AddictionThe body is tired,Caffeine and nicotineFlowing through it's veins.Muscles and bonesSlow and in pain.Hands and feetCold as stone,Stomach growling.Yet the mind still races,Not stopping for a second,Ignoring the pain,Remembering past,Imagining the future...
DreamsSleeping or livingThe difference is faintBecause my life ain't that differentFrom a lucid dreamMy dreams are realMy life is an illusionI am my dreamsAnd they are my lifeScenarios are playingConstantly inside my headLike a broken recordDriving me insaneLike a prisonMade of freedomWhere anything is possibleYet it's not real
A world of porcelain peopleWe live ina world fullof prettyfaçades; everyoneis a livingmasqueradein thisday and age:pick up yoursmiling faceat daybreak anddrape it over theviolet stainsbeneath youreyelids;walk aroundaimlessly -we are allsleepwalkers,eyes open butclosed.we are all pretty porcelain peopleliving in a pretty porcelain worldbut our masksare startingto crack.(and reveal the ugly truth)
stardust. (you're beautiful)he'sout of orbit -interstellar spacedust in hisveins rise andfall witheach word thatdrips and poolsbeneath hishoneyed tongue;silenceis betweenhis knuckle-bones,sharp anddefined like theribcage of ababy bird, hismazarine eyeswere not made forthis earth butfor the stars.andsome days hefades in andout of reality likehe never reallywanted to be thereat all.on those daysi just thinkmy god, you really don'trealise how amazing you are.
Little GirlThere sits the girl with the things in her eyesMonsters, destruction, and sweet butterfliesHopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screamsBeautiful dresses now torn at the seamsCrayons and paintbrushes, villains and grinsYoung, gladsome innocence, hatred and sinsLittle red houses on roads left to fadeGorgeous moonlight shining off of the bladeBlood pouring out as she cries her own nameKnowing she's forced to take each bit of blameShe could have stopped it and left it behindAll of these things in her troubled young mindShe could have saved them if she dared to tryRather, though, she left herself there to die.Now, others watch as she sits on the groundKeeping their distance and letting her drownIn her own worries and things she won't tellWaiting for her mind to kill her as well.
DisappearSometimes, when I'm sadI remember that one time,All I had to worry about wasIf the bubbles I had blown, were about toDisappear.Sometimes, when I'm sadI remember that one time,I began to worry about the day thatMy childhood would simplyDisappear.Sometimes, when I'm sadI remember that some day,When I'm sitting with my husbandIn the old old house... my days will simplyDisappear.And that day,The day when my heartbeat isSilenced...The day when my breathTruly gets taken away.That's the dayWhen my worries, my concerns, my fears...Will simply... Disappear.
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t findthe god inside of yourself anymore, thatyou think that you are finallytoo much honeycomb and not enough humanbecause lately everything has been slippingthrough your fingers, and you don’t know how you cankeep holding yourself together anymore.if today is the day that you lookat the stars and you no longerfeel their burn beneath your bones,i will show you the blanket i tried to makewhen i was eight, and i will tell you all i knowabout the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,but i do know the basics,and that’s that everything in the universeis composed of strings that somehowloop onto each other infinitely.so whenever you feel like you’rewalking a tightrope without a safetynet below you, know that you arethousands of tightropes strung together,and one fall will not kill you.i have never told you about the wayi can feel my pulse skitter to a stopin my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dearDepression isn’t real.It’s just a silly tragedyYou’ve forced yourself to feel.Anxiety is fake, my friendYou wonder why it’s there.But others have it worse than you!Stop forming false despair.Cutting is dramatic, love,It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.Why not just get over it?Is the attention fun?Suicide is stupid, dear,And selfish, if I may.Get over yourself, darling,Can you hear these things I say?Why aren’t you replying, love?Oh, where could you have gone?I never meant to hurt you, love,Did I say something wrong?Why aren’t you replying, dear?Depression isn’t true!…Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...Just maybe not for you.
To the Struggling ChristiansMy cross broke the other day,snapped off of the chain,and nearly rolled away.I caught it in my hands,though it nearly slipped throughmy fingerslike tiny grains of sandI'm a college student.I attend a public school,Nine hours away from homeand my faith too.There's no emphasis on Catholicism,no morning prayers through the Saints.No “Our Father” to guide me,no Mary to keep me through the day.In fact it's the opposite,grace comes in the form of drugs.The new morning prayersare deadly smoke to lungs.I've never had a problem with Sexuality,you know me.You can tell this by looking through my old poetry.Though what I cannot standis when you feel the need,to invalidate one's Christianitybecause of your sexuality.They're giving me reasons not to believe,in long list like shopping recipes.Telling me what I already know,begging me to tell God to go.It's not easy to keep your faith,when people are giving you reasonsto throw it away.Though I'm lucky I sup
LightLight pooled in the floes of her fleshthe warm tone of polluted amberit ran down the window,the stream broken in places by silhouettesand other such distractionsit spilled, soundlessand flooded silken sheetssetting adrift the skin and breath and whispers of herMachiavellian schemesto steal away into the polluted darkher sighs overflowed, sonorouspouring into the amber and blackthe constellations dotted along herdisrupted in places by the shadows of treesand other such poetry
it's okay to not be okaysometimes it’s okayto sit on the floor of the bathroom stalland let your feelings gather- it’s okayto let them pool like a lachrymose lagoonas the inside of your stomach does summersaults;I know these emotions can’t be tenderly released,they’re not soft waves kissing the expecting shore,let them pour out of you like tidal waves-release the tsunami from within you and I know sometimes the tears will sodden your pillowcase,they’ll be juggernauts- those brackish beadscathartically-cartwheeling down your flushed cheeks;but remember how even the cloudsmay cry tempestuously today,only to make roomfor much brighter daysso I promise you, darling it’s going to be okay.
InsomniaLonesome nightCold as snowLasts for eternityGoes by in a momentA time of thoughtOf emotion and reflectionJust my mind and IIn a cold, lonesome night