes to remain wide awake,
Oftentimes, I go numb enough to not speak,
I stray away from the support team behind me,
In order to, stay away from the demon externally taking a hold of me.
Soul is too open to close,
Bones and touch are too cold to take,
It’s true, our ends were never meant to mend,
Due to my expectations of plans never set in place.

Tonight I took a risk
And once again sliced my wrists
But instead of five I did ten
And little blood came out when
I pressed a little harder
And the blade cut a little farther
I looked like a tiger with it’s stripes
And I’m willing to face all the gripes
You’ll probably leave me when you see my scars
Because you’ll realize all the harm
It stings a little but still feels good
You didn’t understand and you never would
You can’t handle a basket case
To you I’m just a waste
Let’s see how they look tomorrow
Because tonight they filled me with sorrow
They didn’t bleed like I’d hope
Maybe next time I’ll try the rope
I’m a ***** up and don’t deserve life
I argue with myself about what to do and with which knife
I lay here now wrists stinging
The sandman with sleep he’s bringing
I’m upset at myself more than you are at me
So don’t yell or use harsh words during your plea
I’m sorry for what I’ve done
There is nothing more I can do, none
Maybe it’s more than ten
I stopped counting around then
You’ll leave me tomorrow I know it
Whether or not I refuse to show it
The scars will still remain
And you’ll think of me with cruel disdain
Hate me for all I care
This heavy cross I’ll always bare
Give me another reason to hate my soul and body
Give me another bad habit to proclaim as a hobby
I’m an artist by nature and I paint with my blood
And when I’m done my sharp edged paint brush will drop with a thud
I don’t care anymore and I wish life was simpler
I suppose T.S Elliot was correct: this is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper

it was all just a lie
people told me that I'd reach the end
but I don't see anything
My family told me that I was going to reach the heights
but the only place I've reached
is a dull and grey street

I wanted to achieve something magnificent
but I ended up achieving pitter-patter
evocating my pronounced self-loathing
for what is, and what isn't
I wanted to feel pure
reach the tip of the world
and be the 'chosen one'

Yet here I lie
with a stupid self-loathing mind
the only tip being that of the rich man's kind
I wanted to reach my heights
and be the best I could possibly be
make the world proud of me
yet the only words I hear
are that of higher society's -
"What a laughable failure. Never to achieve,
never to reach, simply a wasted opportunity."

My head bobs in a twisted manner
my face full of exuberant despondence
I tried to reach, I tried to be free
unfortunately, the only thing I reach for now
are the alms of a kind man's heart
on this cold and lonely street

Waves crashing and smashing into the rickety boat
Hardly staying afloat it cracks and snaps under the pressure that wraps around it
Spinning swirling and twirling the water fills every crevice and nook
From the most overt cabinet down to the rustiest hook
The stormy outlook brings dread
And in his head he thinks of the waves that could leave him dead
Losing all control he can’t grab a hold of the wheel or the rope that could keep him remotely safe or help him cope with the lack of balance
It’s all done
As the sea swallows him like it does the morning sun