I am the spark that starts the fire.
I am the flame
the oxygen that fuels the burn
and the inferno.

I am the aspirin
that cures you
and I am the cyanide that kills you.

Only touch me if you dare;

I am a land mine.

I am a lone flower petal.

I am the hand that takes the gun from your head
at your lowest points.
I am the finger that pulls the trigger
behind your back.

Who am I?

i am a skeleton,
with crumbling bones
and an irregular beating heart
on the brink of collapsing.

i am an ice cold silhouette
of a girl with sunken eyes
and shriveled lungs
slowly shrinking inside
my concaved chest.

my hips protrude like shards of glass,
shattering onto the gaps between my thighs,
and my collarbones
are sharper than knives,
slicing and dicing
a year off my life everyday.

i am a rotten corpse,
with worn out ribs
and a cracked spine
disintegrating into nothing but
ash and dust.

this is what death looks like.

i am not my own.

what's that feeling
oh what is it
what's that feeling of
anger
compliance
fogginess
confusion
anxiety
anxiety
anxiety
a­nxiety

that feeling of
shivering
grinding teeth
breathing less
wanting less (food)
food
is
disgusting

but you've hardly eaten since two days

you know you need to eat but you can't and you won't and most importantly you want to but you don't because you can't and you won't

i am dying
i could be dying
i could die

shivering shaking vibrating
my feet are purple from folding them in
from folding my body into itself
and disappearing

shame

Co u    n          
                t
                             y        o
                                                u r
   p  

              a          r
                      
                                 t                         i
      
  
                                           c                      l


                                                              e
                                                                   s

                                   .

Morning rinses,
bleak as night’s wishes.
Mirror stares, a returning glance,
empty and a portrayal of trance.
Running wet hands through a face
which then becomes faces out of place.
Fabrication of dried skin, weakened,
by morning rinses, a beg to look thin.

It is the one thing that keeps the mind
distracted by  the tangled brain saying nevermind.
Skin glistening, memories, enchanting like they’re
misery struggling to know, just where?
Where do these ideas come from?
Surely, nothing exists in a mind so dumb.
Possessed by the walls,
struggling to hear the morning bird calls;

Morning rinses.
Morning rinses,
of the face so purely lacking anything,
or is it just telling you something?
The worlds of regret are finally drowning,
but you are not the one who is allowing.
No, you are just the observer,
and this morning will last forever.

All you are,
is a fellow faux
of a personality.
Please don't hurt me.

"Stop." My thoughts reprimanded me.
"You will break even more."
"Broken you will become."
"So, please don't do it."
But I will go through with it.

An autonomous program written for all,
The margin of error is rather quite small.
A day to day basis I go through my week,
Without any error it's bound to repeat.
The automatic smile when passing a stranger
Believe it or not the code is in danger.

A fault in the code that lies in my brain,
At first I feel normal but then feel insane.
The code is so broken that nothing seems real,
How could it be when this is all I feel?
Day in day out a feeling of nothingness,
Most mark it off as me being a pessimist.

It all meshes together and all feels the same,
All I want is to get out of this sick, twisted game.
No changes in schedule is really quite boring,
But the thought of change is super abhorring.
I look at my friends and know I should care,
But in the end my mind is just bare.