begin the day ; a **** taught of features
in need of clean linen,
    unswallowable meds
    and a diaper change
routine ; that'll teach ya !

they ask her the day of the week
   her name
what year it is
   when is your birthday ?
do you feel any pain ?
   do you know where you are ?

flailing in memory
they just turn off the overheads
  and let her settle into her senility
attend to the physical basics
whilst she's suckered into her own storage unit
  operating like a humming fridge
   with its door slight ajar
    and the small hot bulb
     finking on and winking off

                      - perish well 
                       & in comfort Dear

Hidden from the burden of conversation, you graze your toe across a rock
-- slice.

Pain, creeping  
wrapping its hot oils up your calf
it hurts more

no one wants to share

who understands?
don't be silly!
you’re on your own now
no one will be calling your name

So desperate

for a box you search
to hide your grief, happiness, and doubts in

some are presented with one
a carved handmade one
with gold outlines
who knows how they got one

the unlucky stumble upon the rich boxes of others
smothering them with inpatient finger prints of hope
but why
why they plead
in their constant prayers

why must they have the ***** leftovers
the cups recycled
used in a previous place for ***** samples

too small even for three people

they clean it and make due
what else can they do

Wait.
that’s what

But. Why?
are they not worthy?
ugly?
already fortunate?

I guess that works

and most are happy with it
see it around them
everybody has a *** cup

but what happens when everyone gets lucky?

You hide Envy?

no ignorant ones

Alone.

the lumy screen
x-ray mission
counting ribs
    but courting what's in-between
trying to salvage disease
    from the pardonable cage
use corrective attractors
drag them on the screen
    and mould a mange of the dark spots
humble in an alcove
zoom in on the spot
take out your little skin leafed
pocket book
clean the cough from your throat
    and sprout  'the working words of God'
a congregation of cancer cells
    put in their place
medicine

there’s a desire inside me
craving warmth but only frost on the bones
hold me again
i hate the lonely feeling
i don’t want to feel ice in my heart
i want to feel a presence next to mine
insomniac eyes and blue fingers
empty plates on the desk
i can’t leave my bed
i can’t feel my body
i miss you
i miss the way i’m supposed to be
to feel alive again is the holiest honor
to leave my bed is all i needed
but i’ll sit in silence for another few years
until hospital beds consume me whole
i’ll let them hold me again
just like you used to

The Idea of you was lust
Now like a unwanted pimple its time for this season of my life to bust.
No trust,
Between us
Because your obsession isn't killing us, it's me.
While you ****** me your looking for your next victim.
Rusting of the metal that melted us as one
I scream to escape while my body remains in its vegetated state
While loved ones hold heated debates on what treatment I should take.
Inpatient or out seems like either route It's no end to the insanity of a strong hold
No goal
Seems attainable
No moments of being free from the chains you keep around me.
The gag between my teeth keeps your control over me.

Twenty classless, eight cigarettes. 
Fighting over the radio at the 
Inpatient Mental Health Facility, 
A broken sense of belonging, 
And a dearth of veggie burgers. 

Listless with his lists, of course. 
Angst from the Anglophile, unable to 
Put a stopper in the pouring, 
Bleeding emotions. 
Open hands 
Stained red, and brown. 
Three breaks a day, scarring his 
Broken knuckles, they paint the walls. 

Code Smoking Gun, 
Code Smoking Green, 
Manic man, loading his shoulders with his 
Father’s burden, too big for Atlas’s arms, 
Or his mother’s shunning palms. 

Three breaks a day, 
Knee, shoulder, hip. 
The coffee’s decaf 
But your calves? Well, 
They’re just sore. 

They dish the brick every 
Other evening. But living, for 
No light, only serves to lessen your 
Love of life and make you 
Light-headed.

Broken beds with rock-solid
Pillows. Three breaks a day to
Remind you of your regression. We
Want you here as much.
Why’re you whining?

