i forgot to breathe

maybe that's where I goofed

or maybe the goof is in thinking that I messed up

that there was something to mess up

show up

release control of the outcome,
but keep on

show up

Lightly

Do I belong here or am I wondering about
Like an animal finally free of its cage
Unsure of the first few footsteps
Then a break way run into a
Dead stop at the bottom of nowhere.

Slow down to regroup,
Reflect

Dare to continue
Free as a bird
Awaiting your predators while you seek your next prey.

Seeking
Seeking

Forgetting what you're looking for,
Forgive my alliteration,
I've only just learned to dance to my own drum.

Practicing patience as I playfully persevere.

Sunset after sunset, finding happiness in the darkest rooms of the heart

Care to dance?

...

Feels so good to be back to myself. I found a me I didn't know still existed, I'm back in touch with my light, consider me unstoppable.

Fingers crossed I keep hold.

haunted December

Oh my muse, I miss you so.

You never knew what you were to me, I never saw it either.

Who were we then?

Fragments of real people, eclipsed by our own shadows, an abyss forever staring back, wondering where everyone went.

When did we become lights seeping through the dark, seeking to destroy all that is beautiful?

This cold weather makes me reminisce, a quiet longing for a moment, the way things used to be.

I'm still shaky with how things are now, and it's been 8 years.

As I reached out to touch you for the last time, purposely with my left arm, the ache was so strong, I had to walk away.

And I kept walking.

Unsure where I was going but I knew I had to go back. Even then, on the brink of reality, I knew the crash couldn't last.

I've always been envious of the sociopaths.

on moving on

While they sought love,
I sought a fan to my flames.

I get impatient sometimes,
but that's my own fault.

I remember the burning embers,
the childish dreams.

I've surrendered,
and I'll surrender still.

acceptance

It's cold here, where I'm learning lessons the hard way, honest mistakes gone awry.

The light in my eyes stayed lit, embers, ever burning. Hollow as the words falling out of my mouth.

I've turned to ice, soulless. Told myself it was determination to survive.

Hungry for more, how will I find satiation?

Certainly not by twisting the knife.

Such a fine line I'm dancing, right or wrong, either crumpled or too strong.

This highlights my loss, I want my compassion back.

It's clear I'm going to have to fight for what I want, and settle in to my reality.

I've been wanting to try this, sorrowful I needed a catalyst to propel forward.

And still I fight. I'm damn proud of the fighter I've become, soon I can forgive myself.

balance

the yearning to find the words
the way it feels to let yourself be haunted

(entranced by the words of an old song)

the twisting pull of the past
disillusioned illusions

shatter

the truth is staring you in the face
are you brave enough to accept it

c'est la vie

Remember when the words used to overtake you? It was all you could do to get them out.

Was it?

It felt so natural then, perhaps it is that that I miss.

Now I feel pretentious.

Maybe now I just think too fast.

I used to feel like I was two people. Maybe in some weird way I was. I left one of them behind.

I wish the leaving didn't feel so cold turkey.

I know it wasn't.
I let go slowly.

But it wasn't slow enough.







Sometimes the lack of sadness feels like a void.

Three times tonight I've come to this same page, trying to find the words

and then I realized something

I want to embrace writing again

I think I'm ready to fall back in love with language.

Third times the charm.




Think I found it.

Illusions

I'm a stranger in my own skin. 

That might be okay. 

What is the connection to the past?

Does it matter?

Can I let it go?

What if I miss it?

Why did I have so much hope that I'd get better, yet no plans for a better life?

No one has it all figured out. 

I just need it to have meant something. 

anger

I'm angry. I'm so very angry.

It's deep, and dangerous... and it doesn't feel good.

I have no where to channel my anger.

Turns out you can't avoid your family forever.

The past will eventually catch up, that makes me sad.

Am I sad?

Or am I angry?

I don't even know who I really am.

I need to go back to therapy, and I keep putting off making the phone call.

One day I'm gonna get the phone call that she died. I don't know what I'll do. There's nothing I can do. That's what makes it all so shitty. Death is final and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

Knowing she's dying both fills me with regret for not living a happier life, and makes me want to start living a happier life right the fuck now. Then I get angry I'm so sad and that it's interfering with me living that happier life.

When I first found out she was dying, the tears were frequent. Then they stopped. Like if I didn't cry it wasn't happening.


Well, this writing thing accomplished what it was supposed to, I suppose.

I started angry, and then I cried. And now I'll try to forget about it.

Thanks world.

still

I miss writing. I feel so far away from it, like it was never a part of me.
I was never a part of it. (I was just apart.)


I read my words from days gone by and my own metaphors have been lost on me.
I don't remember everything when I see my scars. Memories are escaping at an alarming rate. 


It frightens me. 




It's been awhile since I've talked about the things that scare me. The past sometimes seems so far away that I feel I've outrun it, or at least outgrown it. 
I think I'm lying to myself. 
Is it even possible to change overnight like that? 


All the pain had to go somewhere. 
Sometimes I feel it start to resurface-


and I choke it back down, telling myself it'll be okay... that life is different now... that I can handle it. That I didn't ever really need to handle it like that anyway, that I'm not and never was as sad as I felt. 


I think this is how it's supposed to be, full of questions and not many answers. 
Is it because I've found happiness? Was it ever something that needed to be found? 
(It existed without me.)
Why does my past bother me so much, yet so little? 
Did I need the pain?

didn't

Words are beautiful

an outlet for the pain.

Write them down.

treeology

simplicity hangs in the balance

between thoughts

and that's enough or so I'm told

we each have (own, are) a soundtrack

brush strokes on a canvas tell a tale

nondescript to the naked eye

each bristle holds a meaning if only for a moment

words (emotions) sweep over each canvas

we choose-

how we see

I've broken it apart as I see fit, now save the pieces as our new puzzle

blank

It's not that it hurts, it's just not that it doesn't.

I'm not overthinking this.

Okay I probably am. Just because I'm overthinking something, does that make it any less of a something? Does that strip it of its meaning? Are the answers scewered with the incessant questions?

I learned something the other night. It brings me back to the days of coming home from school, to the inevitable dinner table question- "what did you learn today?" As if the lessons from those days stuck... the math equations and the history lessons. It's rare to actually learn something.

