I don’t know that you exist,
On others I don’t even really care.
I want to slit my wrist,
But I fear I’ll find but emptiness in there.
On so many days
I’m simply lost inside my brain,
Or inside the parts that might remain
If you cut me all apart,
Awareness and an aching heart.
But some days
I cannot unremember,
For the sun becomes an ember
When compared to you.
All that will exist
Are the parts of you I’ve kissed,
So at least I will have all of you.
I suppose the trees, in retrospect,
Should have attended my neglect
To time’s subtle scythe with due respect.
Reminding that nature always calls,
And she who answers always falls.
A premonition of my future
Abandoned casually by trees
Autumn leaves, as they led
Falling echoes of my life,
Fleeting, fled. Underfoot
On which to tread, and I,
Despondent, sighing said:
‘There lies everything,
Don’t by it’s beauty, be misled.
The whole world and all within ends thus:
These dying leaves are us’.
I turn up at the wedding, But they won’t let me in, I must have been specified ‘Unspecified’, again. I’m sure I’m on the guest list, Please have one more look, It’s my sister getting married So I must be in the book. Can’t you see that I’m a bridesmaid? I’m getting kind of harried And I’d hate to make a mess, But if you don’t step aside, I have a switchblade in this dress.
Some might fall asleep with ease, Such vanity! Amost equal to the envy That graces my every weary breath. These empty, malicious hours Will not be filled by mere distraction, Night demands complete attention. She will be neither shunned nor ignored, Tearing into your head like sheets of sandpaper. Time, ever her gleeful accomplice, slows all, Until the distance between each minute mark Surpasses all the great oceans as one. While confined to a coffee cup, You keep paddling.
There seem so many truths,
Which one do I face?
Which one takes the place
On the pedestal?
When I tried to face them all,
They warned me I would fall,
Now I’m falling.
Trying to pretend
That the song will never end,
But for better or for worse
I think I’m running out of verse.
I can pretend at emotion,
Lip syncing to the song,
But the words are all rehearsed,
And every line is getting worse.
All I feel now is an emptiness,
Just nothingness, maybe less.
An undefined ache
Where I thought my soul should go,
But it’s always been a fake
And I just put on a show.
So convincingly the act
That I once believed the fact
That I could be a real girl.
But oh, Pinoccio,
I should have listened
If I had anything to say, maybe of interest,
I’d pin the fuckin’ thing up on my pinterest.
But all my conversations now are with myself,
And it’s slowly eating at my mental health.
Like seagulls picking at a whales’ rotting corpse,
The wide beach view is fine, until of course,
You look a bit closer, see the detail,
That’s my sanity: half eaten whale.
I should probably get a friend or maybe two,
I like them in the same way that I like you.
Fine until they open up their mouth,
Then I don’t want to hear whatever shit is coming out.
Well, maybe I’m a narcissistic bitch,
With some really messed up kind of mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch no more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.
They say you’ll never love someone until you learn to love yourself, Well Catch 22, asshole, here’s a thought, I’ll share the wealth, How can I learn to love me, ’til I’m shown love by someone else? The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do, Since everybody hates me, I’ve learned how to hate me too.
Spent three weeks in an unmade bed, A pounding in my skull, Repeating thoughts in my head. Like the lyrics of a song Singing ‘please let me die before long.’
I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on, But even now my own mind wants me gone, So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong. The basic problem with this kind of rope, you see, Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.
Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment, Maybe if I could control or own it, I’d be happier alive, Given a reason to survive, But all I get is non-stop misery.
So fuck me. No apologies for profanity. I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead, Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see, Nothing for me. Nothing for me.
I never even noticed the clock. Did it tick? Did it tock? Did it not? Was it frozen in indecision, In the moment that was lost When you reached the doorway threshold And you stepped across? Stuck? Between that second and the last, Unable to move on, unable to move past A fate of helpless observation, Endless replaying rotation. A mechanical mind, Unable to find resolution Or a hint of absolution, Sounds so very much like mine. Because when you left the last time, When you left for the very last time.. I never even noticed the clock.