Busy doctors bust the doors, thank 
God for the freedom, the 
Fluorescent finish to your odyssey. The 
Flowers and grass greet you in 
Shades of pink and green your 
Greedy eyes hadn’t seen. 
Exhale. Ghost out your grieving.

The world is but an oyster
which we all are forced to inhabit
in a scramble of arms, legs and meaningful dreams.
A disaster in the wake.
A broken-hearted fowl.
A disinterested love interest
with a clasp on the bitter reality of rain clouds and hurricanes.
We lie in the waiting,
tell truth in the rush,
inpatient,
immoral.
We never really understood the world and how it rolls.

When I was admitted to the hospital 1 month ago in as inpatient, there was a 17 year old girl, lets call her sunshine, (I decided to call her this while telling this story so I would not give away her real name). I was always full of energy when all the patients did groups on self esteem and such, or played cards in the unit lounge. But inside I was dying, to get out of there, and dying to die. Sunshine was there for drug overdose, similar to me. Things she said always brightened my day, made me happy inside and out, she's a sweetheart. We had to do a "check-in" sheet every morning at 9am, after breakfast. It asked us various questions such as, "Rate your mood from 1-10", "Name three positive things that happened yesterday", "What's your goal for today and three ways you can achieve it?". Sunshine always had the same answer for the last question, "Just be". Her ways to achieve it were "Peace, love and good vibes". The staff never liked her answers. She did have her violent days, but she did have a positive impact on everyone around her. I love her so much, I don't know what I'd do if she wasn't at the hospital when I was. When you have nothing left, "Just be"

Hospital walls get tired
And colors
They become dry
After a while
The memories fade
But sometimes they crash and fall
Like tidal waves
Striking my heart
As if one blow
Wasn’t enough to impede
My hearts beating
Again and again
They hammer
Their words
Down my throat
And a girl can only swallow
So much
Before she breaks

The instructor said,
    Go home and write
    a page tonight.
    And let that page come out of you—
    Then, it will be true.
I wonder if life could really be that simple?
I am twenty, confused, and clinically depressed
I went to therapy, then to inpatient, and now I’m home
to this house that I’ve known since birth,
Depression is not the only thing I feel, so it is not all of me.
But the path down this road has been long, and dark,
Going up hills and making turns, that got me lost sometimes,
But I’m starting to see the light of day,
Everything happens for a reason they say.
My journey isn’t over yet, but I’ll tell you what I’ve learned:

I’m not easy to understand, but nobody is,
at twenty, my age. But I know I am not  just what
I feel and see and hear. Instead I am also  what
I think, and say, and do. Aren’t we all?
The things that define me, aren’t only in my head.
They can be read, and heard, and seen,
My words spoken out loud, or written down are
The decisions I make, such as letting go, or fighting;
Telling a truth, or a lie;  giving, or taking
I guess having depression doesn’t make me a good or bad person
Despite my disorder, I make ordinary choices.
So will my definition of me be alright,
Even if it means, I’m not always delighted to be here.
But I will be here
Just like you are, instructor.
You might be happy with life---
Yet you have your troubles, just as I have mine.
That’s human.
Perhaps you don’t want to be a part of some sad occasions,
Nor do I often want to be a part of them either.
But we are, and that’s life!
As I learn from my mistakes and hard times,
I guess you learn from yours—
although you’re older—and wiser—
and I have less life experience than you.

