they say we are all made out of
stardust
if so,
i am a million black holes
and you are the brightest suns
in the universe.

Always make
          Yourself
                   A priority
                            For
                               At
                                   The
                                         End
                                                Of
             ­                                       The
                                         Day
               You’re your longest commitment

My lungs are full of glass,
My skin is paper mache,
My eyes are withered and rusted,
Like an old forgotten machine.

My brain is lost at sea,
And it's been years without you,
But somehow, somehow,
You can still see me.

Being deathly ill puts things in perspective.
People bring flowers,
And give hugs,
And try and start up conversations that they never bothered having before.
People only care when you’re dying.
They didn’t care enough to ask how you were when you were healthy.
No one bothered to call and try to talk.
No one sent flowers and give hugs.
No one cares unless you’re dying.
And then they suddenly act as If they are entitled to your things.
As if you owe them something for showing up to your deathbed.
I guess there is two types of people.
People with a killing sickness.
And people with a greed sickness.

When I told the doctor,
About how the voices in my head
Tell me to **** myself,
And how I have anxiety attacks over the simplest of things,
And how it seems that I’m constantly sad.
He said,
“Oh here. Take this.”
And so I did.
But it didn’t help.
So I stopped taking it.
The next doctor gave me a new medication.
And this one seemed to make everything worse.
So I stopped taking it too.
The next doctor told me to go to therapy,
Because that’s what people like me need.
So I did.
And she told me that I was making it all up.
That it was all in my head.
And that If I kept telling these lies that I would be put in the hospital like the rest of the crazies.
If doctors are supposed to help you,
Then why did they only seem to make me worse?
If doctors are supposed to fix the problems,
Then why did they only give me more problems to add to my list?
If doctors are supposed to understand,
Then why did they call me crazy?