Did I learn to hate myself
With such immaculate perfection?
Self taught and unaware,
Still I excell, I succeed,
Seemingly such a strange sensation,
For I fail flawlessly amongst
Composure, Yeah I lost it. My mind, I lost that too. I lost my heart and everything, The moment I lost you. Now I’m shaking and unsure of How I’m supposed to feel, My friend’s are so blasé But to me it’s a huge deal. My stomach’s in my chest, I’ve lost track of all the rest, Each cell in me is bleeding tears. Although I’ve tried to act my best, I don’t give a fuck about Backlash or all that cost, When all I want is gone, Heartlost.
So you might think I look ok,
Kinda normal in a geeky-goth way.
But I always dream and dream of the world
Where I’m the ‘trembling, adored, tousled bird-mad girl’.
And I long to have a writing-desk,
Like a raven in a riddle,
‘But there’s something inside,
Trying to eat its way out from the middle’.
Our whole lives playing
At make-believe and pretend,
Like every song or story,
All songs and stories
We act so well, the human lie,
But acting takes its tole,
For if we are to fit the role,
A piece of us must die.
Did you ever never
Stop and ponder whether
If forever is a never
that simply will not die?
Then maybe never is an ever
That was severed from forever
And will eternally endeavour
To reconnect together
From the tragically cut tether
That was in a manner clever,
Keeping ever, never and forever
From being ForNeverEver.
How did I miss them? Everyday they came. So small, it all just seemed the same. If I noticed without worry, I am sorry. For each microscopic gap, the infinite tiny spaces, Gathering gradually over time. Connecting to make this chasm. Such a painfully intricate distance Between hearts.
When your mind is broken
And the world is wreckage
They tell you to say:
That you’re not ok,
No, you’re not OK.
So I said it, I wrote it,
Used my blood to draw,
And what the fuck for?
Nobody listened, nobody cared,
Nobody got what I shared and I shared.
I guess that was lucky,
Because although I had tried
To express how I wish how I really had died,
Express how I hated myself and my life,
How my pain got less with each cut of a knife,
It turns out I was actually, really, OK,
Soulmates and lovers and BAEs til the end. They come and they go, So I guess they pretend. They all seem to break When they should try to bend. If you ask me the truth, All I want is a friend. My heart seems to ache, It won’t bend, it will break, Because all that I want is a friend.
Blow on, Ye wolves of the world, Howl and hammer ‘pon my door. This axe is whetted well, My walls far more than sticks and straw. Which was once considered easy prey, Now armed and filled with violent rage. Therefore unto thee I say: ‘Best Ye blow the other way’
Apparently my informed honesty is wasted, Overwhelmed by stolen analogies and unfriend-me messages. ‘Unbalanced Alice’, so susceptible to mind-space deficiencies And fairy-tale moonlight monoaminergic rushes. The happiest of unhappy clowns. Careful never to grow up, Because adults abuse their lungs and veins, Simply to achieve the same.
Despite these slow bright waterdrops, My rainbow remains incomplete. I thought I had booked my happiness well ahead of time, Pre-forming a flood of excess enthusiasm. Instead, I made popcorn for the gathering storm And prepared to go swimming.
Vicodin? Percocet? Still not sure which to get. If only oblivion tasted more Like raspberry and chocolate. Why are these things so hard to choose? Although nothing really matters when There’s nothing left to lose. Vodka? Tequila? Fifty year-old Scotch? My favourite song that hurts just right, Put on ‘The Crow’ to watch. Video diary? Hand written letter? Email or text? It doesn’t matter, it will won’t change What will happen next.
I’m not sure if I forgot Or have just grown indecisive, But I can’t really quite recall Exactly what my life is. I used to know where I belong. Used to have a favourite song. Favourite author. Favourite food. Favourite colour. Favourite mood. Now I don’t know What my greatest fear is, Favourite beer is, Time of year is, Or even how deep the lithosphere is.. OK, I never really knew that last one, Carry on, my wayward son.