Don't tell me.

Acceptance is stumbling down an eroded rock face.

Serenity is the view.

Words don't cuddle. They comfort at times, but they aren't warm and accepting.

It really bothers me that writing doesn't come to me like it used to. To say the least.

I'd word that better, except that I can't anymore.

untitled

At times like this
I wish I wrote music
and not just words.

A crescendo of feelings,
so tangible
in those moments of silence.

Thanksgiving.

It is with great indecision that I offer these words, fragments of my soul that they are, to the reader, whomever that may be.

I often find myself creating my own definitions. It's along the lines of reality that I've become my own dictionary. This method rarely fails, but please don't waste our time missing the keywords.

Ache is an empty word. The feeling echoes through my memories, fragilely clinging to the present, desperately wanting a shot at the future.

It's the absence of... something.

Cliche at best, but- I have always been homesick. There was a time when I thought this was because I've never had a home.

(Mind you I'm speaking of the deepest form of the word, the home that in fact may exist only as a memory.
Don't let me cross the line. Memories are not dreams, yet dreams are memories.)

I'm home... but I'll always be a little homesick around the holidays. I'm sure it doesn't help that each year there seems to be one less life.

How incredibly selfish that sounds. Shouldn't I just be thankful that I'm home?

This is a little rough around the edges and I apologize, more to myself than to anyone else.

It's been months. The bleeding has subsided, without a band aid.



Love makes for some darn good stitches.

bliss

blackened thoughts escape my fingertips
underwhelming grief
mourns the present

tense language speaks a new tone
longing for the things I miss
yet caught up in the mourning of missing
notes

is this acceptance?
trading flaws
and embracing the distance

never mind the shock
or is it?

I stopped
but my world isn't holding still

it was easier when I didn't know what I was missing


sometimes isn't always
and the past is no exception.

joy

I'm in the mood for confessions.

When thoughts echo silently, existence lacks meaning.
Obsession tears at the blank space, bleeding sunshine into the crevices.
This language barrier is diffusing...


(into a pervasive blindness)

contrast

Retrace the lines, the riddle isn't quite clear. If this is about the numbers, then...

Standing still infers a choice, at least when compared to being frozen.

Turns out I still haven't learned to not write in metaphors.

Does it matter if I can't find the right word? To just know that it's in there somewhere, waiting for me to dig it out? Will it help to point the finger? Right here, this one, this moment...

Searching for answers, and then it occurs to me that there may not be one. Maybe I'm not asking the right question.

It's not about being clingy. It's about having nothing to cling to.
Can I force myself to ask a new question? is it really possible to skip a step? If it was wouldn't I have skipped to the ending by now?

Notice the punctuation.

I am so free inside my mind. There is nothing I can't think to death.

Can this be enough?

Is that it?

Have I just never been enough?

It's so cliche. Why am I so afraid of being cliche? I don't want to be special, I just don't want to think the answer has being lying in front of me. I have not been consciously turning a blind eye.

"Why" is my question, and why shouldn't it be? There is so much wrong with that question, but there is nothing really wrong with anything, is there?

These words do not hold the meaning of a touch. It's not a fence, or a wall. It's a fear.

For everything I am I also am not. We're back at the beginning, except I'm stuck at the end. Are they not the same?

Black and white he says. What about violet?

It's in what gets left behind. I have been empathizing with inanimate objects.

I know
In the past
It seems once I write it down, it fades.

There is no warmth to be found in the furnace as I search through the icicles.

Will you let me rewrite the dictionary? Because I think I'm going to.

aggressively passive

And nothing even seems as so it is...

...And even so nothing is as it seems.

(Horizontal
focus
gives
me
permission
to
feel
in
spite
of
myself.)

Let's...

antonym

A forethought crashes into an afterthought.

Will the scars fade
before you understand what put them there?

It's never been a fear of the certainties,
I know water extinguishes flames.

Your knife split the difference,
(her shadow limped away)
and a trail of hope dripped down the freeway.

I will survive by bleeding to death.

Dreams belong in a ditch,
abandoned with the fear that feeling isn't okay.

Silence constricts my heart,
my veins have forgotten how to breathe
as guilt intertwines with emotions.

In my search for oxygen
I have written with moments-
but the colors have changed,
leaving my lungs aching for meaning.

You reach out to touch the canvas
as I hold my breath,
waiting for the paint to dry.

(Strength is also found in what I'm becoming
and for that I wish to thank you.)

Promise me that we won't need to remember our future.

As I become what you may view as stronger, my veins intertwine, constricting my heart. It's always been hard for me to breathe, but lately it's because I can't find my oxygen. This is not to say that I've lost the air from my lungs, I am scarred from the moments where my hands were steady and sure.

I've been playing duck duck goose with my memories, missing the days I don't remember and hoping for the band aid to stick.

displaced

The ties that bind
cut so deep
and
so close to home-

(although on days like this I seem to have misplaced mine)

it would all but cease to matter.

star bright, star light

I've got a fallen star on a shelf in my closet,
and a clock that ticks backwards,
while the box of chocolates grows stale.

We are the same, alone in our ice cubes,
yet I feel you drowning
while the distant guilt of a flashback
plays water torture on your forehead.

An exhalation brings calm to my heart
as I begrudgingly tiptoe towards the door.
I have become immune to the sense of dread.
(Guess who won that battle?)

Freedom is a second glance;
ignore the waterboarding
and focus on the absence of noise.

I don't want my soul to die
or my language to stumble, and
I can already hear the sirens as I
elope with a leaf.

The night holds me ransom,
furiously scribbling thoughts of its conundrum.
(Distraught snow fell peacefully on that rooftop,
as the world stretched in a poignant agony.)
Must we always cope?

Agonizing over every letter
with a reckless abandon,
blood drips on the page
as I frantically write out the demons
of a life lived in metaphors.

It's always the other kind, but
today the bomb won't stop ticking.
The ancient goddess of the dead
has held my hand while I shoved aside the silence.

I relate to every word and familiarity eases the ache.
Now I'm just waiting for it to break the chains,
because this is a cross I won't justify bearing.