It's been a year since my suicide attempt. Right now, I'd be in the ER waiting to find out which inpatient clinic I'd go to. One year. Since, I have escaped from toxic people and shifted from an old self. One year. What do I have to show for it? Emotional outbursts? A nicotine addiction? Abandoning my creativity? A battle with a psychological addiction to psychedelic drugs? What does progress look like? What does it mean to reconstruct yourself? A building torn - that's what I am. A prairie, a forest, which has experienced a wild fire. Beyond recognition, I deface myself - as if to erase myself and destroy the things I like. What does progress look like? Am I getting there? In my view, progress is not always seen by you directly. It is not our job to determine if we make progress, but, by the value of people and situations in our lives, we will have it be seen. To do things for ourselves is wonderful. But, what does progress look like? It looks like making giant leaps forward - and then three steps back. It looks like dipping our toe in the water, and then wanting to dry off. It looks like it's perfect, but actually not. It looks like a broken toy fixed with expired super glue. Who are we to determine progression? It's an obsession of the mind for us to think that progress means we must always be fine - that we must be perfect. If I have a million irrational thoughts in a day, does that make my one totally rational thought insignificant? I think not. If I spend one day totally upbeat, productive, and happy - are my sad feelings any less valid? No. So, progress looks like this: admitting to yourself that sometimes we won't have things together completely. We acknowledge it, think rationally, and move to the next focus. Progress is not total immunization of our quirks, but it is less demonization for how we work. Our brains - they want to help us survive. The brain gets confused among irrational thoughts and can jump and put us in an emotional turmoil jeopardy. But, be kind to yourself. Be kind to the "miswires" in your brain - because it cares for you and wants you to survive. Strive. What does progress look like? I'm not sure if I can see mine - I'm not sure what it totally looks like. But, maybe, look in a mirror. See yourself - the reflection of desire. Aspire to be who you are, judgement free. In a sort of clarity, you can see. Ask yourself:
"What does progress look like?"
It looks a bit like you.

Im sick
Of hiding behind the fence
Of normality
When you get down to reality
Everyone is either slightly closer
To either
Normality
Or
Insanity
Which are you!?
Go by inspirations?
NO **** THAT! HATE YOUR INSPIRATIONS!!
Impire yourself to become an inspiration
And to make other ******* weaklings
to kiss you *** to try to get tips out of you
Amd when that day comes
You simply give them the same tips i gave you
BREAK RULES
GET MAD
GET INPATIENT
DO STUPID MEANINGLESS ****
AND LEARN RATHER THAN FEEL PITY FOR YOUR SELF
FALL
RECOVER
HEAL
LEARN
AND REPEAT
Until the day youre inspired to inspire
The person you are today will ALWAYS know more therefore be wiser THEREFORE be better and closer to perfection than the person you were yesterday
Show people you can
Show people you would
Amd show people you could
So you say to yourself
I will redeem
Redeem i shall
and redeem YOU WILL!
I promise you my fellow freind
Everyone who stood by your redemption
Will love the new you
And everone who left
Will miss the new you
Do NOT invite them back

F.C

Our fires clash, the sources worlds apart.
My mind is still, my heart beats fleeting.
And I ask myself why, or how strangers of two ends up finding themselves reaping
for the air the other breathes, and the other one’s heart.

But soon our worlds meet, and I feel myself clashing.
I think of you as bright as the embers that burn hot like the sun,
or how it feels to have your first taste of ***;
A slow-burn that inks the back of your throat, that leaves you asking for more, as the mind begins cracking.

We went out for coffee —
Funny enough, we both liked it plain.
We talked about our lives, and soon, I thought us insane.
For we laughed all day, until the sun went away.
“Until another day,” You say.
But we were inpatient, it had barely been 3 days
Before you asked me out for coffee in another café.


No longer did it take for me to be your captive,
And If you ask me to love,
I say, “I will.”
For I’ll give you all my love, my soul, my heart.
Only if you ask, my dear.

Sound pulsates like gelatin from the
Mouths of the starving
Funding for this program was brought to you by the
Mouths of the starving
Torture would be given to the
Mouths of the starving
Power is inpatient because all of us are
     Starving

A slip of the foot morphed into
an excruciating plummet into a void.
Before YOU know it, everyone else does
and you're bandaged up and tucked in bed

You've snowballed. It was out of your hands.
The word "Inpatient" echoes in your head
and you can't help but wonder:
"What did my parents say?"

There you are, still disoriented.
You're prospected expectations have
naturally become an escalated reality.

Now you're flooded with more
Diag-Nonsese and counterproductive
There-****-me spouts and handouts.

I didn't go down the road this time,
so how did I get here? Oh yes,
the ultimate phrase indeed "It's going to
get better, you just have to be patient."

