I'm starving to death, Daddy,
wandering around campus
with nothing to do for an hour.

I just went into the sketchiest
sketchy-mart in the city,
and they have chorizo chipotle
corn-nuts. I didn't buy them.

Daddy, there's this creepy guy
here. You know how much
longer you're going to be?

Who know what waits for us
Beyond this world we know to well
A world familiar sights and faces
That we will never see again

Who knows what is at the other end
Of our leap into the dark
Who knows what awaits
In the unfamiliar
In the unknown

Nightmares perhaps
Creatures crawling from the sketchiest corners of our sleep
Or maybe,
Hopefully,
A light of some kind

Who know?

I wonder
Falling to the tune of the unknown
Laughing as I'm ****** into to what seems to be my doom
The end of my world
And the birth of the next

Hopefull, the next will be a great one

On a Summer night in possibly the sketchiest park in town
With a tall can of cheap beer and two already empty bottles of surprisingly cheaper wine,
We laid in the grass and admired the spinning sky.

We couldn't see the stars but we settled for the moon

I looked over at you and
you knew I was looking but pretended to not notice
you tried your best to look handsome

You are always so handsome

You turned to me and asked, "do you ever write about me in that little black diary you always carry around?"
I laughed out loud and honestly responded "no, not yet."
With a playfully offended or frustrated tone you said "What's a boy gotta do to get into that little black book of yours?!"

it was probably my second or third most favorite night in the history of ever
so here it is, a page in my little black book for you Mr.

pity me!
i want attention and pain
i go sideways instead of longways
i divulge my deepest secrets to the sketchiest of strangers
i leave myself vulnerable to every anonymous name on a screen
i spill my desperation out in the form of hastily written poems
i pretend that everything is alright from behind a spiderwebbed cracked mask, my mock imitation of pain easily visible
i wear long sleeved sweaters in the summer, but leave the sleeves rolled up
i make self-deprecating jokes at regular intervals
i force anxiety into my throat when around crowds, pretending to be nervous and jittery
i listen to slam poetry and absorb what it feels like to be actually depressed, how it feels to be actually anxious
i take their words and i bring it to my therapist and i spit them back out
i am a compulsive liar and will say whatever it takes to keep my lies running smoothly
i become an actor to fake my illness
i am a plastic model of a mental hospital's legitimate patient
i am a textbook case of what a depressed person should look like
i pretend to be sick so the white padded walls will become my only friends
i pretend to be sick so my mother will finally pay attention to me
i pretend to be sick so i will have a reason to stop existing
i pretend to be sick but i've lied so much i can't tell if i'm faking it anymore