The last thing I want is to be your chore.
Don't forget to tend the sheep, dear.
If you choose to bale the hay,
then you'll play this game with me.

I'm half past useless and a quarter to disappointment,
just skin over laughing bones,
so figure out a way to hold my words.
(Speak my language- never is waiting for the paint to dry.)

As the words assault me,
part of this becomes you.
Here's a hint- take what you know,
mix it with the unknown,
toss in a couple well placed questions,
and you can call me Sleeping Beauty.

Admit you're lost too?

The fallen star is locked inside a hand carved box,
gift wrapped with curls and marbles for a tongue-
holding on for a rainy day without a drop,
and a dropkick so swift the memories fall flying off the ivory tower,
crashing on the sidewalk with no names and rusted pennies.

They are calling for another meteor shower,
the last of its kind for at least half a lifetime.
So make a wish with me,
as I grow shy from the frustration that lacks a voice.

When I learn to stop speaking this language,
will you replace the glass with an ignited future?

bliss

The words I abandon
become
the warmth of a candle's glow...

steel wool

It's in the words
I can't call home about.

Silence on the line,

never mind why

so much is said with so little.

sentence structure

Happily necessary

(yet)

miserably redundant.

untitled

I'd describe to you images
but you'd never see them the way I do-

The pathway, so dirty and alone,
with a slow moving fog on the right
and a tumultuous eclipse
lurking in the sinister shadows.

I can't outrun my future
and I am sad from trying.

Do I stay on this forgotten trail,
forever waiting for tomorrow?

Or run screaming into the mist,
knowing my inner calm lies?
(in the wetness on her skin)

There is no comfort in acceptance,
because this time there will be no sun
to remind me of my existence.

Maybe the answer is to embrace
the things I need,
and re-live the things I don't,
so that I can have the things you want.

the big picture

This is my angry-
that sometimes there is nothing (no smell, no feeling)
how dare the world be still?

Every day is like waking up
before all my after.
Damn me for my similes.

All I know is hidden.
When the sun shines
through the forest through the trees,
I refuse to squint as I don't want to fight back my light.

I'm still here,
but there's a new definition
behind all the things I'm not saying.
Do you know this song?

(bittersweet,
just be,
I have to let myself balance)

Comfort is found in the questions;
static is more than just an empty noise.

I've got a strange way of showing you,
and this is it.
Do you know me?
Do you even want to?

'Til the end of time I want to
choke back happiness.
My doubts prevent me from assuring you
of the words I will not say.

Would you rather see the angel on your pillow,
or the goodbye note on the bathroom mirror?

I don't make promises without meaning.
(Do you know what meaning is to me?)
I promise this scrambled fragment of hope-
once I'm all yours, that's what I will forever be.

Patience.
I like being cold.
(Take that out of context, it has nothing to do with you.)

Transfixed with passion,
barely breathing I pant your name,
wishing you would notice
the way the sky falls.
Reminding me of anything...
but mine.

On the drive home,
the crisp aroma of burnt cold
(covering up the campfire feelings)
seared into me a memory that's yet to be made.

double meaning

I need a word. I'd like to say any word will do, but it's a specific one I'm looking for. The problem is the word I'm wanting does not exist.

It needs to describe the lightheaded dizziness that is my perception of life.

(See, a thing about me is when I write I choose every word with a feverish caution, needing it to fit perfectly in any imaginable way. You can read my words as they rest peacefully on the page, or you can hack at them with a pick axe until you get it. Part of me would like to warn you that no matter how you try, you probably won't ever get it. It's okay, because I don't actually understand either. I'm trying, so maybe you will too?)

I need a word to convey how it is.

The word would allow you a glimpse into my head. When you gaze into my eyes, I believe you will realize you only need a fleeting second to understand.

For everything that I am, I also am not. Maybe you're the same way? Maybe you manifest it differently, I don't know. For now, I'm not fixating on my analysis of myself. My flaws are not what this is about.

This is about the need for things I can't have- the misery that makes me happy, the bliss that makes me cry. The in one ear, out the other approach.

I feel there is a spark of something- perhaps it's a flame sparking over the top of the lighter, or maybe it's the sparkle in my eyes as I laugh at my own foolishness. Don't think that flame reference was in regards to me. At least not the goosebumps all over, mind blowing type of burning. Right?

Open your mind. I love fire. Not just the flames, but the idea of something all consuming. It's very representative of my hopes and aspirations. I kissed some of them goodbye. It was a better goodbye. I could have said bitter, I would have meant that too. Bittersweet even. That's a pretty word.

Words are the key to my heart. Not the kind of key that someone can have, or hold, or even know what the hell to do with. The kind of key that allows me to tap into myself so that I can open up for someone who holds a different type of key.

Words are a skeleton key.

My skeleton is happy today. That doesn't mean I am, doesn't mean I ever have been. Not to say that I'm not either. Smiling through the pain. Smiling because of the pain. Smiling without the pain. I'll always smile. It's always okay.

I don't need the pain, or want the pain. That's not what this is about either. It could possibly be about how I'm lost, looking for things I'll never find. When I stop and stare into the distance over your shoulder, I realize I'm not so lost. Do you think it's because I'm close to you? Or that since it's your shoulder I'm gazing over I feel like I've found my home? Sometimes I feel like I've found my heart. It's floating. That's not the point either. It's not about me. It's really not. It's not about you either. Or them.

What else is there? The language of my soul. Sure, the words are there that could fool you into thinking that it's still about my need to be understood. I did use a possessive word, after all. Who could blame you for choosing the peaceful route?

Read between my lines if you want to tame my spirit. Not to say that if you do that, you'll succeed. I don't know what it means, no one has ever actually done it. I think sometimes if I could do it, then you could too. I already addressed that. Maybe you should re-read while I continue pondering.

It's ceaseless and meaningless. Do I have your attention? I don't want to be ordinary. I'd imagine no one does. I don't want to be extraordinary either. What a horrible word. I hope you can see why. If I write long enough and hard enough I will chisel away at my own chains. Be patient. I've waited a lifetime, and I'm still holding on.

The day I realized that pain won't kill me was the day I died. And by dying, I mean I split in two. Or three. Numbers aren't exactly my thing. The point is I am not what I am. I am what I can not be, and what I will never be. I am not what you think I am. I am not what I think I am. I am me.