I run from the fear of failing

Speaking bigger than the actions I take
The smile is a perfected performance
To hide from the situations thrown my way
Ditching the people with my future plans
To hide from the world’s unsure
It’s up to me to face the demons
The things that build up outside my wall
Diseases spread from inpatient complications
Killing confidence that allowed my mind to flow swiftly
Pushing away at the generosity of hearts
To run isn't the solution I need

I run from the fear of failing
Tears stream with words that I cannot say
I lose myself in the unpredicted reality
Ghosts of regret attach at the seems
I’m still not letting you in
Mars can burn and crash
Acceptation is an action
I feel the darkness drag me down
Smoke suffocation inflates my lungs

I’m leaving the world tonight
Grasping isn’t a concept I conceive
Left out in the forgotten cold
Running is a self inflicted blow
Breathing is a complicating gesture
Mixed liquids coarse down the curve of my neck
In the wake of my vanishing my heart spurts emotion
Eyes shut without demand
Running seemed so much easier then this
Before the candle flickers out
Companions flow by on clouds of mute
Belonging without inspiration
I can’t outrun memory

I slip into failure
Objects of desire stumble down the cliff of mercy
Sharp edges are in my future
Head hanging I fall
Meaningless everything seems when you're leaving

I run from the fear of failing
Speaking bigger than the actions I take
The smile is a perfected performance
To hide from the situations thrown my way

***** spread out like a planned vacation
Got me looking at it like I forgot to eat somethin'
Juicy fruit precipitation drippin' from the conversation
So I lick my lips just to ease the cravings
That tight lipped slit needs an interrogation
Welcome to the police station
Hands up, ******* down, **** out
Now get down and assume the position
Yeah, baby
I'm a Caucasian Freemason inpatient from New Haven
Basement unshaven - I call it the Night Raven,
But when your man's missing and you're
feeling impatient you can call it the ******* Replacement

Every argument is the end of the world.
It is without doubt the crumbling of everything
Wonderful in your current existence,
It just is, end of thought no sense in resistance.
My words are fire bringing you down down
To some personal hell, I’m astounded
That you have found this, so simply to be your
Honest truth, I have little patience, I hate this
And you become inpatient when I’m laughing
At the time you’ve wasted, and I don’t feel bad
For finally saying the things neither of us look forward to facing
But its better than letting all this stuff chase us,
But its not us is it, its only me how dare I
Slow down long enough to confront anything
Surly once again I have brought about the inevitable end,
And why would I go out of my way to ruin
Such a beautiful thing, I guess I’m just mean.
Isn’t that what you said?

Historic Hightstown wrapped porch
in New Jersey,
Open the book page speaks lifeless
Her uniqueness tea shirt stand tall,
but she's sitting says
Aging for me for him Hello age
Don't wrinkle my page I am

Ageless Fly Robin Fly

She didn’t care about her lines
and wrinkles, she was up in the sky
she was always
the performer, mid-life laugh, the poet
Love's the water, drinking Moet
ice cream her  love NY serendipity

Life is the way to should be
If your short of time make your time
be savvy cool
Be a good sport the "City"
No lines here it, not a pity
Hello Poetry
Never waiting on lines, you could
write your poems
with many lines, she was thankful,
happy for her
Aging wisdom
Hello Age roars out
the whole kingdom

Moving on the straight line of dignity.
The woman angelic- turning flight
smiling and partying all night
Aging it’s her time but her
turning point don't point the finger
It's not polite
I don't care about numbers
How the time went my own movie
doing Robin stunt's

Quaint walk through the Town
of Cranbury egg hunt
The rose blossoms, hair of the sun-berry
aged perfection tree.
Going shopping Freehold Mall
Laughing designed for me
NJ feeling free like a Robin bird. I am the singer
Saying hello age, I'm just getting better.
Walking on sunshine, not golden years
or reacting to someone's words like a
I am tough no tears, not the farm girl
of cattle, I will be ******* up to Skittles
   But he moved me closer to
the Monmouth State Park NJ
So slender rising more love admiring such
ripeness strawberry fields Beatlemania

  The "D" speaks delicious. love vitamin "E"
Exotic, or erotically divine younger
gorgeously slim Queen of Forst Hills
was once me
Homes, distressed, like the woman
aging people
engaging "Hello" please God
Or Hell dirt creepy cemetery
I will take my pick
Beautiful foliage opened up a memory.
Recreation, Scrapbook, Facebook collage
old the modern
thinking new pictures stay true.

