I can feel the pressure building
But I don't want to burst, I'm not ready.
I don't want to cry anymore,
so don't let me.
Just hold me,
tell me something, anything to help me
I don't want to shatter.
I'm so afraid of the backlash and chatter.
Don't walk away yet,
please don't go.
I'm so ******* tired of being alone.
That's all last year was,
and it's eaten at me enough.
I can feel the monsters teeth still,
gnawing into my heart.
It burns like nothing else.
I want to erase it all from the start.

Who am I?
Someone tell me because I don't know, all I know is that I'm scared of myself and hurting. I don't like the way I'm turning. I hate myself and can feel the burning. I'm not infuriated I'm just sad. I'm a sad shell of a person who lost themself in someone else; something else. What did I ever really want? When did I change and why? Who am I? Someone tell me because I don't recognize who's looking back at me in the mirror. What I see is a whirlpool full of my deepest fears.

They say that not all who wander are lost.
But wandering does come with a cost,
Because eventually, you become misplaced,
And then you get lost by your own mistake.

My mind was lost a long time ago,
I'm confused and worried nothing to show,
People pass by smiles on their faces.
They say your happiness is you so embrace it.

In society, it is defined as depression,
Scared and dreary, sadness is an obsession,
It makes you upset and confused for days,
It makes you contemplate what other people say.

I try not to live up to society's confirmatory.
I always try to make the most of my abnormality.
But what you don't know is I'm not what you see,
I only display the best version of me.

I hide behind these lines.
In my head.
On my arm.
Around my throat.

My life is full of lines.
Learning them.
Cutting them.
Writing them.
Hearing them.
Living them.
Breathing them.
Wanting them.
Needing them.

Cutting isn’t going to **** me.
One painkiller won’t either.
If one can’t **** me, two surely can’t either.
Two isn’t working anymore,
Better take another, and another, and another, and another. (another 4, get it?)
Soon the bottles are empty,
Just like me.

I don’t have enough will to **** myself.
And I hate that I reached out.
And I hate that my friends care.
And I hate that I’m on medication.
I hate myself.
Because I hate myself.

And I hate myself for typing my thoughts,
For someone, maybe to see.
I want to date someone, but don’t want someone to care about me before I go.

Look at all the lines I’ve already done.
They still aren’t enough.
I know I need to get better,
But **** it.



I’m finally happy. (I̶f̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶s̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶)

You say if I'm actively suicidal you'll have to commit me, so can I please verify whether this is a passive or active feeling?
You don't seem to understand that I am passively active at all times, that suicide is not something you have to die to commit.
You don't grasp that I am both fine and alive while being broken and empty, all at the same time.
You don't see that I can comprehend that something is wrong with my mind for the way it whispers to me of deaths inviting embrace, that I know this isn't normal, but oh, oh do I wish it was.
You ask me to rate my feelings on a scale of 1-5, quantifying my mind's nuances before I have a chance to explain that I don't even know myself half the time.
Do your best, you say.

My best ran out when I stepped over the threshold, next time I'll know not to waste it on a visit to you.

Addict.
Maybe we should all tell you straight up, before you even know our middle names

I'm an addict. Yes, drugs. Yes, I have dreams, and parents, and friends who don't take drugs, and even friends who think I'm still sober, and this relapse is just that a relapse and it'll be over quite soon I'll show you

And I do want more out of life than this. Personally, I would like to travel, but don't we all. I'd also like to get good at skateboarding and writing and dating pretty people.

But yeah, there is the whole addiction thing. So let's get it out of the way. Don't love me, honestly. It'll hurt you almost as much as it'll hurt me to watch myself hurt you, because as much as I don't want it to happen, I'll destroy myself, and if you love me you'll see it, and you can't stop it, and if you love me it'll hurt you to see me hurt, and it'll hurt me back, and it's honestly just a world of hurt where I'm coming from.

But if I get sober, and I will, I'll show you that I can be as good as all those other non-addicts running around saying no to drugs. And you'll love it. And I'll be good to you.

Our paradise is right around the corner.

Just let me take a few more hits first.