At my most imaginative, I envision my corpse brimming over with words. They float, dance and twist through my veins.

I hold a vacant stare when I pour my emotions into your soul. I am scared of my vulnerabilities, yet I embrace them in my writing, however masked they may be. I force questions upon you in hopes of deflecting any that may arise on their own, yet I hope fervently that you never stop wondering.

Ask me. I'm an open book. The book is written in another language, but isn't everything?

I'm cold and warm. Confused by my clarity. Miserable in my suffering. Happy with my goodbyes. Patient with my answers. Empty when I'm whole. Anxious to ask more questions. Being nervous calms me down. I spook easy, but I'm never afraid. I can mean it when I say that nothing surprises me. (I feel I should say that nothing surprises me anymore, but I was caught off guard before I even learned what a surprise was.) I am proud of the things that I find revolting. I am ashamed of the things that make me feel normal. One of these statements is a lie. Do you see a pattern?

I love meaning. Every sense of the word. I'm ashamed to say it, but I want to mean something. That's probably the most blatant sentence I have ever uttered. It takes my pain away, but replaces it with a different hurt.

I'm defeated, but I'm winning. Maybe your first instinct is to think that I lost the battle but won the war? Only time will tell.

"If" is a terrible, terrible word. That is a flaw. It means something. I suppose you'd need a decoder to get it, so you'll just have to trust me. Do you trust me? Is it possible to fully trust another person? I'd like to think so. I'd also like to think that if you search deep enough you can actually know another person. As I say that I'm terrified you will one day know me, yet it's all I could ever hope for.

It's careless of me to want to lose a part of me. I'll whisper into the sunset that this is what I really want. I'll believe it when the sun rises the next day and I'm still whole.

Where is my comfort? Tell me my love, what comforts you? Maybe I can reflect it back at you.

Would you rather dance with me or the devil? Perhaps the devil should join us, I hear he specializes in fire. You know, that kind. The kind that makes my eyes flutter shut in a breath of ecstasy. Will you hold my hand?

Just don't touch me, unless you mean it.

14

The worst didn't happen, and in my own way I'm thankful for what did, though I think it's only fitting to feel a twinge of... something.

“Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in 'sadness,' 'joy,' or 'regret.' Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feelings. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, 'the happiness that attends disaster.' Or: 'the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy.' I'd like to show how 'intimations of morality brought on by aging family members' connects with 'the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.' I'd like to have a word for 'the sadness inspired by failing restaurants' as well as for 'the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.'” -Jeffrey Eugenides

between the lines

Reflective.

(The other kind.)

We are not windows.
I am not a door.
There is no mirror.

seventeen

Five more minutes?
All I have is time
and all I ever want is

wasted wishing on stars.
Spinning, staring
dreaming of days gone

without a sound.
I look toward my future
and all I ask is for

five more minutes,
knowing full well
it's before the after.

duck feathers

"Which part are you?"

My language is faltering
but my hands are steady.

Dropping matches
into a kaleidoscope of metaphors-

the light shines just right
and a smile escapes my frown.

edit

Two thousand words later, I found it.

Doesn't mean I won't lose it again. The light bulb turned on. Let's hope it's one of those crazy energy saver ones that doesn't need to be changed for a few years.

My thoughts are collected, and I believe in me.

what if

the truth is elusive
much like my spirit
they are mutually exclusive


shadows flicker on the ceiling
I make a wish as I hold my breath
my heart frantically whispers-
addiction parallels me
life would be
dull and perfectly devoid
if we could pick our oxygen

what would you choose?

I'm happy (terrified)
I won't hurt anymore.

and even so...

"flashbacks are all I've got to look forward to"
I see strange things in this town-
this one broke my heart.

it goes without saying that this could never be me,
my past is too haunted
yet my heart still breaks

(when I'm lacking pain)
I tap into everyone else's
a monster in the shadows-

the ties are severing
desperately trying to hold together
as they are pried apart

what will I become?
can a calm spirit still be...
free?

I'd like to say I'm scared
as you whisper in my ear-
daring me

a more tempting taunt
than the flames ever were.

ghostbusters

The silence only grows louder until your heart ceases to feel the noise. There are a few words I'd like to erase from existence. Why? People become fascinated, mesmerized, enthralled, intoxicated, hypnotized.

You swear you can see straight through me, and you probably could if you just knew where to look. Then again if I knew where to look you wouldn't have to see straight through me. You wouldn't even see me at all.

This is the part where I'll babble, and you'll probably almost enjoy it. A glimpse into the darkness, just don't light a candle. The symbolism would bleed me dry.

Problem is I can't live without the innocent and unknowing. They are so innocent and I just don't know. Why are they so intrigued? We're all innocuous masochists. One or the other anyway.

It's so simple- why can't you see it? The answer is likely because I just can't say it. Doesn't change the fact that the night sky would still be beautiful without stars.

Maybe I've paid for my sins and I can start to live. Don't even think about asking what sins, because I still don't know the answer to that.

He says that my past is past and if it made me who I am now then it was all worth it. At least that's what I think he's trying to say. The point is, I can believe him- however foolish that may be.

If I were to bare my soul to you, you'd see that I'm not independent, I just don't know how to need anything. It's about comfort really, and as hard as it is to admit, no one was ever meant to put out the fire. I'd rather be distant. Insert the cliche here, but the bottom line is you can't stop yourself from falling.

In closing, I'll add a few words that I just can't seem to form into sentences. These are the most important weapons in my arsenal.

fire
independent
distant
open
soul
violent
comfort
stumbling
mending


"We're getting away with it, all messed up."

lethologica

scrambled,
making perfect sense until I slow it down
pick it apart
realize that words are useless-
and always have been

maybe feelings aren't meant to be captured-
hold for a minute before letting go?

