Poets have been lying to me. I can't reach out and grasp constellations with my bare words and I am not the deep blue sea that you think I am. I am a dried up stream of self doubt and I am just a rough draft that was tossed aside because it's clearly not worth working on. I am that short straw no one wants to pick. But godammit all I want is to be that one who shines brighter than the sun or who you are at a loss for words with and I want you to see the infinite possibilities in my eyes and not the sad wreck that is actually there. And god is there anything I wouldn't do to make those words dance on the page again just for you but instead I am at a loss for anything or anyone  when all I pray for is love, for even a single friend in this empty world because ****, I can't look at you without imagining what won't be.

I still do hate the fact that I just breathed another breath 
And 
I hate the way I have to put my insecurities on someone else 
and 
I hate the way I can't just be happy I am me
And
I hate that having you doesn't fill me with joy
And
I might just be empty
but 
I like the way that time moves on 
and
I like how people forget
And 
I like that I still have you
And
I like the face you make when you try not to smile
And
Don't be offended if I don't smile back
It's just me

This dreary black room
Let's me be alone
To drown
In a pit of fear.
I cannot find the walls, yet I feel them around me,
Crushing,
Consuming,
Eating me alive.
My panicked self runs in every possible direction,
Yet cannot grasp anything.

There is no light at the end of my tunnel.

Limbs pointless yet flailing.
Eyes blinded yet looking.
Heart hopeless yet racing.
Fear consuming yet comforting.
But eventually I fall,
And the darkness
Consumes me whole.

Oh god
Why am I so shaky?
Oh god
Spilled a few more red dots on the floor.
Oh god
Better rinse the blade.
Oh god
I better
Stop
I mean
Make them collide again.
Oh god
I should
…..wait.....
I should NOT tell my parents.
Oh god
I need
HELP
I mean yeah I am fine.
I don't cry myself to sleep every night.
Oh god
This feels painful
Wait no
Amazing.
Oh god thank you
for making the cuts take the pictures away.
Even for a minute.
Oh god
Let this feeling stay forever.
And the suicidal thought stay back.
So I can live in peace.

My parents tell me
"Watch out.
Most poets
Go crazy
And **** themselves."

What if I am
Crazy,
And I'm already
Dead
Inside?

White Asylum

I love red!
Wanna know why?
Come on, I think you know!
I’ll help you out!

The
runny then crusty,
gushing then sealed,
but always
thick,
oozing,
smooth
kind of red is my favorite.

Can you figure it out yet?

That red that only flows with punctures,
but then cannot stop.
At least for a while.
Sometimes it cascades
like
     a
       waterfall.
Sometimes a soft trickle
like
a
calm
stream.

But, sadly,
overtime,
just like an artist with his paint,
it gets dry and flaky.

Now you know what I’m talking about!
I’m positive!

Haha yes, I know I’ve gone mad.
I love it.
Embrace it with my entire being!

I think thats why I'm here.

I never get to see red anymore.
They keep me locked away in these
padded
bleached
blinding          
white
walls.

Surrounded by plain.

I really do miss the color red.
i used to see so much of it.
It was a masterpiece.
And I was the mysterious maestro.

Until someone ratted me out!
Not so anonymous anymore!
Gotta tell everybody!
Hmmm, shoulda turned them red too.
Didn't have the time……

Why are you still there?
Have I not made you insane yet?
Good luck sleeping tonight.
Don’t close both eyes.
Thats when I visit.
I make sure you are not looking.
Before you leave and never see your life again.
Sadly, I’m in here.
And you are out there.
Not so many white walls where you are.
Do me a favor, will you?
See some red tonight.
I have lost count of how many days since my last masterpiece.
I really do miss it….


Anyway!
This has been the most pleasant of visits!
Please come again!
Just one thing to remember:
Don’t close both eyes.
That’s when I come.


And I won’t let you go like last time.

Remember how
we used to sit together
with our inside jokes;
not a care in the world
what others thought.

Remember how
we would sit in class
and make fun of the teacher
with a jean skirt covering her ***.

Remember how
people would think we were dating
and we would just send
a simple f*ck you their way.

Remember how
I
used
you
and,
you
let
me.

Remember how
you had no other way to deal with me
except by silence
and I acted like it was your fault.

Remember how
you granted me
the most beautiful gift I have ever received
and instead of being thankful;
I tried to **** myself,
simply because I didn't get what I wanted.
Simply because I didn't know who made it.

Remember how
I
broke
you
down
until
you
hated
me.

Remember how
I would apologize
just to tear you down more.
I was just addicted
to other's sorrow.

Remember how
no matter what I put you through,
you somehow would still take my
****,
good for nothing,
apologies,
and still keep the friendship going.

Remember how
I was submitted into a mental hospital.
And I opened up
and told you
what you really mean to me.

So Remember how much
you really mean to me
no matter where life takes you.

Remember how
we have been frenemies this whole year,

so that no matter

if we talk
tomorrow,

for the rest of our lives,

or
never
again,

that you have helped someone
even more than you can imagine.

Remember
how
you
saved
a
life.

That life was
MINE.

