041

I need to get out of this town
Where I am treated like a puppet
I'll treat everyone to a show
Make them laugh
Then they'll throw some pennies
Or maybe leave without giving anything
Either way
I want to get off this stage
I don't need to be played
Nor do I require strings attached
To my bones
Lifting me up
And then dropping me down
Swinging me all around
I can barely see straight
And I know that it's time
Before I spiral out of control
To get myself out of this town

040

hanging up
the woman ends her call
retrieves a cigarette
and momentarily allows
the life to be
sucked out of her lungs

hanging up
a basket of flowers
beside her front door
the woman wants herself
to feel welcome
although, the visitors don't come

hanging up
the man expertly ties a length of rope
he had been here before
remembering the flowers
he had bought her a week ago
now there were nothing but weeds
growing in his throat

hanging up
the man looks outside
lines of communication
draw a pretty picture in the battered sky
and above he sees two birds fly
the man puts down the phone

039

Peel back my wallpaper
And discover the fire
Languid flames flickering
Droopy lids sliding
Down the walls of my exterior
I am living in my body
I am dying in my body
Before the wolf
Blows down my being
Tell me why
Why I shouldn't be
Contemplating jumping off my house
Crossing the roads when
The cars are dangerously near
Hoping that my line will lie flat
Against the hospital monitor
There is nothing left
New wallpaper will be bought
With a pathetic attempt to cover up
The struggles I have encountered
Why don't you see
Why don't you see
Maybe their eyelids are drooping

too

Maybe they are being paid
To decorate as they once were as well
A long time ago
My walls may be well built but
You keep covering the surface
Because once one sees the surface
They can enter my being
And be told the most
Chilling tales
Then maybe they can shred
A little more skin
Dig a little deeper than the surface
And play hide and seek too

038

I feel
As if I am not really here
But rather that I am
Floating on thin air
The air becomes hot
And suddenly it is hard to breathe
Particles which conclude my demons
Arrive at the tip of my tongue
And together they breed

In another dimension
A whole lifetime away
A womb is occupied
By a small, almost life-like child
But it was deformed
It never really got the chance
To drain the oxygen from my blood
Before I ordered for them to take it away

Illegal white gloves
And deceiving green cloaks
Pulled you out of me
But who are they to blame
I asked them to help me kill you
Anyway

I hope
That one day you will understand
I couldn't stay awake anymore
Couldn't cope with the pressure
Of the particles moving my tongue
The dust that had accumulated
In my throat
Drowned my voice and
Made what I said blunt

So premature child
Tell me
Is it too early to want to die
Because I swear to god
That day when you came out of me
And refused to cry
You looked at me with disgust
As if I should have left you

Lying
Against the weak walls of my uterus
For the concrete to knock your spine
And leave you lifeless
Selfish I am
I already know
But I wanted to have something
To live for myself

And now as I wipe the blood
Off your left knee
After your first day
Of primary
You look down at me
As if to ask
Why I brought you here
Because my demons
Pushed you over too

037

Terminal, 4. She waves him goodbye but there were no aeroplanes plotted for her demise. Stage 4. Was leaving her dry, the life consumed from her hollow eyes. Her blood as thin as the string of lies she had knowingly played along to. 4 weeks turned into 4 days. The strings became thinner and thinner. Much like her corpse but all one could see was a carefully carved piece of rock - 'here lies beloved mum'. And son, you were the cancer that stole all from that structure of bone. Now, that's all there is. Decaying in the cold.

036

i can write

as much as i want

about how i feel

the way i see society

but 

i cannot write about how 

i feel about you

because

infatuation is cruel

it is delusional and

very good

at making me lost for words

when i see you

i cannot look anywhere but

the way you speak

and the way my lungs

burn in my throat

random syllables

spew from my mouth

and scatter across the soil

for nature to feed on

besides you

they try to summon you

to collapse to the ground with them

the syllables are tickling your

curiosity but you

cannot pick them up

because you don't even try

i don't even blame you

i am already so far gone

but the definition

that your letters construct

launch me into an unknown world

slowly breath the life back into my lungs

a burning desire

that you created

like the pits of fire

that hell has acquired

i'll see you there

035

find the poetry in my veins
but do not expose me
know that if i am lost
do not try to find me
i want to die
i want to die
i am ready to say goodbye
but i can't
because how can someone die
if they haven't even lived
i feel as though i am
in a bee hive
sickly sweet torture
and i can do nothing
but
succumb to the pressure
i am ready to be on a flight
far far away from here
but there's no escape
i am 

stuck here

forever

034

daisy chains and
playground games
oh
how people miss childhood
not me
because the only chains
in my childhood
were around my neck
dragging me across the floor
the only swings that I received
were from a punch
a whole
lifetime of sore
until one day i couldn't take it
anymore
i picked up that knife
and stared at the point
wondering what it was
why it was there
the point of the point
and i still remember to this day
the dilated pupils of
six year old me
when she realised that
the point was to cause pain
and i remember
how close she was to
shovelling her guts out
before they could shovel her
into the ground

033

strangle me
until the blood curdles in my throat.
bruise my ribs
allow the air to slice through my lungs.
just allow me
help me to feel something.
i cannot deal with this easy acceptance i have acquired -
to the blunt knives being shoved into my gut.
feed my soul with cigarette smoke
and i'll laugh at the irony
i hope.
maybe graze your knuckles against my temple
mark your territory.
then place the bullet
inside my skull
but
please help me
to feel
something.

032

shadows and ice

hide 

more than your eyes

which will never fool me

because shadows are deceiving

but you are obvious

ice is translucent

but through the flaws in chemistry

and through the tinted view

shadows can still be seen through ice

just like you

031

so many people

question the point of 

life

but when death

comes knocking on their door 

nobody is ready to say

goodbye

030

the syllables tickle my skin and i laugh even though i want it to stop
the emphasis intrigues me but frightens me at the same time
the accent, i don't really care about
but we are falling down now
further down the stairs
it's nearly over
the end

029

veins
which look like cracks
fragment her structure
that she tries so desperately
to hold together
because
she doesn't want them
to win again
jeer at the pool of blood
dripping from their
hands
the hands of
tick tock
don't even come close
to the hands which
once so openly
held her heart
only to
drop
it on the cold hard floor
scrape it against the pavement
throw it into the road
allow the tyres to run over
and over
and over
her bloody heart again
history repeating itself
as they laugh at her expense

028

Don't wait. Whoever told you to be patient was very wrong, you need to get it as quick as you can. Don't wait for anything because waiting means patience and patience literally contains pain. Don't wait for him and don't wait for her, don't wait for someone to get back to you and don't wait for good things to happen. Waiting does nothing and waiting can slowly induce an everlasting thought of what could have been if you had done something sooner.

027

Concrete
A solid foundation
Which people find suitable
To produce a structure from
That will shelter their own,
A solid base
That isn't really as solid as they had hoped.

Cracks
Appeared in the coldness
Of something which was supposed to be strong
But even if concrete can't have emotions
It still has been converted
Twisted
Hardened
To confine the body of another.

026

You cry stone
You are too corrupt to cry water
Because you are cold
You cry stone

She is breathing water
She yearns to feel nothing at all
Because she'd rather be a heartless bitch
She is trying not to drown

Water
Consumes her every thought
Rearrange her lungs
Isn't the only thing that causes her to cry

Stone
Rocks that skip on the water
Dance all over the surface
But they eventually sink
And when they do

You realise that watery eyes
Aren't so bad after all

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.