I know the four (useless) words
that could make all this fade for awhile
and until I can believe them-

I'll need a new canvas to finger paint on
because
I'm free from everything but myself.

realization

I wore that awful shirt, the bright green one with the bright orange flowers. Oh how I loved that thing. The room was dark. Thinking back, it was the last time we were all together. I remember the adults whispering how I was too young to be there, that someone should take me outside. If the me I am now could have talked to the me I was then, I would have ran from that room and never looked back. Instead I held her hand and whispered that I loved her. I don't know why it hurt me so bad. If I was allowed to wish, I'd wish that right then someone had noticed the frightened little girl. How incredibly selfish of me.

So what happened? I grew up in that hospital room, and no one told me it was okay to cry- and it never has been. That was the first time I felt pain, and I missed the memo on how to deal with it.

In the pretend world, I realize this. I pinpoint the day I started to become who I am, but in reality there's not much to be done about it.

For now, just realizing it is enough. One step at a time.

my cigarette

we got a strange way with affection

must be the shirt

it makes me feel goofy

because people like me

"don't do things like that"-

trip and fall

only to roll around in the snow

how sweet of you

you made angels with me

to leave me wanting more

so I'll hold my breath-

do you?

hmmm

new feelings
or buried old ones?

dig them up with a pitchfork
now that's symbolic-

time froze
it all went so fast

let go

be scared with me
the fear is fun now

hours

I know that I don't want to hurt myself. I don't want to die. I don't even want to hurt my liver anymore by drinking or taking more pills. I refuse to smoke another disgusting cigarette. I'm eliminating my options until there are none left. Right this second, I don't even care about what's socially acceptable. Why should I care what other people think? It's about me for once, all the pressure is on me.

I don't know how long it's been since the last time. I wish I remembered it. I wish I had known it was the last time. I would have savored it like a final breath. Days, weeks, months have passed. I've been through alot in those months, and I made it through. It's so much easier when life is hectic, I don't have time to think. As the holiday spirit smothers me, I find I have more time to reflect.

A small part of me wishes I could still feel the past vividly. I wish I could remember the way it felt. I feel guilty for not remembering it. I feel guilty for everything these days. Perhaps that is why I am suffocating in my anger. I am angry at myself, yes I admit it. I denied the issues for so long. I always thought the root of it all was me avoiding my emotions. Apparently I've always been angry, and it's been the reason behind everything I've done. I don't think I buy into this school of thought. I don't want to believe my anger has always been there, that feels so horrible to me- just another thing to feel guilty about.

I am guilty though, because the thing is, I do want to hurt myself. I want to still be able to. I need it like I need air. I wish someone understood that. I wish I understood that. The scars on my body are healing, but I'm not. Every day without will make it that much worse when or if I do finally return. Whenever I have so much as a split second to think, I close my eyes and remember the hesitation, the smell, the waiting, the gasping for air, and the relief. I want to open my eyes and be in that moment. I want to convince myself it's worth it, that it's okay.

frozen

I will not keep doing this.

I will not.


I am going to give in.

Sweet, sweet release.

It's not a need.
It's not a want.

It's something deeper.
Something harder and more complex.

It is not something you understand.
It is not something you will ever understand.


That's ok, but know this:
I will not fight it.

I will not have to fight it.

I am going to give in.

cauterized

it's taken me this long to realize
it seems I should feel foolish

I think it just takes the heart some time
to coincide with the mind
and heaven only knows what the body thinks

I think it hurt
physically

but for so long
the mental and the actual
were the same thing

so how I am to blame myself
for not being able to tell the difference?


What the hell is this poetic crap? There is nothing poetic about what happened. The point here is that it's in the past. Now when I think about it, when I recall that night and what really happened, it does not hurt. Am I past the hurt? I don't know, I don't care. The point is the here and now, the faded scar. The fading memories. It has ceased to hurt me. In a strange way, I am bothered by this. Shouldn't I feel thankful? Perhaps even relieved? In my own way, I realize how little it all meant. Now, I can scarcely remember the way I felt. I hope no one ever makes me feel that way again. I am glad to be free, to be back in control.

I'm almost certain it's a beautiful world.

bubble bath

i need to feel
i need to not

i need to stop and remember to breathe
just breathe
that's what we all do isn't it?

and life just continues
it moves on
with or without me
or you

i don't hate you
i can't forget you
i can't forgive you
i can't let go
i can only breathe

breathing isn't helping
it's all so cliche
and mundane

my can't i feel anything?
why do i always prepare to cry
and never allow the tears to fall

i want to break free
get away from this place

it hits home
no matter how far or fast i run
i am what i'm running from
and i can't outrun myself

or the past
i'll only run into the future
i've been here before
the answers are the same
to the questions i never asked

there's nothing left to say
i never had a choice
did i?

thoughts are flying
always have to remember to breathe

i should give in
and cry

but then again
who says i should?
what does their opinion matter?

what do i matter?
don't say what you feel you should
"but you do matter"

why do you feel the need to lie
anyone
anytime
can get over
anything

we all deal with things in our own way
this one is killing me
i've forgotten the details

it has become dreamlike
as if i'm holding my breath underwater
as long as i keep my eyes and mouth shut
i'm not really underwater

if i open my eyes
i see everything swirling around me
peaceful as all things are
when drifting afloat

however
when i open my mouth to scream...

scream you might ask?
why would someone scream at the serenity?

it's a lurking evil
waiting to pounce out from the shadows
i can sense it, it's definitely there

maybe
probably
perhaps?

definitely?

what do i know
i just stuck my head underwater
and took a deep breath

my eyes were open
the water caressing them
represented the tears i was never quite able to cry

i don't hate you
i don't hate you
i can't forget you
i can't forgive you
i can't let go
i can only breathe

finally

do you want it all?

in my mind
I'll breathe in the smoke
swallow down the pills
and breathe out the silence,
the relief-
the absolute fear

in my mind
I can envision my arms rotting
just as vividly as
I can feel my blood
pulsing through them

I want to know this is how it could end
I want to know this could have been the night
I want to know it never mattered
I have to know

in my mind
things are exactly the same
acceptance is brutal
shame it doesn't change a damn thing

instead I'll sit
the disillusioned ramblings of
a
dream

endlessly, she said

time keeps passing
it won't slow down
and it certainly won't stop

I died a long time ago
why is my body still here?

