skin

fire ants / and tentacles / and sun in your eyes / ringing music / fading vision / and i don’t want to be alive. / panting breaths / and i fall apart on the floor / and i’m honestly not sure / what’s holding me up anymore / so / just close your eyes / so / just crumple onto the ground and let your hands touch the sky / and i am crawling in my skin / and i am writhing in this body / some idiot forced me to live in / and maybe / i can’t handle this / and maybe / i wasn’t meant for this / and maybe / they were wrong about me / because right now / it sure does feel like it / and / i am so fucking exhausted / so read me a fairy tale / and tuck me into bed / and tell me you love me / and turn off my mind / just like you did back then.


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static

soft voice, screen light, and eyes slammed closed. late nights, grey days, and aesthetically pleasing piano.

and please just keep your eyes closed. because you don’t want to see me when i’m like this. when i’m crying on the floor, and the walls start to shake, and suddenly even gravity feels unsure.

you don’t want to see me when i’m like this. when i’m not a hero. or a queen. i’m just a fucking hot mess.

and maybe i’ll see your text. maybe i won’t.

but i just… i don’t care about anything right now. you know?


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february 2nd, 2020

buried in the stone-cold silence. and i’m sorry if there was something i was supposed to do, something i was supposed to tell you. i’m a bit of a fucking mess right now, but i promise i still love you.

it’s just… sometimes the worst thing about anxiety is that i genuinely can’t tell what’s just my head and what’s actually the reality. 

and how did time manage to pass this quickly? because it feels like yesterday, that we were just kids, running around your back yard pretending for a while that we didn’t have mental illness. 

and it’ll hollow out my chest. it’ll carve out all my hope, and confidence, cut the power, turn off the wifi, slam the door. get it through your fucking head. you’re always going to be alone in here.


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pins and needles

glass shards. bleeding fingers. now is not a good time to give up on yourself, you know. now is not a good time to get stomach cramps from worrying all morning, and oh god why is thinking so nauseating? why is it so hard to just keep breathing?

mouse trap, and trip wire, and do you know how many lives depend on you here?

because the thing is… it’s not perfect. it’s never perfect.  not like it is in my head. and to be honest, i hate all of this. but here i go. locking the door, and tightening the handcuff, because i don’t trust myself. to say the right thing. to smile wide, and grab your hand, and sing the theme song of some tv show.

because you’re just… you’re not enough. you’re never gonna be enough. you know?


Poetry is really good at this–at describing something I don’t know how else to put into words. I’ve been in such a weird state of late; this thorny, prickly, constantly critical place, and so… I wrote this. I hope I did a good job at capturing something I don’t know any other words for. 🙂

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and i am so confused (spoken word)


“Rest Your Head” from http://teknoaxe.com/Home.php
Found here: http://teknoaxe.com/Link_Code_4.php?q=815&Genre=Piano
Used under this license: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
“Canadian Loons in family” by laurent on freesound.org
Found here: https://freesound.org/people/laurent/sounds/163300/
Used under this license: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/

Read the written version here. Find me on PatreonYouTubeInstagramWattpadTumblr, and on Twitter.