Sometimes it feels like I’m looking a stranger or maybe even a ghost in my mirror. Dark eyes with no sparkle stare back at me and part of me wonders when I started looking like a corpse. Meals get skipped more often than I actually eat and my body starts feeling like it’s made of glass that people keep breaking while she tries her hardest to put me back together. And when I get sick, because it always happens, it’s like my bones rattle as I shiver and each cough feels like my throat is being torn apart from the inside out and after each fit I try to be surprised that there’s no blood. When I’m asked about medical history I have to tell them I don’t know because I really don’t. I’m so stupidly afraid of getting some preventable but hereditary disease because I never knew it was in my genes. I find myself turning the same words over and over in my head while I lay in bed every night: they didn’t want you and they didn’t love you and it’s your fault. It’s gotten to the point where I believe the lies my anxiety-ridden subconscious tells me. The logical part of me knows the lies aren’t true but how do you console yourself in those lonely hours when you’re alone and no one can hear you cry yourself to sleep? Six nights a week it’s all fitful sleep and when I wake up I’m still so exhausted it takes everything I have just to haul myself out of bed to take the pill that makes it so I can just barely scrape by during school and even then it’s not good enough so I find myself failing and then I realize I just don’t care anymore. There is no in between for me, I can’t just kinda care it’s all or nothing and ninety nine percent of the time it’s nothing so I lose myself in my video games and ignore the screaming in the back of my skull that tells me to get up and do something productive with my life but I just can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to try it’s that I physically cannot make myself care enough to do anything and it’s almost like I can ******* feel my muscles begin to atrophy.

I had a vision, of divine precision
That I had a quick collision
With an elephant, dancing wild
Who winked and laughed at this meek child

And then I looked unto the sky
All its beauty in one eye
My soul ascended, rapt in flight
At one with universal light

The elephant winked and disappeared
And the magic of night gave way to fear
I rubbed my head and went to bed
Wondering where my angel had fled

That night she came again with songs
A rhapsody around, along
I hearkened to her delightful blare
For heavenly music dwelled in there

I took a break
I took a moment to breath
And clean my hands of the ink
That I've use to write the words on a sheet
I sat outside
Instead of my room
Felt the sun pass through the leaves
And warm up my cheeks
I heard the birds
It wasn't terrible
But I am quite fond of the walls
The walls in my room
They make the world feel smaller
More manageable
Makes life easier to take
When I can shut the door
Pull the blinds shut
Turn off the lights and sit in silence
With a pen in my hand
A paper on my desk
And black ink on my fingertips.

i am sick of myself.
my sweet and overly ripe words
i need not to even think of myself in any other way
i am already sick
the prolonging of my so called existence
the falseness which clings to me
i kick it and hide it sometimes
only to find myself
unsuccessful and worried  
that it shows off.

frivolousness.

it leaks and sprouts through every cell
incomprehensible extinction  
of my lost way.

a disgrace.

for being sick of myself only i can be
for no one else could even tackle the madness of the inside plot
of fluid wandering
of scattered taint of rotting business. unfinished.

uncertainty.

once again.

Why do I have to hide,
If you say you love me?
Shouldn't you be the one I trust,
With the hurting inside?
No, I love you too much,
To let you see my pain,
I could never tell you,
Never let you see the ugly me,
If I told you I would drown you,
In my blood, in my tears,
So instead I stay quiet,
And let it build up and suffocate me,
Because I could never hurt you,
With the beast who is me.