I am trapped
in the stillness of it all
the word around me is spinning
yet I never move

I miss things
the comforting feeling
of fighting my reflexes
and pressing harder

I miss people
the ones I've lost
the one's that never were

let me sleep
forever is too much to ask-
I realize this
because I know the pain of
losing someone

shall we compromise?
let me sleep
until the end of time.

epiphany via lobotomy

shaking
the words fly from my brain
too fast for my fragile fingers to type
I can't think of the proper way to say things
the wrong words keep coming to mind

this is me,
magnified

I keep typing
and erasing

"it helps to write it down, even if you then cross it out"

I'm gonna go with that
and hope to god it's true

flying
jittery
mumble jumbled

I could run a marathon right now
if it wasn't for the fact that standing up
makes me want to throw up

ahh life
the little things that just carry you away

getting caught up in moments
what makes a life?

is it the drastic things?
or the mundane?
a combination of both perhaps?

too many thoughts
incoherent

someone reach in
grab ahold of my bleeding brain
toss it on the table
lets cross examine it

ask it how it feels
I can envision this so clearly
I'll poke it with a stick

(no, Rachel, sticks are unsanitary
how about a fork instead?

yes, yes a fork will do
perhaps when I'm done we can feast

aha! cannibalism... what's not to love)

let's focus here-
my brain
bleeding
on a table
in front of us
can you see it?

I can feel it

see that little ridge there?
that holds the memory of that day

oh and that one, that'll make me cry
but the little bump next to it will make me laugh

what if
maybe
we pushed them both at once
along with the one way over there?
the one that makes me forget

what then?
would that day vanish?
would all the other memories come flooding back?

up until now,
my biggest fear-

was to wake up one morning
and say to myself
"what if I had done that crazy thing I wanted so badly to do?"

this has been my excuse for every mistake I've ever made
the dreadful, consuming fear that I would regret not finding out the hard way

now I contemplate the opposite end
of the spectrum

"what if I had not done that crazy thing I wanted so badly to do"

what if

what if

what if

it begins to dawn on me that I might be full of regrets
I am not necessarily bothered by this

just because I'm sorry
doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it at the time

I've always lived for the moments

it's rather unfortunate
that I let those sad moments consume me

rewind

my world shattered

toothpicks became weapons
and dollar bills became a death sentence

some might say I grew up too fast
I'm going to point out
I never grew up at all

I'm still that fragile little girl
who never knew quite how to say
"help"

all I could do was dream
every night for 10 years
as my life whirled by-

walking down the hallway
mirrors on both sides
laughter echoes in my ears
resounding through my body

my heart pounding in my chest
I feel compelled to run
I hear a sharp crack
glancing side to side

I notice the mirrors are breaking
slowly they crash to the floor
I see the fragments of my life
reflected on the fractured glass

the laughter grows louder
taunting me
I fall
the lights flicker out
leaving me crawling in the dark

this is the part where I wake up

tonight is different

I can see clearly the ending-

I blindly reach for the pieces off the floor
the laughter subsides
I move quickly on the inside
if only my limbs would get the message

I swallow the broken glass
every last little fragment

my insides will hemorrhage
but you'll never know

it's brilliant

occasionally I will bleed
penance for my sins if you will

what a breath of fresh air!
I've got to take it slow
let it go

the bleeding will stop
if it hasn't already

turns out
I'm not so broken after all

I'm going to make it

now
if you would be so kind

put my brain back where you found it

then be on your way


I want to do this on my own.

point of origin

I don't even know how to explain what I'm feeling... what I'm thinking. Is that what you'd call it? Memories perhaps? Imagery so incoherent I can barely grasp it before it vanishes. Slow down, breathe. Always have to remember to breathe.

I smile my way through the long days, knowing what night will bring. A chance to escape. I grab my weapons and snuggle into my bed. A few deep breaths while I debate if I really want to do it. The bottom line is that it's a choice. It always has been, and it always will be. Sure, there are other things I could do... other methods of coping. There's a million ways to destroy yourself. This one works, so why should I change?

The pain makes me gasp. It's so exquisite. The flames are all consuming. They touch such a small part of the whole, yet they control all of me. I don't want to die. I just want to be free. When the flame laps at my flesh I am able to float away. I separate from this reality. My body tenses, my eyes flutter shut. There is peace here... calm.

Ugh

Why do I have to do stupid things? I am so out of control, I want certain things so badly I can taste them... and then I force them to slip right through my fingertips. Anyone bored enough to do a little reading could learn an awful lot about me on these pages. I wish I could read them and learn the same.

If only I could explain to someone what it is to be self destructive. It should be such a simple explanation, given that everyone does something that could be interpreted as self destructive. Sometimes it even gets to the point where you feel you deserve to die.

When you live your life looking for the next way to hurt yourself you might learn that warm charcoal tastes better than cold charcoal.

hurt

I don't care how much it hurts to die. I know that it can't hurt anymore to die than it does to live. It hurts to see all the cruelty in our world... it hurts to experience a misunderstanding with another person. It hurts to argue, it is painful when no matter what you do it seems you never see eye to eye with someone. It hurts to even give a shit about any of the things I just mentioned. I want to be cold hearted like the people I run across.

where do dreams go?

"What's the point in all this screaming... no one's listening anyway."

I'm so lonely and I feel so invisible. Why is it that we are always the most alone when we are surrounded by the most people? Two months ago I turned off my emotions. It has been a scary two months. I'm starting to crack and I don't know how to deal with it. Is there anyone out there to talk to?



