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unholy ghost Oct 17
I am so, so afraid
I've already given all
the love I had to give.
burned out, ash,
wax on the table,
nothing left to give
the hearts that have
the misfortune
to love mine after
the years of bleed and
leech. I am spent,
isolated ache,
want and crave and
empty space. I promise
I tried, I'm trying,
I'm trying.
unholy ghost Oct 8
sometimes
I catch my breath,
sometimes the storm
stops long enough
to see the horizon
again and sometimes
the arms holding me
under are the arms
pulling me up.
the taste of air,
the relief for just a moment
I am not fighting for every
moment of life -

until the undercurrent
catches me, until the sky goes
black all over again
and the water in my lungs
reminds me that the bitter survival
I fight so hard for
is all I really deserve.
unholy ghost Sep 23
I am tired.
tired of working all of my
day away, tired of the give and
the give and the give and the never get
only to come home to
empty cupboards
and past due notices.

I am tired of the depression,
the anxiety, the scars on my wrist
and the ache in my brain.
tired of the what ifs and the
why nots and the carousel
that never stops spinning.
tired of feeling like all the tendrils
of me are wild animals
I will never tame.

tired of being told to grow up,
to get over it, to let it go.
tired of being loved for the idea
of me rather than the
person I am, the mess and
the mistakes and the broken
pieces I have painstakingly put back together.
tired of being told that version of me
isn't cutting it anymore.
tired of being loved on the pedestal,
tired of being left on the floor.

tired of being the bad guy
when all I am is tired of begging
asking, needing, screaming
for help. for more. for better.
tired of forgiving and never being
forgiven.

i am
tired.
unholy ghost Sep 12
needle and thread
can only mend so many wounds,
can only mend
so many tears.

you've watched me, for years,
worrying at all our holes,
repairing them until my
fingers bled,
until my wounds became
too deep for stitches.

not that you'd stitch them up anyways.
never our wounds, and certainly
never mine.
unholy ghost Sep 4
pull my
marionette strings
and I will sing
for my supper,
do as I'm told
at the mercy
of your fingertips.
unholy ghost Sep 1
i'm watching the sunset
from the parking lot after work
and all the tendrils of all
the thoughts and feelings
in my head are lost to me,
close enough to see the silhouette,
too far to grasp.
i think of all of our sunsets
and i wish i'd held onto them,
those moments, a little longer.
lived them a little deeper.
we're strangers now, all of that
come and gone so quickly,
too quickly. and that's okay.
or it will be, someday.
the winds have changed,
and i have changed,
but my regret hangs in the
air like the purple in the clouds.
the sunset of you will
set one day and the sunset
will always remind me of you
but you'll become one of those
tendrils, the shape of something
that used to mean something
but unreachable,
like you were always
going to be.
unholy ghost Aug 28
the pieces of me,
the pieces i have left
don't really fit together.
collected over the years
from hundreds of puzzles,
i am left with an image
maybe designed by a
toddler or maybe a psychopath -
the kaleidoscope view of
somebody who couldn't
keep track of all the pieces
all the pictures
all the puzzles.
but i guess they tried,
because here i am
in all of my mismatched glory -
all at once a gift and an apology.
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