Her smile is a Mona Lisa Crash Cart. A work of art that stops and starts The broken beat of my poor heart. Her lips are painting perfect, her smile mystifying, I bet even a single kiss would be electrifying. When it’s briefly, brilliantly, put on display, I surge with desire to steal her away. When I see her, my career ambition Is ‘art critic with a heart condition’, So I can see her defibrillating smile play, As they wheel my corpse away.
Where do the pieces of a broken heart go
If they’re too fragile to stitch, or you don’t know how to sew?
Are they put back together with some mystical glue,
Or is there somewhere you can go, to purchase one that’s new?
One thing’s for certain, it takes forever in time, Fresh hearts are in demand, judging by the waiting line. Installing a new heart must be hard, I’ve no doubt, But I’m stuck at the part where your insides are your out.
This isn’t really new though, it’s not my first time ’round,
First-timers wait the longest, due to covering fresh ground.
I always ask for Adamantium, for a heart that cannot break,
But they keep giving me a glass one, and no choice but to take.
I never see who does it all, maybe it’s Santa Claus.
If he’s not received my letter yet,
I’d like to add this clause:
“Dear Santa, let’s just skip right to the end,
You can forgo all the material gifts,
If you’ll hurry up and mend
I hate weekdays, They drag us from our bed, Where we could snuggle down together, Keep each other warm instead. The winter morning chill pervades the room, Then together, almost as one, and far too soon, We cast aside the cover, Glancing shrewdly at each other Before competing for first shower, Hot-water, soap, and scour, While the other makes us coffee, With toast all buttered down, Warming frozen fingers, Wrapped in a dressing gown. Humming out a cheerful morning song. Perhaps I don’t hate weekdays all along.
Black is the colour in which stars shine, And hiding underneath closed eyes, Black is the colour in which you’ll find Dreams and Realms Untold reside. There within the colour of coal, A canvas for the mind and soul, A wonderland where you’re made whole.
Not a colour, but a tone, It’s somewhere safe to call your own,
A place that’s yours, And yours alone.
So this is what ‘forever’ looks like From the other side. A lot like broken promises And echoes of goodbye. Like everything you never got But always thought you’d get. Like each forgotten lonely grave Of every childhood pet. The only thing that’s certain is, It looks a lot like loneliness.
I thought I’d upgrade my depression,
See how it’s looking in 4K.
Ultra High Definition is the new norm now,
At least that’s what they say.
So I tried my tears in Ultra High,
Unsurprised to see,
The resolutions that I cry,
Are way past UHD.
Unsure, I feel unsafe.
Former pillars and paragons of my life
Now indifferent to my demise,
Pretend to care just enough
To avoid aspersions and lies,
Potential implications of associated guilt.
The small signature attached to the bottom
Is cutting and carelessly impersonal.
A full stop to the note :
‘If you do it, don’t make a mess inside.
I’m the one who has to clean it up.’
Suicide reduced to an inconvenience.
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.
Keep one eye on the wolf, my dear,
And one eye on the door.
But then who dreams the dreamer, dear?
And which one came before?
So one eye for the dreamer then,
One eye, one dream too many.
Best you look behind again,
Before you don’t have any.
I’m dressed to bitch, and
There’s an angry itch
Behind my eyes.
One that says I may be guilty
Of more than one demise.
Imagine their surprise
As I cut them down to size.
My verbal six-shooters hang in cross-draw,
Sights filed down, and furthermore,
With a quick-pull-trigger,
This mouth is set to go off.
‘You’d better run, better run,
Outrun my gun.’
The meadowlark laughed.
Her singular propensity for disregarding
Guilt and sorrow
Made me think of you.
Everyday is such a perfect day
To be down.
Especially days when you’re around.
I try to tolerate such intolerable intolerance,
Given the chance. The circumstance.
It’s not the end
Of the world,
But I still fall
For the straight girl.
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”.
All those times my English teacher
Critiqued my poetry,
Yet could never see,
That all along,
I was never writing poems.
I was righting wrongs.
Putting things inside my mind
Back where they belonged.
So if there’s nothing in my ‘poetry’,
That you can see..
