sit in the cold just to feel.
block out the world block out my thoughts block out the noise with more noise
be louder then the noise
be louder or fall
fall until i’m gone
acid tears decay my skin aging it millennia
brain soaked in sorrow
melancholy cold biting my skin
but it’s better then numb
halfway out the window waltzing to a blackout tune
grey in the 2 am moonlight, a monochrome tomb
pain to remember life is all that keeps me going, living for the next low
shiver just to feel my blood,
numbing just to feel the pins and needles of life flow into my toes
be cold so i can taste death on the roof of my mouth just to remember at the last moment i am alive
I_CANT_DO_THIS_ANYMORE, (a series of messages/thoughts that are commonplace for me)
“how are you?”
how…am i? well uh….
I cant fucking do this anymore. I’m so tired. I’m trying so hard.-
no… i can’t say that…
It feels like the meds aren’t working anymore and i don’t know how to tell you.-
no.. that’s going to make them worry..
why am i not happy anymore? i can feel it creeping back into my lungs and i’m so afraid.-
maybe I just shouldn’t say anything.
please help me.
no that’s stupid.
I never feel good enough for myself. im a disappointment to everyone who ever believed in me.-
screw it i’ll just keep things casual i guess, they probably don’t care anyways.
“I’m doing fine! you?”
Lately it’s seemed like time no longer flows,
but churns at the pace of molasses. It lazily swirls in bulbous mounds and sticks to the sides. slowly letting thick droplets through that hourglass so often reprimanded for being too quick, and I am left at the end of each infinite day feeling as though I have aged a thousand. I cannot tell if it is the dulling of my mind, so kindly provided by the medication that keeps me on this plane, or simply that time has decided it too needs a break from the rapid pace of life. They say time flies and our lives are over before we know it but why has mine been so tediously slowed so that at the end of each infinite day i feels as though i’ve aged a thousand. There are those who wish for time is move as though it is weighted by the ankles, but in it comes a new flavor of suffering. the taste of disappointment when you wish for sleep so that the next day may come sooner but the sun is still impossibly bright. the bitterness of watching the clock strike each minute and asking “how could it have been such little time?”. Yes, it is a new flavor of suffering that makes each infinite day feel like a thousand….
say it with me now
stay with me now
existence is pain
i am trapped inside my brain
all these thought inside my head
are driving me insane i am constantly afraid
afraid of my own shadow
afraid of who i became
afraid of who i should be
afraid that i might kill me
i can’t say what i’m feeling
it’s my breath that i’m stealing
my heads starting to spiral
this panics going viral
isolated with my thoughts and they start to get scary
digging up the gravestones of feelings that i burry
communications cutting out as the static’s creeping in
barricades of pain as the numbness starts again
sleeping isn’t working
the feelings that are lurking
are keeping me awake
i think that i might break
i don’t know how to tell you
the darkness that i go through
i can never let you see this
i’m drowning in the abyss
i feel like i am falling
my thoughts are now appalling
they bring bile to my throat
and i try to stay afloat
i’m trying hard to cope with the things inside my head
trying hard to cope with the fact that i was almost dead
what if i am just pathetic wish i had an anesthetic
what if i am not the same, there’s glass inside my brain
i can feel it breaking
my hands are softly shaking
i don’t think that im sane
there’s glass inside my brain.
sing-.-sing with me to the beat of the scratches-.- im-imperfect like me.
—.- - dotting your f-avorite song with pops and cl.icks.
sing-. with me before it’s go-ne, the scratch-es on this tra.ck.
i’m s-sorry for breaking your favo-.:rite tun.e
but i hope you can ap..ppp..ppriciate the vintage beat of m.y heart..
and pick my dus,,ty cover from the sta.ck
if my heart was a house
if my heart was a house the walls would be barren, swept clean of photos and color.
the outside weed grown and paint chipped off
and the windows shake and rattle when gentle breezes pass.
if my heart was a house the mantle would be frosted with memory’s dust, and the fridge cleaned off leftovers tenderly prepared.
deep in the house, the seed of painted walls and posters remain, cozy bed sheets and fairy lights, things of home and solace.
awaiting the sunlight of love or the hydration of peace....and there it will stay.