Let it seep in
the voice about my skin
when I lost your ears
my scars began to sing

Im filled with emotions,
I can no longer speak.
It’s like I’m locked in my own prison,
Emotions struggling to be released.

Within me i am drowning,
But I don my happy face.
An internal war roaring,
Struggling to keep it locked in the safe.

I can not allow myself to loosen yet,
Rarely am I allowed to.
Through the day i make it through,
It’s my happy mask that talks to you.

I wish I can let the feelings out,
As they trickle in.
All day the inside prisoners shout,
Grasping and clawing at my skin.

From time to time, late at night,
Raw words from a song will pierce the wall.
The feelings are flicked on like a light,
surrendering myself to the abyss as I fall.

It's a feeling that I can never
put my finger on,
to seize its power with a name.
It's that slight rhythmic delay
in conversations on the phone,
the footfall of our voices
constantly just out of step.
Moments that are almost inconsequential,
but I keep picking at them
in my mind
like the loose skin of a hangnail.
Thumbing at the thoughts
in a way you tell yourself is harmless.
Just a bit more...
Only in an instant, it's all irrevocably undone.
It's that bitter stone of doubt in your chest
when there's a full stop instead of an "x".
You can't help circling back
to that seed planted in your mind
earlier than you can ever remember,
that it's you - fundamentally,
objectively, intrinsically.
Against your own better judgement,
it's so easy to sink into the ruminations
of inadequacy and psychological self-flagellation.
How many more times must you feel this way?
It's so familiar that you can almost detach.
That every time you feel that sparkle of
human connection, of being wanted for a moment,
it's already waiting for you.
You already know it's inevitable.

A. Euclidian

I’ve been a lantern to light your dark days
Tried to unlock those purgatory closed-doors
Torch inside a foggy two-lane highway
So you didn’t run off course.

Just give me back,
15 years of this oneway relay
No answer back just hearing my echoes
I wouldn't have shown all my secrets
Could have kept all my flaws.

I hope to god, one day you read this,
See what I’ve spilled through a torrent of sequence
Leave it all like some ancient bygone,
A faded face on a discarded farthing.

I’d do anything just to come up for air
But I swear, even when I fall deeper
It feels like I’m choking.

Piece it like a jigsaw
Place me on a shelf with all that’s forgotten
Don’t mind the sneeze, it’s just the dust.
I won’t bother you with these dead-eye stares
Wondering if you ever read a thing or understood what was there.

Run it back to what I used to die for
Anima hanging on an unkept tree floor
Under these dead oak canopies
Waiting for sapphire eyes to rescue me.

It was always love
That hill I’d die on
And now that the sword’s been pulled
What could I lie upon?

I’d do anything just to come up for air
But I swear, even when I fall deeper
It feels like I’m choking…

B. Bleeding Ink

Is it taboo—
When I grab this pen
And go deep into the dermis
I let the vampire drink from me again?

It feels like a tattoo—
When the blood hits the blue
And I’m etching my life in lines.

Permanent like these scars
Are they just wounds that forgot to heal?

Is it taboo—
When I let the tears fall
I painted with red mixed in.

It feels like a tattoo—
When the canvas of these words
Is what resides in my skin.

C. The End Complete

Impeach the day,
Retreat tonight
Scurry to the shadows
Swim into the shallow
I’m drowning again.

My mind divides,
As the past repeats
Memories on an endless loop
Still so far, further from finding the truth.

There was a magic,
That stole the sun that shined
And the moon was a beauty
I thought I could leave behind.

But all these arms clawing from their coffins
Reaching up like the needy for open coffers
Hoping I feed them a line to stop their deep hurt
But if I may, show the ink on the page
It’s paid in blood and my rent is due.

Impeach the day,
I want to retreat tonight
Scurry back in my shadow,
Swimming in the shallow
Why does it always feel like I’m drowning?


I hope to god, one day you read this,
See what I’ve spilled through a torrent of sequence
Leave it all like some ancient bygone,
A faded face on a discarded farthing.

It feels like a tattoo—
When the blood hits the blue
And I’m etching my life in lines.

Permanent like these scars
Are they just wounds that forgot to heal?

Sorry, I couldn’t answer the phone —
I just have to leave this part of me behind.

