025

i’ve come so far
i used to want to die and that still hasn’t changed but i don’t hurt myself physically anymore, i have learnt to listen to everyone and try to understand, i have learnt to let go, i have learnt that for some things, no matter how hard you try, it just wasn’t meant to be and i’m ready to accept this, i learnt that nothing is original so i don’t need to be so hard on myself and i am only here for a limited amount of time so i should make the best of it, right?
I have learnt that i am just another human in this world and there are people who go through worse things, maybe i don’t get the grades i want despite trying but some people don’t even get given the opportunity to pass, maybe i do get called quite a lot of names but i know people who would break their own legs to go to school, i have learnt that there is an opportunity somewhere and i have learnt to be patient
i am crying today but these tears reduce every day, i am ready to end everything today but i am going to be patient
because i have learnt that
my time will come.

024

I've already died a thousand times.

023

A full stop does not mean the end, it's simply a dramatic pause, causing an abruption in the flow of speech, for instance 'the end' isn't actually the end in a fairytale, it's simply a long pause but that's the funny thing with living you see, there will always be another opportunity elsewhere to grasp your full potential and hold it close forever, so chin up, there will always be something for you, I'm trying to convince myself as I write this but that's the thing, if all of this is true, why am I too scared to "end" this with a full stop?

022

a metaphor
made to be something it's not

a synonym
the same really

a similie
as if

a bullet
pierces my lung

misplaced
my heart

021

I am a hurricane, I leave shattered skulls and broken homes whenever I attempt to communicate. I destroy lives, make people bleed and am not wanted. Nobody stays when I stay because I am a hurricane. I am a flood, I wash away any emotions that one may have, leaving them numb. I make people cry but also allow them relive memories; they will always come flooding back to them when I am around. I am an earthquake, my hatred and anger vibrates throughout the world causing great distress and hurt elsewhere. I'm a natural disaster, they know what I am, how I occur, I'm also pretty much predictable but no one knows when I will occur. That is, until it is too late.

020

The pianist's bleeding hands, torture the keys as they try to unlock the reason. Her blood-covered... hands... well, you couldn't even tell that they were hands. More like the feet of a tortured animal. Deformed and twisted, no longer humane. The pianist seeks the truth. The reason for their existence, howling along with this so-called melody which was perturbed itself due to the pressure. Moving along the board slowly, then sudden outbursts of rage taken out on their piano. No one knew what to expect. The spectator's are just there, pretending to enjoy the music, fooled by the term 'classic'. The pianist continued with their sorrow-filled serenade until they finally came to an end. The spectators clap; they too had blood on their hands.

019

I turn to you when there is nothing left. I turn to you when I am on the floor sobbing my fucking heart out. I turn to you when there is pain. I turn to you because you're all I have left. Looking in the mirror; you. You and I, we are the same people. You have destroyed me and I have destroyed you. I'm sorry.

018

we are all just a bag of bones, a couple of lungs/kidneys, a heart, the brain and a pancreas thrown in for good measure. yet, there is cancer and there is depression and these things d e c a y what is inside the bag. this means that the elements are breaking down due to the disease freely consuming our tissue. so, when we say we are broken, none of us are kidding. a mark is a mark. like, a full stop may not be as outstanding as an exclamation mark but it still there, marked there for a purpose.

make the purpose: purposeful

017

i like watching the sky as I fall asleep in the evening. it's like watching my thought process. bleak, bleak. then audacious streaks of hot pink and tangy orange. following this, the formation of a bluish water-colored base. afterwards, a royal, navy blue but I fall asleep before I get the chance

to see

stars.

016

I never really write down personal things without disguising my thoughts behind a bunch of words, hoping a metaphorical sense would capture the attention more than my raw emotions but a lot has gone on. Sometimes, I find it so hard to breathe and when I lay awake at 2:30 a.m hysterically weeping, I have no idea why. I'm a teenager who gets attached far too easily, but that's normal and I know that. But one minute I feel euphoric, give it about 20 minutes then it sinks in, another 20 and I'm flooding in tears. To be held by someone, to have someone to listen to me, to be anywhere but here. I don't know what I've done wrong but I'm surely getting punished for it. And now as I write, my screen and letters I type blur as it begins sinking in: I'm alive.

