Cancer is cruel
like an hourglass that refuses to slow down
it cares not for dreams or ambitions
of finances

Cancer doesn't care about prayers
of well-wishes;
of tears behind closed doors
or the hurried reassurances
like a plea to an all-powerful force
we struggle to believe is even real

or the people you'll leave behind

Cancer takes and takes and takes
until there's nothing left

If I had to describe life,
it'd be a hallway.
A narrow hallway.
Void of doors
Void of windows.
Nowhere to turn,
No end at sight.
Just pointlessly moving forward.

"It's just a straight path,"
they say

yet why do i feel so lost

Tired.
That's all I can think of
to describe the hourglass I've trapped myself in
the same old routine
every flip
ends up the same
and I'm in the bottom of the pit

The sand piles up
and I try to desperately
try not to be buried under it

Isn't it so much easier
to just let it envelop me
to embrace my lungs
and to stop me from staying alive

I may be empty
I may be lost
and I may be scared

of what's to come,
of what's happened
and of what is happening

sometimes I wish I could eat happily
sometimes I wish I had a map
sometimes I wish I'd stop trembling
whenever I had to face things
I didn't want to face

I wonder how many smiles I've given
that were as fake
as Made in China products

I wonder how many times I held out
instead of succumbing
to the weaker,
much fragile side of me

I wonder how many times
I gave me a reason
to love me

Maybe sometimes
I deserved that pat in the back too?

(tw: self harm)

excruciating pain,
drowning sadness,
overpowering happiness,
elated disposition

i am but indifferent to these
much rather
i cannot feel

every nerve in me
refuses to let me feel
my own skin refuses to
be drunk with warmth,
my muscles stiff,
and a smile
which refuses to brush my features

so i use force
i cut and i cut
i linger the blade inside the wound
that way more blood comes out

did you know a wound gets harder to close
when you twist the blade?

oh, dear dear
i need to find knives,
none sharp, none too large,
paint my skin
with my blood
allow the blood to drip
allow my trembling figure
to be accustomed
to the pain
the pain that wont end
the pain that takes away the numbness

i can feel at last
i can feel the blade against my skin
and i can see the blood dripping down the bathroom floor

what a mess, what a mess.

it is but
fickle reasoning,
a minor blow

separation between capable
and mediocre

months and months
of impatient grumbling
of sour expectations

the sudden slap of the sober reality
strikes repetitively against my skin,
creating a wound,
a daily reminder of my failure

i am the pile of dishes that keep piling up,
a stack people are discouraged to clean by the mere glance of;

i am the smile that fades soon after
a passing acquaintance greets cheerily;

i am the tears that refuse to be shed,
the salty droplets indicating weakness;

i am the small wound,
too thin to cause scars but still enough to bleed;

i am the song to listen to,
when feeling sad and alone:
not a remedy, only an aid

i don't deserve
the tears i once was able to shed
the reprieve
of screaming to my lung's content

i don't deserve
the fleeting remarks
of admiration and trust

i don't deserve food
not a vessel of satisfaction
not a privilege to withhold

[tw: some graphic stuff yo]

sometimes i imagine
using razor blades to stab my eyes

sometimes i imagine
that with a slick knife,
i am pinned down
and slit open

i imagine lines and lines of blood on limbs
limbs that can't be soaked
no not yet
not right now
not today

i imagine
getting beat up
fresh bruises blooming my features

swollen black eye,
split lips,
teeth knocked out

i wish to suffocate
to be crushed

and to receive all the wounds i deserve

you wrote me a song
a song i didn't want to hear
but it kept playing and playing in my head
like a broken record looping endlessly

your words and promises
entangled in my head
now they serve
as mere thorns
still wrapped
and wounded tightly
as i cling to them stubbornly

memories brought back
to a mind that persists to forget
yet shows no signs of letting go

i hate talking to people
one might think this comes naturally
like breathing or something
but it's more complicated than that

communication is like
setting your humor,
your mannerism;
and your vocabulary,
in par with
someone who won't
give two *****
even if you were to
get hit by a bus
or something

its like im trying to permeate a membrane
that’s constantly mocking me
and blocking me from entering,
from belonging

today i went to school
with an uncovered scar
one with an overlay of red
four inches long

someone held my arm
and asked me
"why?"
i don't have an answer

except maybe
my limbs were canvasses
they looked better that way:
shredded and ugly

the world is cruel
enough to trap me inside my own head
anxiety plaguing
my ******-up head

one minute fully content
with simply breathing
and the next
wanting to throw myself
in front of a vehicle

"i don't want anyone to clean that up"
my thought process provides,
dictating my self-worth
with mere words and hushed whispers
directed to my ear

a searing pain brought
by the bullet shot through my head
it isn't real
but why does it feel like it is?

it hurts and it's bleeding
but i'm not dying
not yet
oh, what a cruel world.

i hate the rays of light that mock me as i wake up

i hate the grass that grows faster than me

i hate the clouds that move far away
and get to release when they feel full

i hate the cold gust of wind
that tickles my face
as if grimly reminding me
that i can not just get flown away

being alive is like
watching a car crash
several dozens of times

debris caught in your eye
agonized shrieks of the drivers
and passengers alike
drowning your eardrums

there is no distraction
there is no exit
there is no aversion to the scene before you

wreckage seeping through your vision

reap happiness in the smallest of ways

successfully got out of bed today?
that's great, good lad!
first step to not feel so sad

had a conversation you didn't want to have?
that's okay,
you put up with a lot of ****
and you handled this one
just as well

give yourself candy for opening the door
take the time to love yourself once more

i need a reason to wake up
a lifeline to cling to
a purpose to serve
a motivation to go on

i need a light to guide me
i need words to navigate me
i need warmth to hold me

i can't feel any of those things
not even beside
the people who are
supposed to deliver so much warmth

i can't see them
and i can't move in the darkness

i'm trapped and confused

treat life like a game
an adventure,
full of worlds to explore
swinging a sword
at the toughest of foes
kind strangers to behold
and treasures to unfold

treat life like a test
full of questions to answer
slots to shade
and things to contemplate over

treat life like a lover
temporary and euphoric to be with
difficult and hard to keep
sweet tunes at night
to the sound of ones own plight

i woke up today
with soup in my head
feeling the weight
of the heavy dread

regret keeps piling up every day
of staying alive,
oh, what a debt
a price to pay

to the guardian
experiencing dismay
at wasting resources
on a hopeless case

one who has no motive
to keep breathing

one who tried
to hold her breath

tried to choke herself to death