I forgot to fill my prescription.
How is it that I always forget something that makes such an impact on my life?
Without it, I am not myself.
or am I more myself?
Who is to say that depression and anxiety aren't characteristics as opposed to mental illness?

A chemical imbalance of the brain.
That's how the doctors describe it.
That's how we describe it,
To make ourselves feel less ashamed.

So I forgot to fill my prescription.
Sometimes I think I forget purposefully.
Is it possible to cautiously make a sub-consous choice?
Cause' I think I might.
I think I do it to make myself feel alive again.
**** being able to "function".
I don't see functioning as living.
I truly feel alive when I allow myself to indulge in the pain.

Treating the emotional agony as something that I shouldn't feel, only makes me feel more ashamed of it.

So instead I indulge.
I don't cry.
I don't cut.
I don't expose.
I indulge in my inner sadness.

It makes me feel like a rebel.
Indulging makes me feel more alive than the actual act of living.
And that terrifies me.

I terrify me.

Your lips are so sharp
They tore my heart
as how they tore my mouth

One can just get lost
in those eyes of yours,
just one glance and your
hooked, and want more,
more than just one glance.
Those blue eyes, they
capture you and leave
you breathless, and may
you help me stop drowning
in them? If not, then
I wouldn't mind losing
myself in them, can
I just tell you straight up,
your eyes could steal
a soul, or they do the
reverse, and leave you healed.

Beating, pacing
thumping like a drummer with no rhythm
and no purpose other than to hurt.

Once candy box red,
now black like tar
and twisted and scratched
until it is no longer the muscle it used to be.

It pounds and thunders
in ways I wish I couldn’t feel
because these beats don’t give me butterflies
they give me disease,
they give me panic and fear and
a horrific feeling of, “Please Don’t Hurt Me Again”.

I didn’t ask for this,
this broken thing you gave me,
this abomination of an *****
that calls itself a heart
but only wishes it was something so beautiful,
so excuse me for not having the receipt
but please, please, let me exchange it.

Give me something that’s candy box red,
something that isn’t riddled with scars
and beats in a way that hurts but
in the best way possible, the way that
breathes life into everything I do
and not the kind that burns.

I’m not asking for much,
maybe just a second chance
a do-over, to feel again
and be okay if it doesn’t last.

I don’t want to be afraid
to the point where thinking about trying
makes my filthy heart stop.

Drained from the world she stands alone,
Without a partner to come home.
Many people have tried to conquer,
but, have failed to obtain her.
Does she reach for that which does not exist?
Or is she lingering on that soulful wish?
The light of her soul shines bright through her eyes,
& if you look deep in them you can hear her weary cries.
Screaming so loud yet stuck on mute,
Yet she throws them off because she's so cute.
They don't know.. how her heart cramps at night,
& how she holds her pillow o so tight.
Just for pretend to fill the empty space,
Trying hard to imagine him in the pillows place.
Why is he taking so long?
She is waiting, where you belong.