The pain in my stomach
Is nothing compared
To the pain in my ears,
From the demons in my head
Shouting at me.

The angels try to silence them,
But they too fall to the screams.

I'm doing everything the demons say,
Yet they still want more.
They always want more.

I promised I wouldn't do it!
But the demons don't care.
After all, if a promise is only as strong
As the word of the person who makes it,

Then my promises are weak.

I snap the chains.
And the demons are finally satisfied.

If I'd known that the last time I held your hand
Would've been the last time
Then I would've held on
A little tighter.

Words
Screaming
Through
My
Head
Tears
Streaming
Down
My
Face
As I sit
With my back
To the locked door
So that you don't walk in on me.
I
Try
To
Calm
Myself
Down
But you can't escape from your own head.
The demons
They follow me
Perseverant
Determined
They need to destroy me.
GET OUT
GET OUT
GET OUT
GET OUT
GET OUT
GET OUT
GET OUT
OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT!!
GET OUT OF MY ROOM
GET OUT OF MY HEAD
GET OUT OF MY HEART
GET OUT OF MY LIFE
And maybe
then
after you get out of my room
and out of my head
and out of my heart
and out of my life
after you're well and truly gone
then they can fix me again.
But you can't fix a window
that's shattered into a million pieces.
Even if everyone
helped
look
for
them.

The frost settles on my windowpane.
So beautiful and so impermanent.
Like our love.
Like our life.
You call me downstairs.
You say 'we need to talk'.
I know what's coming.
The rejection flies away.
Another snowflake in the wind.
Another snowflake in the blizzard of my emotions.

"Don't worry, be happy."
Okay, I'll try;

But the rain is still falling
And the landlord's still calling
My projects are due
I haven't heard from you
My room is a mess
I'm under huge stress

But I'll try to be happy.
I'll try.

The ink is my sadness.
The paper is my devotion.
The poem, my love.

The idea is my inner thoughts.
The words are my feelings.
The meaning, my infinite anxiety.

The beginning is a story.
The middle is a resolution.
The ending, a travesty.

The pencil is temporary.
The pen can be disposed.
The writing is forever.