I've never felt so alone.

open

I feel vulnerable tonight. It's a pleasant sort of vulnerable... the kind where your heart is wide open and all you really want is a smile. I can look back on what I've lived of my life and find lots of happy moments, the only problem is for every happy moment there is a shadow that has been cast over it. I need someone or something to lift the cloud that hangs over my life. I've been letting go of a lot of things the past several weeks. I've started to see that life would be dull without the ghosts that haunt me. They keep me company, they keep me sane. I'm finally able to focus on reading again, all I need now is a hot bubble bath to curl up with a book in. Either that or I want the bubble bath so I can slit my wrists in it.

broken

It's starting to sink in that I'm not happy. I feel so completely empty inside, so hollow. I've never felt so alone. I've pushed everyone away. I sit and cry off and on for hours. I try to think of what it would take to make me happy but nothing comes to mind. I used to be filled with so much hope for the future. I hoped so fervently that I'd get better. With every day that goes by I start to feel less and less hopeful. What do I feel? I feel like a failure. I feel like I've let everyone down. I haven't written because I don't feel like what I have to say is important enough to bother writing down. It's like I'm bogged down by all these emotions. I feel like I have to keep them to myself. It's killing me, and I mean that. I'm hiding everything from everyone. I hide things from myself. I forget what I'm supposed to be hiding. I keep trying to distract myself, sometimes it goes really well and I forget I'm distracted. I can't stop thinking about suicide. I've started thinking further into it, thinking about who I'd hurt. I wish I was a selfish person. It's not that I lack the guts to do it, its that I know people would be sad. The way I see it, everyone else is selfish. They don't want me to do it because they'll feel bad that they didn't do more to stop me. The thing is, they don't want to put forth the effort to stop me. The longer I type the more I start to think this could be my suicide note. Every day I wake up and hope that it will get better. I just want to stop crying. I want to close myself off from everyone and just rot. It used to be when I felt like this I'd get the desire to hop on a plane and fly away from my troubles. Either that or I'd get the urge to hurt myself. I'm afraid to go near a lighter. I want to destroy myself. I want a razor so that I can slit my wrists with it. I want to take as many pills as I can find then slit my wrists. I want to bleed to death slowly. I don't want to die fast. I want to look around and maybe feel something for the first time in a long time. Maybe I'll feel regret, maybe I'll feel peace. No one on this earth knows me, no one sees this hell I've put myself in. I can't breathe some days, I want to just start screaming. I'm hitting an all time low. I don't know what to do. I just sit really still and hope for the best. Help me.

stuttering

I'm tired and lonely. I don't know what it means to be happy. I can't grasp the concept. Most importantly I'm tired. I can't find a reason to open my eyes or to take another deep breath. I want to reach out for help but I don't know how. I can't see past the darkness. I want to scream and yell for someone to notice that I'm dying inside.

dull sharp pain

Who's to blame when you stop breathing? When the world ceases to twirl... when time just stops. You head will spin with the dizziness of it all. You'll gasp for air but none will be found. Your eyes will slip closed for the last time. Crawl inside my head. Time is still ticking, the scenes are playing like a dull broken record. It's a nightmare in here... you can't even conceive the agony. I'd stare at a blank wall all day if I had something to stop me. It aches throughout my body. I'm hungry for a reprieve.

note to self

Blah. I wish this writers' block would disappear.

beautiful

At some point through all this numbness I'm starting to feel. What do I feel? What would be the emotion I feel after all these months of empty? I feel numb. Beautifully numb. Empty but not wanting to be filled. What do I want? Nothing. I lied. I want everything. I want to float away to another time where I can be whole.

built to flee

Human emotions are unexplainable. The way people interact can be terrifying, never knowing what the other person will do. Unpredictability is maddening.

I don't write often anymore, there is seldom anything to say. I still am burdened with questions, but it all blurs into the same still frames. I'm looking for the answer as to why these questions never leave me.

I lay awake at night and wonder what my life would be had I done just one thing different. I replay moments in my head and ponder the ramifications an action has on a life.

Scars remind me of my past. They bring tangible feeling to an intangible emotion. I can't even begin to explain the emotion, it grasps at my soul leaving me breathless and shaking.

What is it to love? Certainly we must love ourselves first. How?

To me, love is like the age old game of hide and seek. We hide the things we fear will hinder love. We hide our flaws out of fear, either of rejection or out of courtesy to the other person. Perhaps we just don't want them to hurt like we do.

What do you do when you hide things from yourself? How do you find them? How do you face your own secrets?

"I call baby up, leave me alone... I'm in pain but I won't let you band aid the wound."

safe

Where do you go when you go away? Where is the place you feel safe? What is it to feel safe? My mind splits open tonight and I can see clearly both sides. I watch the little drops of what some may call sanity spill out onto a shattered soul. The soul seeps with emotion or something like it, leaving me trembling in an effort to control myself.

I fall on purpose. I was tripped, but I chose to fall. I stick to the belief that only when we are truly broken can we allow ourselves to mend.

Break me.

broke down

I don't know what to say. The fever that is my home has subsided leaving me a whole person again. Writing doesn't come easily if at all when I'm like this. I'm no longer in touch with human suffering, and pain is the outlet for any sort of writing. I'm at a loss for words, there is nothing to say. Perhaps if I stopped faking it and allowed myself to feel then some words would start to flow.

collide

What would my world be if I had done just one thing different? If I had said what I was thinking instead of what I was feeling. My mind races tonight, so full of thoughts about our existence.

If even the smallest thing such as the flapping of a butterfly's wings has the potential to shatter the world then imagine the repercussions of a humans actions.

I have to be strong, to see past myself- through myself. In seeing past myself I see how to truly help humankind. I am starting to believe the answer is to ignore their existence. To live and love for myself only. Never mind that I can't even begin to understand what it is I seek.

I live the same still frames in my mind over and over, beating myself up a little more each time.

Tonight I realize that I am alone. Shivering, shuddering, horrified. Shaking, heart-pounding, scared. I want to be alone but I don't want to be lonely. Are they the same?

cracked my head

Tears are droplets of emotion that can no longer be contained inside the body. They seek freedom from the monotony of our souls, choosing to cascade down our faces in hopes of finding solace.

When the tears are unable to escape it leaves the body feeling hopeless. The eyes stare at the sunset as the heart sinks a little lower while the sun slowly disappears.

Imagine if it rolled in reverse so smoothly. The sun would rise as the heart sours to cloud nine, finding happiness and losing the desire to cry.

Life begins to crack. Small, barely noticable rifts at first- but they begin to rupture and spread throughout every aspect of life. Soon the life is so full of cracks that it shakes in an attempt to hold together. It would seem as if it needs to be taped up- from the inside of course. If the tape was from the outside then people would notice and that simply would not be acceptable.