015

Never would I have thought, that losing a creative opportunity off my own accord would relieve me from the symptoms. Symptoms being trauma, sleeplessness nights and self-destruction. Creativity was meant to be my self-destruction; allow the ink to pour from my soul rather than pools of blood from my veins and distortion from broken bones.

014

It feels as if my heart has dissolved into my blood. Flowing through my body, replenishing what has been lost, reminding me of what could have been found. It's now being crushed by my bones and harp-like rib cage. They call it a cage for a reason. But no cage is secure enough to tame my heart. Then it collides with my brain. Should I follow my mind or my heart, that's what they say... I can tell you straight, never let them collide. Because, if you do you'll sink because there is only so much pressure the heart can take, there is only so much information the brain can take, there's only so much I can take and I cannot take it anymore.

013

i want to die sometimes but then i think that if i die will there be more pain afterwards because i think that the mind never stops living because i think that whoever is controlling the mind doesn't want us to stop and i think that because of this we are all forced to want to kill ourselves because it's understandable that we are just people but i think that our minds make us create so much more which doesn't even make sense sometimes but someone makes sense of it because of their mind even though i have no idea what i am writing whatsoever because i am bored and want to see where this is going but then again i do understand because this post is getting longer and deeper sinking further and further because i keep on writing more and more but listen to this right there is no punctuation or correct grammar and now because of this i think that you think that i have done this for a reason and i think that you are right because this is just what happens in my brain in a

split

second

You can breathe again now, full stop

012

I want your claws to find their way down my throat and start to glide softly yet ever so harshly down my rib cage. Be slightly off key, because let's be honest, we have to be realistic. Tunes of sorrow, pain, scratching, clawing. To be or not to be, Shakespeare inked and I understand him. If I wasn't to be then why am I here. But you, you're playing me like a piano. And I willingly indulge under the pressure of your claws which scar me more. I became their canvas, bruised blues and purples shone through the dull, although realistic, black and white. Honestly, I'd rather you detach my rib cage from me because it is no longer protecting my heart and I've broken a few ribs in your presence

anyway.

011

Old buildings, which stink of the past, no longer tore through her nostrils, forcing her to indulge in her mistakes; no more intimidation. Instead there were trees, allowing her to breathe. And to breathe she felt ever grateful and to breathe because she wanted to not because she had to. The only blood which was flowing, was the blood inside of her body; no more wounds. No sarcasm, no judgement, no pressure. Ever so slowly, the Earth became a fragment of the girl's system. Polluted skies and blood-like eyes now locked up in those, old, helpless buildings. 

010

i guess

people have their own way of dealing with 

p

a

i

n

they fall

or they rise

maybe they dance

some do slice

but some people draw

and create

and i think that

life is a PAINting

which begins out as a bleak canvas

it's time for me to create my image

009

Imagine if you could literally eat your own words? The texture, consistency, taste. I don't think I'd be able to swallow my own words despite my greatest efforts; unless I want to cough up blood. 'And'. It's a common word and I use it a lot. It links other words together but it is that hesitation of the word 'and'. It gets stuck in my throat, it's just that, if I can barely utter the word to extend my point, how on earth am I meant to force it back down? It's a long, confusing concept to me but imagine if I could eat my own words... Would I be leaner, thinner - would I be a nicer person, more bitter? Or would I be further lost, vile and empty...

008

Those hands which hold you oh so tight, are only a matter of time. For those hands go around and around in circles, as do the hands on a clock. In fact, they begin to spin so fast they confuse you. Those hands which held you close now hold a knife. This knife is now stabbing you repeatedly in the back. Ha, what spine? Really, they are destroying you now. Those damn, fucking hands which once held you are literally strangling the life out of you. I hope you're happy now.

007

I'm scared of many things. But mostly, it is feeling scared that makes me scared. There is a harsh tingling and fizzing in my blood, deteriorating my temple as it floods through hurriedly. My heart starts to pump this foreign fluid around my temple faster, excited of the unknown, unaware of the risks; reckless. And then, worst of all, it gets to my mind. And this blood that is no longer actually blood, whispers all of my terrors and fears to my brain which deceives me. Then I am falling and falling and crashing and burning. I'm scared.

