Pull the trigger
Tick, tick, boom the bomb explodes
I am ticking like a time bomb
Ticking becomes tremors
Tremors become I can't breathe
Nor handle this much longer.

Pull the trigger
Touching me in certain ways
The smell of mushrooms
The anxiety that won't stop circling
All look like the barrel of a loaded gun.

Pull the trigger
Trigger warnings on songs, poems, anything
Aren't taken seriously
Causing me to have episodes
Causing me to bleed on the outside
From the inside out.
I now hardly exist
And these things make it harder
So please
Pull the trigger

today,
i wish
i was
dead.

i want
to roam
the
world
as a
shadow,
seeing
the pain
but not
feeling
it.

misfit wanderers lost in their dreams
collecting broken pieces
gluing them with words.

masters in the art of being faceless
singing the songs
of the unheard.

silent souls affected in tragic ways
seeking a painful solace
drowning themselves in the flood.

I forgot to take my medicine.

Don't freak out, but I forgot to take my pills.

My veins are not swirling and dancing and wait actually the pills probably slow them to stop swirling and dancing so I guess now is the time for said swirling and dancing, is it not?

I can feel a bit of mania in my head, so excited and so alive and so real. I can tell because there goes periods, out the window, never to be remembered or recollected or what was I talking about?

Its twitching and hopping and like Wonderland and here we go, no ashes, just painting the roses red, painting the roses red, here comes the queen of hearts and off there goes my head, we're painting the roses red, until we end up dead.

Am I somberly manic, or maniacally somber or am i even sad? I don't know its just the twitch, I can feel it, so Chesire under my skin, the smile is coming through and my head is racing and my focus is wasting away under the hot spotlight of my own personal theater. Bravo, Grace, take a bow!

Letters and figures and math and language, so different but so funny because people speak both, why do mathematicians not count as fluent in another language, because its certainly foreign to me.

Ooh, I probably should alert the one I never expected, tell him how my head's a twitching and my fingers a fluttering and all of it a maddening. I missed this, I'd hate to admit, with the progress and the productivity and the beauty and the wonder and the land and the magic carpet ride. What land am I in again?

How funny it would be to see an intoxicated me. Am I intoxicated now? I don't know, I act like it but nothing's in my veins to even the pills am I born intoxicated, am I intoxication incarnate, am I addictive, am I a problem?

I like my sweater today, its got words that I love and words that I feel, to be or not to be, that is the question, **** it feels like I'm on fire, my limbs are burning and I am flame reborn. Maybe I should take off my hat and let out some heat, but its a pretty hat and it might feel bad if I ignore it.

Time to go back to busy life, where the life is dull and i am the fire but I love the dullness and the normativity because it involves my wonderland friends and the one I never expected. They make me happy, which lets me fly like this. The flying fire is me.

Today I woke up
and I was not myself.
I mean, I haven’t known
who I really am in almost two years
so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise.
The splitting of the mind
comes from unforgivable trauma
and weak bodies trying to form apologies.
It doesn’t feel like
different people inside of me
yet
but I have had
different people inside of me
and one of them was
unwelcome.
My fertile grounds
were turned over
maybe for better soil
maybe so I couldn’t see his face
maybe so he could be made Stranger.
My Way or You’re Dead Stranger
I Don’t Care If This Isn’t What You Want Stranger
Tell Anyone And I’ll Deny It Stranger.
I don’t know his name
but his hands ripped my mental
into two different pieces
the way a beggar
reluctantly breaks bread with a wealthy man
even though they both know
the beggar needs it more.
The numbness broke over me
like a cracked egg
and seeped over every inch of my body
until the other half of me
cleaned myself up
and said
“Don’t worry,
I’m here now.
I’ll take care of the pain.”
Last year
I lost three people
in three months
to drugs
and I watched one of them die
from my front porch,
each of their deaths
pulling another piece of my mind
away from the others,
further splitting me
into the million little pieces
I had already been reduced to.
Every drink burning its way down my throat,
every blade fed to my skin
has been a welcoming parade for the different parts of me
trying to drown myself back to normal
thinking that hopefully
the flood would wash myself back together
would wash myself holy
but God, am I so full of holes.
I am so terrified of waking up
because I don’t know who is going to be there when I do.
I don’t need names for them
because they are still me,
they just have the control.
I sometimes feel like the metal claw
being fought over by children
because they can’t choose which stuffed animal they want
and sometimes
no matter how precise they are
no matter how patient they are
sometimes I still miss what they’re looking for
sometimes I never know what they’re looking for.
I am just too broken to keep working.