There are plenty of moments
Of heartache I admit,
Some hurt more than others,
And those hurt quite a bit.
But nothing cut me open
As surely and as swift,
As when you walked up
And handed back all of my gifts.
The ones that had meaning,
Given over years.
But you just dumped them in my hands,
Ignoring all my tears.
I confess not knowing what to say,
Never having felt that way.
You walked away, left me to hold
Rejected pieces of my soul.
What good are windows?
The view stays the same:
Grey, grey days only promising rain.
One more sign I’ve lost control of my brain.
Perhaps I should say ‘I never really had it’.
It’s not as though you can reach out and grab it.
Trying too hard to do whatever it takes:
Deliberately remaking all my remade mistakes,
Never get to choose just which part of me breaks.
It’s like Tori and her ‘Little Earthquakes’:
“Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces”.
My life, the eponymous derailing train,
Out of control, and I’m feeling the same.
At least the wreck will be magnificent.
Read the news, see how it went,
My life in print, splashed across a page.
So unremarkable for someone my age,
She lived, she died, is what it will read.
The in-between is what I need.
So much time and room to grow,
I hope I do, before I go.
Two days up,
Two weeks down.
Mixed episode, Mixed episode, lost count.
Three hours up, two down, two up,
Mixed episode again..
Two hours up, two days down..
Etc, etc, etc.
Rapid cycling is not given to record keeping.
Half a day up, 3 weeks down, 4 days up…
Blur. Blur. Blurrrrrrr.
Insanity, Insanity, Insane.
Smile Alice, we’re just getting started.
I used to have a dream.
I was on the cover of a magazine.
Now all I do I scream.
Doesn’t that seem..
I’m not often given to crying,
I bear my grief stillborn inside.
In truth though, I’d be lying,
To lay claim to emotionless pride.
The genesis of these unauthorised tears
Is to look back over my life,
Regretting all of the wasted years
Spent fighting with fictional chemical fears.
Not the existence I once had planned,
Trapped the entire time,
In a fake and broken Wonderland
Within my troubled mind.
I can no longer call you ‘My Love’,
Or even ‘My Best Friend’.
So I just call you by your name,
And this is how we end.
My scream is unending, violent and weighed down by desperation.
Vocal chords stripped raw, and my head and my heart, not designed for such things, demand from me a heavy toll.
That my scream is so high pitched, elevated by emotions I can no longer describe, that no one can hear me.
Just wind in the wind, another bullet with butterfly wings.
For the life I never lived. Cannot live. Will never live.
For the wonder of love and loss, of amazing joy and sorrow, that I will never have.
Not because I am not who I wanted to be,
But because I am someone that I wanted to never be.
Someone I wouldn’t want anyone to be.
Because I am too weak to bear it in silence.
Because I am too weak to bear it at all.
Sick, cruel, mocking laughter, at the biggest joke of all: Myself.
They say if you don’t laugh, you cry.
I’m doing both..
I thought my house
Would stand against the storm.
That I could weather,
Yet not be worn.
But now I’m deconstructing.
Brick by brick
I’ll be gone.
I am not myself, several times a day,
If you’ve never felt like this,
You may think that’s ok.
But I’ve got a feeling,
This will never change.
How many times in a day
Can sanity rearrange?
Because I’ve got a feeling,
It’s too much to take.
There’s only so many times it bends
Before the willow breaks.