Ripe apple computer age modern
technology blue 
Earthly Mom,  holding plants, seeing,
laugh lines.

Mirror on the fall, Mommy
not so dearest. My Mom was the best
She's Laughing and glowing she will be
gleaming over me Judy Garland singing
No worry fees
No senior citizen age with coupons
Queen killer bee's Groupons
Enjoying my life to the fullest
Flower *** inpatient’s love runs-out
screaming
impatient

  Hanging over her deck sun
bring's luck, sipping more stars
No dreams just my Starbucks
But something else starts hanging out?
*****

Feeling the body spiritual change,
Laugh line’s imperfect but hold’s proud.
So drenched like a mid-cycle love of ray.

"Those Hormones"
kick in
Like laughing became the sin
like the time just pray
So deeply in
body sweat's cold flashes.

Thinking how nice, when you
had fullest lashes.
Walking in the crowd.
People don't look @ you the
way they used too.
Time is on the recession.
Pretty picture window anticipation.

Hello, the world it's time to bloom**
Robin needs  more  spacious divine room
So attached like a love with such intense
Virtue and lots of patience, love seeds of
miracle maturely Turner-Classic your
wine became
"Copeland" Laughing gas wine.

Getting cards of modern art,
Modern Robin writer
and singer and so much
farther from  Modern Millie.
Hello, let's have a heart.
Tumble back, Genie eye,
the glimpse.
The top of the moon bottled into his wine
I love to dine just laugh things off
Changing leaves falling or
friends running,
and jumping

She’s the Robin  on her Pogo stick,
Robotically on  my computer click,
click but is it clicking.
My brain feels like its shrinking.

Play video games its all in the betting
and smooth talk of tricking popular cool
with flames my joystick.

Maybe I will turn into a witch broomstick.
I should try Google click...The book
**** & Jane & spot.
What do we really C turn -out 2-B in
this old age?
Warrior with heirloom sword
Is this what I could
afford swordfish.

Forest Gump say's "What you're going to get in the box"
old  dying chocolate but Trump's get's specially made
chocolate
Maybe at my age, I need to find
the hot construction
worker bring your *** tool
Just go with the flow
Walking up the step's, with your cane, sweet candy
Laughing by the New Jersey shore swift sandy.
Feeling French, Moulin Rouge.

You looked in the mirror putting more rouge on.
Looking older wickedly grunge you see whole's
in your sponge

The picture frame, eye's of magnifying glass large
Wishing you were younger, the ghost of the
holiday past made everything worthwhile to last
Eyes line's and the bag's your nose like a snout,
screaming let me out! I look much better than that
LOL

No designer bag's 4 U I want 2 B young again.
The bags crow feet it's coming  on your eye's
using tea bag's Kleenex puffiness but you
are the godliness
Net Flix

What happens is this your life in
your NJ town?
Drinking over fifty "Grey Shades" my Earl tea.
Saying my sunglasses looking ****
Mama Mia! seeing him in my text
What next?

Magic Mike dancer throwing my cane
So its Christmas tree jiggling heart plea.
Oh my dancing like  Cleopatra's eye's
purple but I am
feeling blue ned Prince the purple rain
falling 4 Autumn leaves I am sagging.
Who care's no-one on this earth has a clue.
this is no time for "B" bragging.