I liked the color red

So, I cut myself open

I hated myself

So, I relied on others devotion

There comes a point in life

When you think you need the knife

Cause you really thought you were broken

I stay in a state

Stuck where my minds set to survive

Where I just need to stay awake

Stay healthy and stay alive

Because when you're broken beyond repair

And your mind has no manual

And that fit of depression

No longer becomes annual

You say “what the hell”

And throw it all away

Your relationships die out

Your texts are just “Oks”

I liked the color blue

So, I forced myself to drown

I hated disappointing others

So, I hid my famous frown

With my head in the clouds

And my mind bleeding out

I turned to silence

Not a cry or a shout

Green's a peaceful color

But it can get pretty annoying

I thought I was being productive,

But it’s myself I was exploiting

They thought I was pretty

People preoccupied by my purity

A praetor of perfection

But now I’ve lost my security

I liked the color orange

So, I kept myself occupied

Submerged myself in lights and loud noises

My mind colonized

I find something peaceful in panic attacks

Feeling the air leave my lungs

Eyes wild

Feeling shaky cries abandon my tongue

Colors spin in my brain

Painting my thoughts

A mess of swirling shades

That contribute to my memory loss

Red,

Blue,

Orange,

A terrifying view

A terrifying truth

Something that can’t be spoken

I hate the color red

Yet I still cut myself open













I liked the color red

So, I cut myself open

I hated myself

So, I relied on others devotion

There comes a point in life

When you think you need the knife

Cause you really thought you were broken

I stay in a state

Stuck where my minds set to survive

Where I just need to stay awake

Stay healthy and stay alive

Because when you're broken beyond repair

And your mind has no manual

And that fit of depression

No longer becomes annual

You say “what the hell”

And throw it all away

Your relationships die out

Your texts are just “Oks”

I liked the color blue

So, I forced myself to drown

I hated disappointing others

So, I hid my famous frown

With my head in the clouds

And my mind bleeding out

I turned to silence

Not a cry or a shout

Green's a peaceful color

But it can get pretty annoying

I thought I was being productive,

But it’s myself I was exploiting

They thought I was pretty

People preoccupied by my purity

A praetor of perfection

But now I’ve lost my security

I liked the color orange

So, I kept myself occupied

Submerged myself in lights and loud noises

My mind colonized

I find something peaceful in panic attacks

Feeling the air leave my lungs

Eyes wild

Feeling shaky cries abandon my tongue

Colors spin in my brain

Painting my thoughts

A mess of swirling shades

That contribute to my memory loss

Red,

Blue,

Orange,

A terrifying view

A terrifying truth

Something that can’t be spoken

I hate the color red

Yet I still cut myself open

You all have
A little bit of
"I want to save the world!"
In you

I just want you to know
That it's ok if you only
Save one person and
It's okay if that person
Is you

The Mind Olympics – thoughts going round
and round my once-stable mental state –
Where I transitioned from a season of declaring,
“I can cope with anything,” to now saying,
"I need anything to help me cope."

I am like a pristine canvas, pure and white;
yet, the moment a single black spot appears,
the harmony is shattered.

As the vibrant colours in my eyes fade away,
I find myself painted with the stain of hollow
anguish – empty victories fill my grasp, yet they
only amplify the weight of my own suffering.

Mental health is no laughing matter;
yet, in a cruel twist of irony, I find myself chuckling
at the absurdity of believing I am the sole bearer
of such heavy thoughts. All I yearn for, is someone
to truly listen to the whispers of my heart.

Can we please talk?

At first,  
I am every story you’ve ever loved:  
the girl with wild eyes and a crooked smile,  
the glitterbomb dropped into your heavy life.  
I am the Manic Pixie Dream,  
softened and sharpened just right,  
scripted to be the key you didn’t know you lost.  

I love it, too.  
I love playing her.  
I love the way I can become  
everything I thought I couldn't be—  
light, brave, impossible.  
I fall in love with the girl they see,  
the one who spins in the rain,  
who kisses like it’s a dare,  
who never stays still long enough  
for anyone to notice the cracks.

For a while,  
I even forget the weight of myself.  
For a while,  
the mirror throws back someone I almost recognize,  
someone almost worth keeping.

But the days grow teeth.  
The seams split.  
My clinginess stops being "cute,"  
my mess stops being "quirky,"  
my fear starts leaking through the paint.  

Then I remember:
I'm not magic.  
I'm work.  
I'm a maze with no ending.  
I'm a mouthful of needs no one knows how to swallow.

And they start seeing it too.  
The way I flinch when they look too long.  
The way my laugh gets hollow.  
The way I start pleading through my eyes,
"Please, please don't look closer."

I know how this ends.  
The Dream Girl dies the moment she becomes real.  
Nobody writes sequels for the ones who stay.

So I run.  
I tear the script from my hands,  
I rip the costume at the seams.  
I run before they can stop loving the idea of me,  
before they have to face the weight of who I am  
beneath the glitter and noise.

I find a new stage,  
a new pair of arms,  
a new chance to believe in the girl I invented—
if only for a little while longer,
If only to live in someone else's dreams,
If only to forget the weight of waking up.