There’s no standard meter,
Find in each it’s melody.
Note: Almost every poem posted so far contains a line ‘heavily inspired’ by a line or few words from a song.
This ‘line’ is the foundation for the rest of the poem, and usually the poems ‘meter’ is written to time / match the song the founding line is from.
Bonus points if you see them. If you reread the poem to fit the song, it will click.
Each time you pass me in the hall
I find new depths to fall into,
When all I ever wanted was
Some kind of smile from you.
One meant just for me,
Have your eyes focus and see
Me standing there,
Red faced and feeling small.
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.
This place is feeling far too much Like Kansas, or locales with such Mundane similarities. Where is Toto when I need him? Don’t want to be here anymore. Where’s the Tornado or the Rabbit Hole I’ve been longing for?
I cannot find my Wonderland, Went and lost my Yellow Brick Road. Threw myself into a mirror, Just to have the glass explode. Oh Neo! How I took the red pill, In fact, I took them all. Ended in the emergency ward, Not in The Matrix at all.
I don’t want to be here, For here hurts far too much, Everything here is destroying me, And I’m destroying all that I touch. I long so, to leave this place, To find somewhere else to go. There’s this land that I’ve heard of once.. Something about a rainbow..
I pass through life
Unnoticed in dreary monotone.
Careless watercolour washes
Or perfectly placed impasto.
I wish for more than merely nothing,
Having been a sketch too many times.
Please explain my existence, Society, and it’s distance, That only ever amplifies this Self imposed resistance. Decorating pillows with tears, My armor but a quilt, Alone, confused, helpless, Masturbation and guilt. I must have murdered an angel In a previous life, now I atone, Endlessly tortured and punished, My brain is not my own, Just constant echoes of darkness, Alone, Alone, Alone.
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.
My favourite colour is midnight,
Favourite time is soon,
My favourite song not written yet,
Alarm still set for Noon.
I quite like long beaches,
Just not walking along.
The time that I spend showering
Is the length of that favourite song.
I can’t stand cold showers
But love walking in the rain,
If there’s something I’ve never done before,
I’ll go and not do it again.
I’ve never seen a storm in a tea-cup,
Only tea-cups in a storm,
So I make sure to hold all my tea parties
Only when everything’s warm.
I’m party to tea at my tea party,
Where normally normal’s the norm,
And it’s cosier with a tea-cosy
‘Cos cosys keep everything warm,
And as we know about tea-cups,
The warmer ones keep away storms.
So that’s me in a nut-shell,
Where else would any nut be?
Will I live up to the low-down?
You’ll have to keep reading to see.
I am small. Not even Second-hand dust. I fit, I fall, am lost Between the unseen cracks In those lives I long to touch. I am small. Breathe me in, or Sweep me up. You’ll never notice me, or What I want most of all. I am small.
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.
This illness becomes a definition Of what I was. Who I am. It cuts my vocals chords One by one. Leaves me stealing Your unused whispers. I have become the doll Of a vindictive child, Pulled into pieces.
A mixed episode consumes me again, Making me a force you cannot contain. Hypomanic depression, painfully exquisite, Takes me to places no one should visit. There’s nothing you can say. Just get out of my way.
I’m bitchy and nice,
Both at once, stir it twice.
Of everything in one shot!
I’m feeling hell that the devil ain’t got.
Somehow also like a saint.
Are there some flowers I can paint?
On the wall, or any place?
For a brush, I’ll use your face.
What a masterpiece!
Crazy duality refusing to cease.
Every misery exquisite.
Each sadness an exhibit.
Hypomanically heightened sense
Makes every nuance of depression intense.
Hypomania, depression and pain,
Should never be mixed up the same.
We all know how I feel,
From this endless exposition.
Got a scar that just won’t heal,
And I’m looking at you.
Won’t you put me back together?
I’m no egg upon a wall,
But I sure know how to fall.
There’s just so many pieces,
But they all feel so wrong.
No wonder men and horses
Can’t put them back where they belong.
Cos I don’t know how.
No, I don’t know how.
I build my wall
Of words and witticism.
