As the darkness surrounds my room
I type unspeakable words
To the only one that cares,
Yet he can't be here

The pain of being attached to something
You can't see
Or hear
The craving of his touch
That's way too far to reach you

You see the words on the screen
Yet you feel so alone
He cares, and you know that
But does he really?

I drop my phone
As i lay down, staring at the pretty white ceiling
Counting each second closer to our goal
I might be young but one thing i know for sure

Love is complicated

Force my thoughts
And tell me what i think.
Shaping my mind
To your use and will.
To what you think is true,
Yet it isn't.

"I want to forget"
Stupid words said by a stupid child,
That deep down wanted to remember.

Now that I'm forgetting,
I try to put it into words,
So one day, when i forget,
They'll remember.

So close,
Yet so far.
It cannot be defined,
Nor fully felt.
You're always trapped.

Gaslight yourself.
Into thinking you're important,
Happy,
Normal.
That thin line of denial
Being the only thing keeping you alive.
They would miss you if you were gone, wouldn't they?

My fingers
Interlocking with yours.
For the last time,
You'll never know you won't see me again.
Ever.
I'll be gone.
F O R E V E R.

I always dreamed
Of dying in a special way.
People worried,
Mother guilty for what she did,
The awkward school assembly about a dead student.
Someone trying to stop me from ending it all.

Yet now i sit in my room,
Reading the texts from earlier,
The pretty lies, saying it's "just a break".
A break i won't come back from.

Hearing your voice
And seeing your face
Traumatizes me more than i'd care to admit
Even though i was supposed to be strong.

The poems.
The old, brown notebook,
Filled with all of my secrets,
Big and small,
Coded into poetry.

If they knew what happened yesterday
What would they say?
What would she say to her man
If everything went according to the plan?

If she knew the pain i feel
Would she still think it's not real?
Would she regret the things he had done?
If after all of this, i will be gone.

Lost in addictions
And my own sorrow
My whole life a fiction,
With no tomorrow.

I write this words for me to remember
That i was once a child as well.
About what happened this December
And that i went through hell.

I'm sorry.
For being a failure,
Not helping you enough,
Not knowing when i should help you.
I'm sorry for the things i said,
Did,
For what i put you through.
I'm sorry
For being sorry.

I'm sorry, mother
For being a failure.

I'm sorry, mother,
For leaving you.

I'm sorry, mother,
For not being the perfect child you wished i was.

I'm sorry, mother,
For giving up at such a young age.

I'm sorry, mother,
For not being you.

(again, if this gets taken down it's fine)

So.. Idk if this can be called a rant, im kinda just explaining some stuff. School is really too much rn, im failing literally everything. Then there's some personal stuff, but that's not important cuz that's just mental health stuff. I tried to stay for longer, but i genuinely can't anymore. Because of this, i will be taking a break for a while. I'm fine, really, i just need some time to think about stuff. I know no one cares, but idk it just felt rude to leave without an explanation. Anyway, I'll come back as soon as i can, I'm sorry.

Leaving the house,
The memories,
Pain and happiness.
The child that used to live there.

Sometimes you leave too soon,
Sometimes you just have to.
For the good of the other people
Still locked inside.

You can't help but worry about them,
But you can't change anytning,
Now that you left.
But it is what you wanted, is it not?

You thought leaving the house would help you
But it only made it worse.
You have the life you wanted,
But at what cost?

Written by tge hands if pain,
Thr decaying corpse of your being,
The kind that makes you wonder
Why you weren't enough.

When he was little he promised his mommy:
"I won't be like daddy, i swear!"
But promises are often broken
Especially when the person who made it, is broken too

He tried to keep his promise
But he failed.
He failed at everything.
A failure.
Ironic, isn't it?

The little boy turned into a young man
14 years old is a big boy after all
And the little boy slowly began dissapearing.
His mommy didn't like his changes
But he couldn't help himself

Why be a lawyer when you can
Rot in bed reading psychology?
Write poems, losing yourself in your own world?
Become an actor?

But he broke the promise.
Became so fake, being an actor wasn't a problem at all.
He lost the little boy he was before.
But he was still there.

Today, he says "i'm sorry".
But it's too late.
The little boy is dead.

I know that i'm here,
What i do or say,
But i don't know how or why.

I see through my eyes,
But as a completely different person,
Often not controlling myself.
Almost like living on autopilot.

Imagine a little child
Wandering through the streets all alone,
With nothing but a tiny backpack
And a toy in their hand.

No one stops to ask if they're okay,
No one wants to look at them,
Most people don't even aknowledge them.

And they only care
When the child gets hit by a car,
Dissapears from existence.
To never be seen again.

I could never write those.
A type of art so sweet for the soul,
Yet so hard to master and understand.
A poem written by the heart,
The hand only being a
Tool for it to communicate.
Trying to explain
Something no one truly knows.

It was once clean
Filled with clear rain water
Mirroring your reflection
People not noticing its beauty
Stomped on it

Corrupted it with their shoes
The clear puddle was now brown
And *****
Small children wanted to play with it
But their mothers refused, as it was too filthy

But weren't they the reason the puddle was *****?
The children haven't done anything wrong
Yet they blame someone else
For what they have not done

And the puddle was left alone
Sad
With no one to admire it
And slowly but surely
It evaporated
Only to be replaced over and over again

I wrote your name on my wrist,
All the things that we have lost,
I hated seeing you like this,
Depression gone, but at what cost?

I wrote your name on my wrist,
Only to slice right through,
You were on top of the list
Yet you never had a clue.

I wrote your name on my wrist,
Knowing it wouldn't last,
But i rewrite it sometimes,
Not letting go of the past.

I
Am
Bad
With
Stuff
Barely
Showing
The way i am
Explainin'
Them and i am
Seeing that i
Don't belong to
This world for
The current age

Yall i found my old notebook with some poems i wrote when i was like 12-13, should i post them here? Perhaps make a collection? Let me know what you think in the comments

Maybe it's reality
Or maybe i'm just weak
I have no reason to paint pernament lines on my wrists, do i?
Other children work too, don't they?

That were the words of my dear mother
Who lulled me into sleep with pain
Pain caused by her boyfriend who despised me almost as much
As my differences

My house is not normal enough to be good
But not bad enough to be normal
At least that's what i was forced to believe since the
oh so perfect age of ten

this place
i got forced into
is not real.
it may be for you,
but for me it is not.
after some time you start to see through the lies humans -
- or the others - built.
you see though this reality
into yours,
the voices feeling more real than people,
the shadows more comforting than touch

A minute, a day
Takes another life away.
Showing the truth
Through obvious lies,
A poem is written,
The writer dies.