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The hours past midnight
Have become my worst enemy
And longest nightmare I wish to someday wake up from
Cravings become addictions
And my love for you quadruples in the matter of minutes
Breathing in oxygen is not enough
And neither is hearing your voice
I miss the toxin that filled my lungs
All of those lonely nights I spent without you
I miss your presence here in bed
And the capability to get comfortable
I dread for the days I will awake from this horrible nightmare
And become the love your body craves
When you'll be by my side on nights like these
And the withdrawals will be gone
"YOU GOT IN"
screams the thick packet on my counter
It's staring at me with a look of expectation

I open it
And feel tears fall
Its here

I read and re-read
It was all worth it

I should be happy
But then why the tears?
And why did I just pour myself yet another drink?
Don't feel anything except vague gladness and fear
 Dec 2014 WanderLust
Taylor
2:12 am
 Dec 2014 WanderLust
Taylor
Mom says it's teenage hormones. Dad says I'm over-dramatic about it.

But I'm getting worse, not better. I'm anxious constantly, suffering from attacks ranging from small to so severe I grow ill. Thinking I could end my life should any of my fears become real was my only comfort, but even that has abandoned me. For I am a coward who cannot take her own life for fear of the unknown. A craven, afraid of deaths pain but still longing for his freeing slumber.

Apparently this is something all teenagers go through. Wanting to stay in bed all day playing dead and pretending the world can't hurt me when it can break through my windows and torture me to death whenever it pleases. Apparently every teenager sits around, wanting to die but too afraid to end it. We all cry from our pure terror of things we are too afraid to speak of, too afraid to make real with words, too afraid to even think of for too long.

I've been practicing this breathing exercise. I do it in sets of 3, sometimes sets of 5. It's funny, because usually when I do things in sets, it must be 4 or 14 or 24. Move my fingers from pinky to thumb 14 times on both hands in synch. Things like that. I don't like 3, and 5 is iffy. But the breathing exercises that distract me from wanting to rip my own flesh off must be done in 3s or 5s, apparently.

My mind is not my best friend, but sometimes, it pretends to be. It tries to convince me that mother is right. That I'll outgrow suicidal thoughts spanning as long as I can remember and severe anxiety and depression so intense it eats me alive and makes me want to gnaw my skin off, but it makes me want to float to the bottom of the ocean or fly off a cliff and be free in much quieter ways.

Falling from a cliff wouldn't be quiet. It would be messy and the wind would be in my hair and I'd make a splat as I hit the ground. But I imagine drifting down like a feather, my soul leaving my body before the destruction and my body dissolving like dust, scattered to the wind.

I am thinking of flying and vainly wishing my parents are right, that I will outgrow mental illness and that I'm over-dramatizing it somehow, because my feelings and thoughts are overdramatic and counselors and therapists are liars, since according to father they're wrong when they say they're afraid I'm becoming a danger to myself, because mom and dad say they're wrong, mom and dad say I'm not dangerous to myself I'm just stupid and senseless and an attention ***** who is too scared to die, while other, much more vibrant and amazing people are dying and deserve the air in my lungs and aren't getting it.  

This is turning into a mess, like the one I'd make if I threw myself off a cliff. So I'll stop here and wonder if my heart can stop from the empty hopelessness choking it, as well.
 Dec 2014 WanderLust
Devon Webb
We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.
sad
I am Ariel Taverner
I have certain beliefs and views on life
I'm overprotective but I will **** you if you touch someone I love

I am Ariel Taverner
And for those that know me I seem to be a good person
I am. At times a very good person
But at 23:45 alone in a bed I'm pathetic

I am Ariel Taverner
And the saddest part about my life is that nobody on this globe knows who I am
I reveal aspects of my life and being to people but i never reveal the whole thing
If your were to take my friends and family and put all of their information of me together
Then in that pool of resources
That is where you would find the true me
The one that nobody sees
And nobody will because as much as I love you whoever you are in my life I.... You will never truly know me

And to me that is sad
And I am sad
An.... acepted challenge that was never presented
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