Just Remember

The sleep is something that no longer comforts me.
Even when I find it it doesn't comfort me like it does
to most.
Instead, it taunts me with fragments of memories.
Or are they?
Is that what they call a dream?
But my imagination is not how Disney portrays it.
It is
sick
and twisted.
Awake I lie covered in a cold sweat
for I am one
who does not dream.
Nightmares are what surround me;
awake
or asleep
doesn't matter.
Not anymore.
And once again,
the nightmares
steal all the
happy,
kind,
sweet,
thoughts and I am left
cold,
broken,
and alone.

I look down hoping to see
something other than what I already know.
My God will be
oh-so disappointed
if I have actually done it.
Maybe I didn't.
Maybe its just my imagination.

But I feel it.
That
oozy
sticky
runny
warm
thick
trickle
runs down my am in
a beautiful
glossy
flawless
crimson.
I am so ashamed
but yet so relieved.
I feel like relieved is a wrenched thing to say.
It probably is.
But my morals died
the first time
the razor
and my skin
collided.

And as I stand here,
in awe of my art,
I realize that
oh ****
I have left a little pool
on the floor
and oh ****
it might stain.

But I don't want to clean it.

It catches the light in a certain magical way.

Does this make me evil?
Or simply confused?
Maybe my mind is not working
because I'm just in awe
of these
sick and twisted
but revitalizing
cuts.

I look up and wear my best smile.
I say cheese just for
an added effect
plus a free cute little chuckle
they will surely buy into it now!
Falling into the trap that
I am ok
Even though
I'm not

I used to be able to go places
not caring about appearance.
But others stared.
I was the weird kid who didn't
smile
laugh
frown
or cry.
Apparently if I don't look the part
I become an outcast.
People tried to guess my problems

     Maybe she needs counseling.
     Have u considered ADHD?
     Is she depressed?


They wouldn't stop.
The questions surrounded me
I would lie awake wondering
"What are the theories they made today?"
I couldn't take it anymore.


I
Put
The
Mask
Back
On

I hated it but there were
too many questions;
my reasons became
less and less
believable,
and
more and more
suspicious.

I aways wear the mask now.
Can't forget to smile!
Say cheese!
Oh and laugh at that,
I imagine it was a joke.
Take that smile off now,
they might be saying something serious.
Wrinkle your forehead,
As if you are confused.
Because that's what normal people do.
I think.
And no matter what, don't take the mask off again.
Because they will know
this time
that it was all
just an act,
right from the start.

These
silky
smooth
syrupy
words
shine
for most.
For the powerful,
they are a weapon.
For the weak,
it is what kills them.

Words are amazing;
they can do
so much
and
so
little.
To find the right ones is near impossible;
they always seem to be right out of my            grasp.
They are so easily misinterpreted,
what was meant to shoot someone up,
instead,
tears
them
down.

I misuse my words often,
for I am of reckless nature.
I often equip them as my weapon in this constant battle
they call life.
I am an incredibly accurate ******,
my words hit the heart easily.
I keep reloading my pernicious gun
without checking to see how many I wounded.
I walk right past them.

Not a care in the world.

My friends have started to disappear.
Is it I who shot them down?
But I was aiming to make most laugh,
not tear a few apart.
And now, my anger is boiling -
why should they find offense to what I said as a
meaningless joke?
Or maybe I should not joke with these
wretched, wicked words that have hurt so many.

As I sift through the rubble,
searching for remains,
I begin to wonder.
What it was I said
that killed them.
Im slowly realizing
how much pain
my words
really cause.
Every time I muttered
I
hate
you
I shot you down,
until you could stand no more.

My concoctions is dangerous.
They have no labels.
I cannot find the right words to sprawl on them
so people will understand.
The mixes are too complex.
The feelings
too real.
I bottle them up with corks and stack them high on a shelf where no one can reach,
but the shelf collapsed.
My jars shatter and everything is blended together again.
But this time I cannot separate them.
The mixture created a fog so thick that even I cannot see.
My sight is blurred, but glasses will not help this time.
It has gotten so bad that now whatever direction I travel in doesn't matter because
somehow the fog is everywhere.

Friends, family, everyone seems to be shouting my name, trying to lead me in the right direction.
But I can't find where they are standing.
It is impossible for me to reach them now;
I am too lost.
The shouts I used to hear have turned whispers,
and the whispers
faded
to
black.
I know they didn't stop calling for me,
but my ears stopped working.
I gave up on myself.
But it is my
mistake.

I forgot to label the bottles TOXIC.
I didn't know the damage this could cause.
How badly the solution I made would burn.
But It does not affect the flesh; instead it crawls inside and rips at the heart.
Swallows it whole.
And the red.
It drips everywhere,
covering everything,
both
inside
and
out.
And as it eats at me, it spreads to everyone around me.
The pain is too strong.
I used to be able to make it go away,
but not anymore.

I stopped walking a while ago.
Now I lay here.
No one will find me
but I gave up hope a long time ago.
The only thing that is with me is
my dark passenger,
but it is hardly comforting.
It used to be in one ear, when I could still hear the shouting in the other.
But now the passenger surrounds me.
And just like the fog,
it consumes me
whole.