sometimes i need to remind myself that im not the only flower in your garden when your tears is pouring out like a watercan.
and sometimes i need to remind myself to plant some seeds in my own empty garden that i drowned during the hurricane.
i come to realize that im bad at picking seeds that can endure the cold winter season.
and you are better off without me, and only with the flowers you have by the million.

love.
bullying.
heartbreak.
tragedy.
existence.
preference.
color­.
belief.
exhaustion.
insanity.
pain.
sadness.
illness.
worthiness.
stress.

all of these words tied together in one single, blood red soaked string.
even if we wanted to, we can't stop thinking about the past, present, and future.
we contemplate our lives as if the knife will deliver our freedom with wings.
but what we know without our power to **** ourselves, we are clearly unsure.

you see, many people have this stigma that killing ourselves is a selfish way to go.
that they believe we just need to "go for a walk" or "smile and don't be negative" as if it was our choice to become who we are.
many people believe we are just putting our masks, as if our illness was the stage and we were the characters putting on an overreacted show.
question is: don't you think we all would have done that if it was so easy to be happy and go far?

we put guns to our heads,
ropes around our necks,
slits on our wrists,
bags over our heads,
cement blocks on our legs,
pills down our throats,
and sidewalks crushing our fragile bodies,

because we are ******* tired.

we feel like we have no other choice of escape because, believe me, we have tried to protest against our sin.
our cries for help are seen as attention or fake until our bodies are found hung like limp and colorless ornaments on a burnt Christmas tree.
only in the dire times of our ends are we finally noticed and we fight, and fight until we begin to realize that it's the same vicious cycle of hell that we are thrown in.
our bodies being weathered and crushed and grounded into fine ashes that are later then caressed by the air as the preacher sets them free.

We feel so alone through the fights that are proclaimed to others that they will be there yet they vanish like cruel, cold-hearted magicians.
We are the rabbits in the dark pitiless top hat alone to swallow knives for everyone's entertainment as they stare fascinated yet afraid.
No one wants to help a helpless person for fear that their problems only result in a lack of cognition.
The responsibility of contemplated lives rest in the hands of those who want help, but at the end leave after all the hopes they said.
-
...I wish you can see my eyes when they're swollen red with droplets of dull crystals roll down the cheeks I so badly damaged with scratches as a fit of rage on Sunday.
But alas, I'm invisible to the naked eye like a ghost, am I the proof that paranormal entities exist?
I wish you can see my struggle as I attempt to break away.
From all the pain residing in my head that makes me think like a pessimist.
But, please, open your eyelids and expose your mind to the dark places we are living in even if it will take sometime for your eyes to get adjusted.
Uncover our eyes and wipe our tears and check our skin for cuts and scars.
We will refuse and say we're okay for the betterment of everyone else's situation.
But don't give up, for we know truthfully we have wandered into this dreadful, dark, and confusing brain maze pretty far.

We wan't to stop crying and hurting and feeling like our lives don't matter because we see ourselves as unwatered, wilted flowers given to a single mother of 3 kids whose father couldn't spare a little bit of sunshine to fill our stomachs.
Truthfully, we don't want to die, we want to find happiness and peace within ourselves to stay alive.
We want to be saved, we want to be helped, we want to be heard, and we don't want to further plummet.
So please, if you cared enough to read this poem for the betterment of our mental health, provide us the help and care, and call 1-800-273-8255.

funny how
people turn into smokes in mirrors,
when words
of melancholic tones are merely uttered.

"It is all in your head"
Yes, my illnesses resides in my head.
Out of all illnesses that can happen anywhere in my body,
My brain is the paper that soaks up all this poisonous black ink.

Yes, it is in my head. But just like any illness, I wish for it to go away.
I do not wish for more pain, more fear, more mellow feelings.
Yet, it sticks to my body like a fly in a cobweb, struggling to get out until finally it succumbs to its demise.
It's a fight against time and a battle caged inside my skull.
I can hear the banging, the screaming, the explosions.
And they're all directed at me.

Yes, it is all in my head. The constant fighting that leaves me so worn out, I can barely open my eyes to a pastel colored sky as the sun wakes from her slumber.
Skipping breakfast because it just doesn't seem appetizing, as I feel myself weathering into nothing but bones and skin.
Avoiding social interaction because I'll open my heart as if it was an invitation to make those feel welcome in the home that is my arms, fearing that they'll tear out the wallpaper and hammer out the walls.
Staying in my four wall cage that is my lonesome room because I have no motivation to do anything else but to cry and sleep and contemplate my life choices.
Running my fingers through dried red lines carved into my skin, fascinated at such a gruesome work of art made by yours truly.

Yes, it is all in my head. A constant battle waged against me that I fear I will never win. All I ever have is time, time to heal or a time to never feel.

Yes, it is all in my head. I am sick and in pain. I am afraid that the blood flowing in me will soon come to a sudden stop.
I need you to believe that what is in my head will continue to spread until I am no longer.
I need you to believe in me when I say I need help.

Today, I held my mother's hand and cried.

Knowing the next time she might hold my hand, it would be cold and attached to a lifeless body.

She could not see my tears, for her back was turned away, her fragile body motionless as she grips my hand softly.

I traced her rough, wrinkled, worn out fingers and closed my eyes.

I'm sorry, Mom, for self infliction is the way I'll die.

I was never a bad kid.
I was always the goody two shoes.

Until the day I foolishly fell in love with you like I did.
And your fingerprints became my favorite tattoos.

Imprints all over my body I so gladly let it cover me like silk satin blankets.
We sneaked into places, locking doors with our special keys, revealing our skins like dark and ***** secrets we whisper in the night.

constantly letting the thrill of getting caught by our parents as we giggle late into the sea of stars, twinkling with every "I love you" we would say to each other every 5 minutes.
Even going to the extent of sneaking around confessing to each other about everything under the reflection of the moonlight.

Loving you made me feel so alive, so secure, so dangerous, so amazing, I began to see you in my future as if I suddenly got the chance to see through a crystal ball.
I began to plan where I would be and how much I would need, I even began to think of running away.

You don't realize how much it destroyed me when you said you couldn't do it anymore. I could feel myself spiraling back down in a lonely fall.
And now, here I am, covered in your fingerprint tattoos, and the thoughts of running away just to **** myself without a say.

I look in the mirror, revealing myself, wanting to rip my skin until I see a skeleton.
I lock myself in my room for fear that I'll break down in the places we snuck ourselves into.

Knowing you know all of my secrets too.
I used to be a goody two shoes.

And here I am, sitting on the mattress that started and broke this love,
Wishing I could smoke my lungs to charred black, filling my stomach with hard alcohol, drag the cold sharp metal across my entire body, and lay as I start the beginning of the end,
Only this time, it isn't you and I,

It's just me.

whatever you do,

please don't leave me alone on this day in which i mourn
over the death of my heart and my soul

please hide away all the knives,
cut your vegetables with a spoon or something.

dont leave me alone in this house,
i'll be sure to make company with my demons.

flush down the pills,
dont let me find the key to the medicine cabinet.

make sure to call or message me,
i cant stand being alone today.

dont shave your body today with those razors,
i'll be tempted to turn my skin into paper snowflakes.

please dont let me lock myself in my room,
i'll take the opportunity to meet my doom.

please dont leave me alone to cry in my closet alone,
i'll be sure to make my arms drip the sadness out.

and for ****'s sake,
please dont pass this off as just another overreacted poem.

i need you to be with me on the 11th, and make sure i'll make it until the 12th.

i need help. i cant breathe today. i dont want to be alive today. please dont leave me alone today.