Hiding from it all,
Afraid of the criticism.
Perhaps I prefer solitude
To your potential disdain.
Perhaps I prefer misery
To your complicated ambiguity.
Perhaps I prefer to stay broken
Than risk breaking again.
Ah, what bitter tears these? That like acid, carve such sorrow ‘pon my face for all to see? Witness in the way I walk, The lack of my self-worth. Then when I talk, Hear inflection filled with vitriol, Bitterness that takes its toll On you, on me.
Censure prefers my stained and empty eyes. No mystery remains inside, It’s leaking now, seeping out Through a crack I cannot hide. So behold this pretty self pity poetry, This cliché and uninspired hand. The emptiness within Spills forth. Isn’t that what tears are for?
Another burning summers day
Yet through and through, I’m freezing.
The world belongs to shadows’ thrall,
The leaves fall out of season,
Like dark red drops of blood they fall,
And all the trees are bleeding.
Ground covered in bright disorder,
Yellow, orange, red,
Scatter now without border,
Mirror thoughts falling in my head.
Once I loved, and lived, had sorrow,
Joy, and everything between.
The truest line is one I’ll borrow:
‘My life has killed the dream I dreamed’.
Where now does your honesty abide? I think I saw it broken down And rusting by the roadside. If it were ever to exist, I think I must have missed When you sold it for some cigarettes And cheap and sour wine.
Lies. Everyone tells them. From the grand false promises told by commercial advertising and famous rap songs, to the small secret ones we tell ourselves in the midnight light of the refrigerator, that ‘just one more snack won’t hurt.’
Lies. Everyone believes them. In the end, it’s not believing the lies that hurts the most, but the unveiling of the truth behind the lie.
Exposing the ugly reality hidden underneath the happy fantasy forming many parts of your life. The sunlight of truth shining on your vampire’s masquerade.
And it burns.
The lies you tell yourself are always far more damaging than those told to you by others. Even those closest to you.
Or perhaps that’s just another lie.
The lies that cut the deepest are usually those best hidden. It’s not the magician you have to keep an eye on, it’s the assistant. As the line from the movie* says: ‘the closer you are, the easier it is to fool you’. Maybe he wasn’t just talking about magic, it applies to relationships too.
Some things bend. Some things bounce. Some things mend.
So I don’t write. I have no dreams. I won’t listen to my mind, For I always find I can’t separate My sobbing from my screams.
These neglected vampyric lines,
An awkward symbiotic pain
Desires to be written,
Hungers to be read.
Demands from me
Everything you may consume.
All that I hold within.
Alas too oft
My ink grows thin.
I’m not sure whose finger is on the trigger,
But let’s pull it.
We both know I need the bullet,
We both know I want this all to end.
We know it’s pointless even to pretend.
Oblivion will be my only friend.
Death, a rotting corpse of us doth make,
No different thus to when as fools
We lived and thought we were awake.
How arrogant our daily toil,
Because we moving breathed and spake.
How easily this mortal coil
Leaves us to linger in its wake.
You say you like my darkness. Those midnight madness parts of me, The strongest of my threads. Woven through and through, The warp inside the tapestry That weaves it’s wicked web.
You claim to love my darkness, That it makes me who I am. But although you see it every day, You wouldn’t recognize my shadow, Or know which hand I use. We’ve been together for so long, Lovers, and the closest of friends. Maybe one day I’ll introduce myself.
Your digital dagger,
Your ego, and
Belief you matter.
Like so much playground chatter,
The forums, and
Become but noise,
As though raindrops patter
After day seven, god had a rest He felt pretty good, his work was the best. The sun was amazing, saturn had rings, But earth seem to lack just a couple of things. So he made murder and mayhem… Well you get the gist. Then he made atheists And ceased to exist.
Feelings of sorrow fell through me
Like leaves from a dying tree.
They gathered dust, settled low,
Smothered all that tried to grow.
They withered, crumble, dried,
As all the goodness inside died.
Until all that was left was pain and me,
Beneath my sorrow tree.
I save up all my useless thoughts
Until there’s nowhere left to hide.