006

When a fluid is heated it expands, much like us humans. We get angry and a situation can expand into something it didn't have to be. The air we breathe sometimes expands a bit too much for me and I suddenly feel light yet alert. Something as simple as respiring oxygen and nitrogen becomes too much for me to handle and it feels as though they are burning holes through my lungs. When a fluid is heated it expands, much like us humans. I wonder if it's the same for flowers too, if they savour the glucose they make, or does it cause the blood to curse through their veins, similarly... When a fluid is heated it expands, much like us humans. I bet the moon feels it too. On a humid, summer's night when the sun is no longer shining, does the moon feel the air in which it hangs expanding? Expanding into darkness which should never be seen by anyone, a darkness which not even dying stars can resuscitate. When a fluid is heated it expands, much like me. I become angry and upset and too fragile to function. One minute, two minutes, ten. The fluid will cool down eventually, I'll be cold but it will stop soon and I'll be able to breathe again.

005

I want your hands to hold me like I am made out of old tracing paper. Ready to tear, wanting to tear into shreds, enduring the harsh graphite slicing my skin. Meagre slices of paper, many layered together yet still so ready to be torn. I want you to unfold the mystery of what is written on this tracing paper, handling me with care and caution so that you are not the one to ruin me. Use your kind fingers to smooth out my wrinkles and mistakes; I want you to be able to read me as clear as these letters are against the bright of my screen. It is 21:55 now, and I am still scared. Still needing to be folded up, hiding my scripture from everything else that exists. But I want you to unfold me, reveal me and expose me so that I am not scared anymore. I want you to help me understand that it's okay to be known and that it is okay to come out of the dark - from time to time.

004

If it takes more muscles to frown, then why does it pain me more to smile? My jaw aches when I smile, even when I am happy. I suppose it is because frowning is the easiest option to take, as opposed to smiling and having a positive outlook on things. When I look at a painting, let's say the Mona Lisa, I am uncertain as to whether I should frown or let my jaw ache because she is doing neither. The ambiguity seemingly strikes me and drowns my mind, washing away my thoughts - every single collection that I had ever stored. Instead it is a matter of survival, should I frown or should I smile? On examining closely, I am familiar with the brush strokes that I yearn to achieve, every angle and turn and oh so swift movement that the paintbrush took created this ambiguity. They say things are better off not knowing, and I believe them. For, one is curious but one is also not stable. No one is stable, nothing is stable, not even the masterpiece that is the Mona Lisa. But that's what makes it genius. Is she smiling? Or is she trying not to frown? Is she embarrassed? Did Da Vinci even know? Of course he knew, he was the creator, but what if the creator didn't know. It takes less muscles to smile, but it also takes a lot more than just muscles to smile. It's harder to smile, frowning is horrible and grey. Smiling is confusion - sweet, sweet confusion. Don't frown, frowning is boring.

003

"The sadness will last forever" - Vincent Van Gogh.

He's right. I've come to the term that forcing myself to be happy is the best thing. Because, at the end of the day, there will always be this sadness that will trail along with me no matter where I go, hide or expose myself. It will never go away. It's there like a little scream. Little is underrated. Something little can build into being something absolutely massive. So, by forcing happiness upon myself until I actually am will be like my chemotherapy for depression. It won't work. But it will feel like it is working because it is destroying me. I simply can't think about things too much because it is sad. Sadness lasts forever, I want it to be over but it never, ever will be. It's just an emotion and it's all in my head. But that's the worst thing. Right now it is only in my head, but it has begun spreading to my heart, my spine, gnawing at my bones, playing keyboard on my rib cage - causing these bones of mine to ache with sadness.

002

Oh. The sensation you feel when you are falling. Not when you know it's going to happen and you perform a series of twists and turns, breaking a few bones in the process, before you finally plummet to the ground. No. When it's totally unexpected. And the realisation that you are falling is when you feel the most helpless because you have no control over your body. Drowning.Your mind is everywhere and it's difficult to focus. It's easier to rise once you have fallen. But, when you are falling... no force is strong enough to stop it. So you're sinking to the ground, ready to get back up again before you even reach it. But you never do. You wake up, your sheets strangling you.

001

Autumn is by far my favourite season. I just like the idea that the leaves are dying and falling. Now, I am aware that sounds extremely morbid and 'deep' but I am quite a 'deep' person. I like paying close attention to detail but at the same time, I enjoy viewing the bigger picture. Autumn is where everything is released before winter truly comes along and decays the remains. Then there's spring which renews life, I guess. But the way the leaves fall in autumn and the way they crunch under our careless feet. The whole concept of autumn to me is promising. It's OK to lose yourself for a while. And that's how I perceive my favourite season.