I wasn't sure where my friends were and why I was considered such an enigma of commitment.
after a communal bowl pass and a swig of strawberry lemonade ***** that tasted like strawberry lemonade tears:
everything that I considered a blessing in my book,
things that I liked about myself
these things became someone else's reason to dislike me.
My strengths became flaws and the things that I used to love about myself became the reasons I wanted to have raw flesh on the insides of my tiny wrists.
I began to doubt and slash every relationship I've made because the amount of betrayal I felt was like when my mom used to make the water too hot in the bathtub and walk away to the other side of my house so that the hot bathwater would boil my skin
and I just had
to sit there
and prune.

I told the truth once to my high school writing class.
I told them the truth
and then my best friend left me
and after my words left the page
and echoed in the air,
just about everyone else left too.

I was alone and I tried to end it because when you're stuck in the hot bathwater and you're six years old and your tears and titanic ice and still no one comes to save you from the boiling hot water,
and somehow in your life you begin to tolerate injustice and pain.

I'm thinking about checking myself into a hospital.
Inpatient treatment.
Pill in a waxed oval cup so that my feelings will regulate and I will start feeling normal like everyone else.
The normal of unrequited kindness and hate hidden inside of a held hand.
I would love to feel like I've overreacting
and I would love to say
I'm crazy
but the craziest part is that in all of this crazy:
I feel sane.
Sane that I can recognize that the only time I write and stab my pen to paper is when I really just  want to stab myself,
stab myself till i bleed blood that won't even soak into the earth,
but forms a puddle that dirties up everyones foot prisons,
containing a checkmark of approval from society.
If everyone just wants to feel loved and so wanted why would you preach hate and expect love in return?
Is it even possible to feel better about yourself without bringing someone else down?
I shouldn't expect anyone to come back to me
when the only one who will never insult me is the
thin white pressed and processed trees
that are bound within a "made in indonesia" binding.
I want to feel sick and I want to throw up and purge my mental illness of depression with some gatorade and saltines
but the only thing that can really cure depression
is the flatline of a heartbeat
and the ones that you loved so much
wishing that they would have loved you more
while you were still around.

My poems are just pre-pubescent suicide letters to myself that I hope someone will read and stop the blade
and put it into butter and spread on waffles instead
of their freckled skin.

I would like to say that I've been doing something wrong so that I can fix it, but when what you are doing wrong is just existing, then besides dying: how can I cater to your needs of disappearing?

How can I bring myself so low into my mental spectrum so that you can glow and feed off of my self deprecation until you have reached the maximum potential of you.

I should probably thank you because my soon to be hermit tendencies will help me stay safe and sound;

I wish I had the courage to **** myself, but more importantly: I wish I had the bravery to love myself instead.

Walk into the room
Daylight is streaming in through the windows and onto the wood flooring
Blue armchairs line the walls
A chess match is set up and being played by two boys
Both kid’s arms are lined with marks
One from burns, the other from cuts

A young boy with curly hair waves me over to him
He has few scars and a softer vibe which makes me approach him
A kid with a buzzcut walks over to us as we chat
And asks why I’m here
Topple over my words like he asked what kind of kinks I’m into
I go with something like compression? Suppression? Oh right, Depression

Soon, I have my story of how I got there, what I’ve done, what *****, etc
And I’m learning that buzzcut kid was locked in his basement for days by mom
We compare abuse and suicide notes
I asked him why he’s here
He just laughed and said, “I tried to overdose. I wanted to shoot myself, but I didn’t want to waste a bullet on myself.” Miss that kid.

