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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sits uneasily, bus seat perfunctory.
A lump of hard plastic.
Stares through the once was window, now just a diary of scratches and rage.
Watches uncertain possibilities of herself huddling around trash-can fires, scrounging through back alleys behind steaming food stores.
Standing staring back with vacant yet accusing eyes.
Sees herself in the cracks. The could have been. Might have been. Almost was. Hot and heavy tears, Almost unfallen, Often unnoticed. Always unsure. Perhaps they fall for all the could-have-beens. Perhaps they fall because I’m uncertain on which side of the glass I belong. Feels lucky.
Hates the burden of this unwanted blame.
Unresolved guilt builds into anger.
Resents your unspoken accusations.
Sick with self-doubt about how true they may actually be.
Hates these imagined obligations of grief, twisted and embedded in my head.
All these not-so-very-unlikely possible, potential versions of me.
I hate them.
I hate you.
I hate myself.
I hate society, for making me feel as though I should constantly feel lucky.
Lucky to be as damaged and fucked up and empty as I really am.
Oh, so lucky.
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.
And now for something completely diff…
well.. ok, pretty much the same
Express Elevator Down:
to Major Depressive Episode?
Don’t mind if I do.
“I am just going outside and may be some time.”
Feeling a little like…
‘Who cares if one more light goes out?
In a sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers.
Who cares when someone’s time runs out?
If a moment is all we are,
We’re quicker, quicker.
Who cares if one more light goes out?’
-One More Light / Linkin Park
‘Please don’t go, I want you to stay,
I’m begging you, please, please don’t leave here.
I don’t want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel.
The world is just illusion trying to change you.
Being like you are, well, this is something else.
Who would comprehend?’
-Illusion / VNV Nation
May I not look into myself
I’m not where I wished to be
At this particular time?
Why always try to
Invalidate my self-disappointment, or
Disregard my undirected rage?
My introspective deconstruction
Is my valid cage.
My right to hate myself,
How dare you say I mustn’t,
When I must, I must.
Emotionally drained, and I can’t feel my face, But I can feel the beating I gave myself again. Every emotional punch So savage and well aimed, Surprising no hard bruises remain. Nobody hates me like I do, I hate the part that hates me too. All the mistakes that I can see In everything I try to be, Send me further under, and Tear my heart asunder.
If I write things for myself, And I like what I have writ, But hating myself wholly Is, I must admit, A fundamental part of me, At least the largest bit. Reason and logic would therefore dictate, That anything I ever write or create, Is something I should hate..