What happens when it shatters? The tears will surely flow, saddened knowing they were unable to hold the life together. The emotions will fall apart, leaving the body breathless and lacking life.

some sort of window

Oh it has begun- the unsettling process where the layers are stripped from my mind and all I'm left with is myself. Ever hear a song that seeps into your core and thoroughly rattles you to the bone? Songs are poetry, poetry is words. Great words are those that cause you to see a situation in a way you never would have thought to perceive it.

Everyone lives in their own unique way. Sometimes people do things that seem wrong in the eyes of others but we must remember that each person is only doing the best they know how with what they have been given. As I ponder this I feel so symbolic that it becomes tragic.

What does it mean to be alone? These words leave my mind and become hauntingly alone on the page. Sometimes the more people you have surrounding you the more alone you begin to feel. It's inescapable. You are trapped inside your body, or perhaps outside of it. The world swirls by you so fast you swear you almost miss it. Maybe you do miss it. Maybe you want to miss it. Maybe by missing it you will be able to find it.

We never know what we have until it is gone.

need a sunrise

What does it mean to know a person? To know their thought process, to understand why they breathe, to realize what it is exactly that allows them to get out of bed each day and face the world. To know their fears just as well as you know their dreams. To know why they dream as they do, and what it is that is holding them back from chasing that dream. To know what makes them tick, to truly walk that mile in their shoes.

We simply cannot ever really know another person. We barely even know ourselves. Sometimes we do things that catch us off guard and leave us breathless with wonder. We do things we didn't realize we were capable of, just as we fail at things we thought we could do with ease.

Is there anyone that can understand? What do you do when you lose feeling? What do I do when I can't sleep? What do I really do? You might think that I write but that's not actually what this is. It is so much more, and so much less. I am free. It's like driving down a long stretch of road where there are no other cars for miles and somewhere deep down you know you can drive as fast as you dare but something holds you back. What holds us back?

I am held back because I can't just accept anything. I can't take something and simply allow it to be. I need to know why and how and when it's going to change. I need to know the specifics when they don't exist. Where does this leave me?

Look deep inside yourself. Be truthful, don't try to hide from the only person who will ever have a chance at knowing you.

It leaves me just like you.

"You don't know me, and you don't even care. You don't know me, you don't wear my chains."

in another time

Tonight I am floating through the emptiness of time and space, reaching for something familiar through which I might center myself. As a last ditch effort to save me from myself, I turn to the art of writing. Will it protect me? I fear it isn't what I am needing on this dark night.

What does it mean to feel?

It's like nothing I've ever experienced. I close my eyes, gently rocking my head backwards. My mind becomes completely clear. All I can think of, all I can feel- is the pain. I don't consider it pain. To me, it is ecstasy. Flames burn so brightly at first. So symbolic. My body tenses, then relaxes. I open my mouth faintly as if to scream, but instead I close my eyes tighter. My body shivers. I feel a tingle in my arms, and I realize I have goosebumps. I think of the things in life that should have caused me tangible pain, and realize that I didn't even feel them. Suddenly the intoxication ends. I am brought back to reality.

Nothing else matters in that fraction of a second where all you have is a feeling.

Feelings are all so relative, so open to interpretation.

Everybody has a question. That one nagging question that eats away inside their brains. I am no different. The answer that eludes me stems from the question- "why do we feel?"

take it slow

Today I'm standing at the edge of something earth shattering. It's subliminal though, so at times it can be difficult to tell anything is even about to happen. We all reach a point where we simply won't allow ourselves to sink any lower. There is emotion creeping into my soul, searing its way to the core, and burning its way through to my fingertips.

I gaze out the window and my eyes fix upon a cloud in the distance. I begin to realize the universe lays wherever we choose. These broken wings I've been flying on feel as if they are about to spontaneously repair themselves.

What will happen then? I will be free to fly as I please... or will I? There will always be constraints, limitations if you will, that will fight to keep me on the ground. Why must we always run? Today there were tears inside my head, and they almost escaped to the outside before I breathed a sigh of relief and watched them fade away.

"When I find my peace of mind I'm going to give you some of my good time."

listen to the noises

One afternoon while sitting on your couch you break out in a cold sweat, and your life is never the same again. You strip off your clothes and grab a few towels before stepping into the shower. The water begins to beat down on your body as little droplets splash off of you and begin to clutter the shower door. You aren't sure where it begins but you know where it ends.

Shaking uncontrollably, you stare wide eyed at the droplets cascading down the shower walls. Your mind begins to unravel- you dont feel it but you can see it. You stand on the other side of the shower door- dry and watching yourself come unglued.

You want to hide, to run as far away as you can manage and never once look back. Something is stopping you... that body that you are trapped in.

Someday you will be loved and you will love yourself in return.

Until that day, you simply cannot shake the desire to die. Much like a fire, it consumes your body, leaving you thirsty for more. You want to drink death until it leaves you empty.

You have a head start- you are already empty. Sucked dry from all the leeches in this life. After all, you gave of yourself so freely.

It is so easy to forget to look at the night sky, even easier when you neglect to set foot outside for fear of the wind caressing your fingertips. Why does this frighten you? Everything in life is at your fingertips, waiting for you to reach out and grab ahold of it. The fear lies in knowing that if feeling registers in your fingertips then something deep inside of you will click and you will realize you are what possesses your body.

So where does this leave you? Shivering alone on your couch, desiring to stop. To stop everything and cease to exist.

All because you don't know how to feel.

"silently gets harder to ignore :: and unpredictable won't bother me anymore :: look straight ahead :: there's nothing left to see :: what's done is done :: this life has got its hold on me :: just let it go :: what now can never be"

remix

I begin to wonder where the center of the universe is. I believe it is in each of our hearts. I try so fervently to escape this maddening wonder called life. I am looking for the next escape, praying it is just around the corner.

These fingers won't work tonight. I am fighting more and more with every letter. As I begin to lose the battle, so much will have to be left unsaid.

stop signs

They never really tell you what to look for. Check both ways before crossing the street, wear reflectors so you don't get hit by a car- you get the picture. What about the night sky? Who reminds you to always look at the stars?

Shaking and nervous, short gasping breaths, panic seizes your body. The pedals aren't going to turn on their own.

It was dark out, cloudy but I don't know because I forgot to look up.

I don't think I ask for much, or maybe I do. I'd settle for a life that wasn't so scary.