trigger warning: suicidal thoughts. need to talk? crisis lines are here.

unfinished shitty poems, and i’m spinning around in circles, and please leave me alone.

because i am sick, and broken.  a porcelain doll, falling apart on your staircase at 2 in the morning and i think i want to die, or maybe i’m just sleep deprived, but either way i can’t stop crying. and either way, boy does time fly, when you stare at the stars after midnight and just want to disappear inside.

and so my head becomes the hamster wheel. and i’m just wondering how long it’ll take before i just lose it. and i don’t know what i’m doing, but i wish i could stop doing it.

and you really don’t need to care like this. because i don’t want to be loved. i don’t want to be noticed. not… not like this.

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internal black hole

and it’s always just the same thing all over again, isn’t it? i’m just… walking in circles, through the same forest, pretending every time that any of this is different. but what you’ve said has been said before. what you’ve done has been done before. don’t you get it? this is pointless.

because i’m never getting out of here, am i? because these days it feels like all i do is sit. and after all those hopeful speeches, and heartfelt moments, how did i become this pathetic? 

i want to see the world. i want to  change it. i want to leave my mark on the sky so every time they look up, they know they’re not alone. i want to jump. i want to fly. i want to let go.

but… i don’t. i can’t. i won’t.

This is definitely one of those vent poems I write when I’m really feeling the need to screech at the sky. I just wanna put a disclaimer on this that this is not in any way validation of these kind of thoughts. There is hope for you. I promise. Things do get better. But it’s also… hard.

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

is it possible for a brain to cannibalize itself / blood sweat tears i gave you everything i had left / so here i am / in an empty hallway / waving softly, and watching as you go / and do you ever just want to give up / i don’t know / want to watch as you crash / and burn / and crash / and burn / and your bones start to melt / and your hair turns gold / and i guess nothing matters anymore / so i will give you / my heart and my soul and i will put it on a silver platter just for you / and i will watch as you let go / and i hate you more than anything so / please just leave here / in the cold / because it’s a little lonely / but i don’t want you to love me / and i think right now… i just need to be alone 

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i think the world is ending

naive goals, and follow your dreams. a hole punched in my stomach, and what do you mean?

high hopes, and stupid ideas for a life i’ll never lead. and if this planet is on fire, what does that say about me?

’cause honey. you can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me. and someday, you’re gonna be alone in this. your parents will kick you out of the house, your friends will dump you on the ground, and then i bet you’ll have loads of fun talking about how great it is to “recover” from this.

honestly. you’re being so fucking selfish. and young lady, i really mean it. your mind is a ticking time bomb, just waiting to implode. you’re not allowed to have dreams; it doesn’t matter where you’ll go.

didn’t your mom and dad tell you this, very long ago? you can’t conjure food and water out of nothing, you know. 

Oh god, have I been worrying about the future of late. I’m super tired right now so I don’t want to get into this topic in too much detail but basically: I have anxiety. And being a writer kind of has a bad reputation for not exactly being good at making money.

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