I’d been there about a day, before I met “Texas”
A big 5’8, dude, with glasses and some blue plaid Pyjamas
He was loud, obnoxious, but loyal, and open to talk about our issues
I was very outspoken about being trans at the time
And he was a curious man, so he always asked questions
Which I wasn’t always chill with

He was very curious about “If I still had a ******” or “If I was planning on getting testosterone”
Which I still tried to answer, but I wasn’t excited about it
He became protective of me, when we became friends
I was a very open minded dude, with a similar personality
So we clicked alright, and he helped me fight for my own rights in inpatient
He was a good guy, despite his bad qualities

And then it was only later on in that first night, that I met...well...
I’ll call him Josh, like drake and Josh, cause that’s who he always reminded me of
Josh was the only other trans guy there, who I actually didn’t know was trans
And unfortunately but understandably, he wasn’t as open with sharing as I was
He later became my roommate, before having the what we called, “The Josh-Down”
He transferred rooms and then hospitals not long after the Josh-Down

There was something about the morning’s there
Walking into the dayroom, sunlight streaming in,
Breakfast cart full and ready to be passed out
The tv on, and cartoons being shown on screen
Kids half awake, and staff barking orders
The chaotic peacefulness was always my favorite thing

I get flashes of the hospital from time to time
Like now, as I walk into a classroom with other people
For a second, I’m walking into that room again,
Buzzcut and the kid with a soft vibe are waving at me
I feel the sun streaming in from the window on my the side of my face
And the corners of my mouth curl upwards

Turn to look at the sun, and when I look back, it’s just a slowly filling classroom
I was one of the lucky few, to survive
I got to stay at my school, and I’m alive, I have a home
At least three kids from the hospital either ran away or are on the run
Two are homeless
And I can only guess for the rest

The people/kids I met in that hospital, changed me
They changed my perspective on life itself
I don’t talk about it, but the people I met, showed me another side of the world
The side no one talks about
The side where kids have scars, burns, bruises, and more
The side where kids have traumas, disorders, and urges

The hospital is a hush hush subject
But it shouldn’t be
It changed my life, and continues to impact me everyday
It’s a place to heal and grow
It’s a place where kids can get a chance at getting better
Get a chance at seeing that sunlight

who is saving me from disease?
the doctors.
who is saving me from being homeless?
my mom.


but who is saving me from me?
nobody.
i was the one who tied the rock to my ankle and threw myself into the ocean
i know i could untie it
but i dont
i want to see how long i can stay under without coming back up for air

frankly I've been doing fine with my lungs filled with air from years ago

since then you've set fire to my lungs
they burn inside me

the rock and the knot has been tied too tight
i need someone to go under and with-go the autraucity that i call myself and cut me free.
how could god shove such an inpatient and anxious soul who has more peaks and valleys than it should into a red fluid and stuffed it into skin?
i can see the light abouve me
and all the people playing abouve me
taking in and out that precious air that i crave
new air
not air that is years old

im running out
but i still see the sun.

we  walk around like we own this place, frowns of hate and disgust and no love for each other as we stride, self-destrusting the planet while chasing after pride. we don't really know where  we're  going without God on our side moving fast and inpatient with each other and not in gear and every waking moment  attacked by new wants and fears.  who do we think we are, acting like we own this  planet , taking self-respect and dignity from the  weak ones, and each other  and  are we wiser  and any greater  for the people and things in life taken for granted. who do we think we are?

Give me a pen
and a blank piece of paper.
Let me create a phenomenal piece
of paper.
Full with lines that create lions,
full with sharpening shapes,
full with cycling circles,
and full with inpatient ideas,
that are passed down from the creative mind
to the burning tip of the pens' ink.
Waiting,
to be released to fill in the blankness.

it’s more than just an episode
it’s the constant passing thoughts
it’s the feeling of nonchalantly walking
never looking at red or green lights

it’s another “did you take your lamictal?”
then enduring the feeling
they won’t come in waves
it’ll come in tsunamis

it’s crying on a saturday night
every inpatient has negative reviews
“will you visit me?”
“i’m so scared”
hold my hand in the ambulance

it’s screaming at the top of your lungs
you’re still under observation
not just by white coats
but the ones who left generational trauma
“can we let them go?”
“i’m sure they’ll be fine”

it’s being amazed at making it this far
living with fear of the future
unsure of my own
watching you prosper and grow
my heart full of love and admiration
wishes to grow old together
yet i know won’t make it to 26

yet although i feel so much hate
and i carry all this angry and despair
i’ll still have my love for the world
and those who love me too
i can make room for it