My mind is never as it ought,
It always rains inside.
The silence is surrounding,
I wait for the world to end.
The silence overwhelms me,
Becomes my only friend.
But friends are fickle things,
And rarely ever true,
Silence is especially so,
And damaging to you.
I made your morning coffee
The way I always do.
The rich aroma fills the kitchen,
And the heat of the mug burns into my palms.
But you don’t smile.
You don’t reach out and take the offered cup.
And I remember, just like paper tearing in two,
That you are gone.
The coffee is for the memory
That I can’t forget..
I say I’m wrong just to agree with myself,
Make up my mind but then consider the doubts,
I’d start to worry about my mental health,
Except by now I’m somebody else,
And I’m having a wonderful time.
Wish I was here.
Leave me alone so I can clear my mind,
It’s not you baby, it’s the world outside.
Distractions making my peace harder to find.
In this world there’s just nowhere to hide.
And I’m having a wonderful time,
I wish I was here.
My mind’s made up like a badly kept bed,
Sheets and pillows tangled up in my head,
But it’s starting to feel a little like fear,
And I wish I was here.
Need more time so I can waste it,
Working out my proper place in this.
Things turned sour, and now I can taste it, but
I’ve had enough sitting prone and complacent.
I’ve had wonderful time,
Just wish I’d been here.
‘Cos my mind’s made up like a badly kept bed,
All the blankets wrapped around in my head.
Now it’s starting to feel a lot like fear,
And I wish I was here.
I was drowning inside my mind. Didn’t see the ‘no swimming’ sign, But you came by and threw me a line. Now I’m out, and pretending to be fine. Having a wonderful time. Thankful you’re here.
I hope you speak to me real soon.
Hope you come out from your room,
Last time we did this,
We came so very close to broken.
Counting the days now,
Maybe the minutes since we’ve spoken.
Because I don’t want Us
To go and break Us.
We could shake this off.
How did we hate Us?
How did we end thus?
Now all around is just
Space to be apart.
Our togetherness cuts
Bleeding ruins of our heart.
I hope we find Us,
I hope we fix Us,
I just want ‘us’,
Always to be ‘Us’,
Despondency came calling, Seems to me it plans on staying. In the company of loved ones, You might get what I’m saying, When I’m wearing my headphones With no music playing. I hope they’ll forgive me If I’m not around here for a while, My mind’s gone on vacation, left A body with a plastic smile. I hear all this talk about having a soul, Not sure just what that’s about, but Maybe that’s what goes Inside this hole.
Ah, what bitter tears are these? That carve like acid, tracks of sorrow ‘pon my face for all to see. Witness in the way I walk, The lack of my self-worth. Hear me speak with vitriol, Bitterness that takes its toll, On you, on me.
Inside my lonely darkness
Lies the dream of a soft
Sad sister to a candle.
It flickers alot, and
Does not handle
Winds of change.
Compared to bright and brilliant
Social lights and flaring neon sign,
It seems small.
Fading, from the moment lit,
In darkness tries
To find her place in it.
I could stare for endless moments
At fallen crystalline wonder.
A diminutive drop of nature’s boast,
Reflecting and refracting.
A miniature masterpiece,
Slowly sliding along chaotic
Sway and flutter of a breeze blown leaf.
I look at this droplet and cry. Raw and wracking sobs that shake The very core of me. For I am chaos, and I am ruin. I will never feel within myself The calmness of this perfect thing. Complete and simple.
Oh hey, don’t mind me, I’m ‘just rude’. My crippling depression, ‘just a mood’. Hypomanic self-destruction is my food. Socially withdrawn? ‘Bad attitude’. Well if I told you to ‘get fucked’, Would that be crude? ? Then let’s get crude, Let’s get crude.
I came upon a strange loose-end Within my favorite sweater. As I pulled upon the thread, I started to feel better. Row after row, the cord unraveled, Over and under my body it traveled. As the colors of yarn grew brighter, The chains ‘pon my soul grew lighter. I cut the last knot, nimble and deft, Only then did I find, There was none of me left.