I forget to breathe deeply. I forget to stand up straight. Why?

What is this weight?

I always end up back here, trapped inside my mind. I know that if I want to accept the sunshine I must also accept the rain.

But this isn’t rain.

This is, no type of weather.

This is, a deep and dark place. Where sometimes I feel so far from reality. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know who or what I am. This dark manic confusion, consumes me for a moment and then I force a smile. I thought I left this **** behind me. Nope hello here I am she says. This dark and manic confusion.

And there is rarely pleasure…. Right?
Just suffering...suffering...suffering. And I can’t get out,
Wait where am i?

everything happens for a reason,
right?
but the treacle in my heart,
that means treason
do I fight it, do I light it, do I straight up
ignite it
do I dig it out
of my skin
ignore the hunger from within
and lighten my body
so it floats in the air
do I hold liquorice treacle
in the palms of my hands
and let the stench make me forget
that it's there?

You are Tequila shots
In perfect desperado
Your days heavy and long

Your nights, sudden aislado.

I am wine glasses
In bittersweet nocturno
My days short

My nights, eternal inferno.

We always swallowed those notes
Like fire down our throats.


-- Eleanor

The sadness is kicking in
I don't want her beautiful soul to feel the tip of the needle
As I delve deeper
I'm a heavy sleeper
On the important
But her happiness
Is also important
I have to drive this out of the tunnel
For us to truly move forward
I do everything for her
I have done everything for her
I don't regret a single **** thing I've done for her.

Gravity.
It holds me down with an iron fist.
At least that's what I tell myself.
It pins me to my bed,
Not letting me get up to do anything.

I finally defeat it,
But he is not a forgiving force and he keeps pulling me down.
I want to get up,
But it's strength is more then I can handle.

Gravity.
I just want you to leave me alone,
Though if I'm being logical,
I'm not sure if you're the thing holding me down,
But if you are as John Mayer would say,
"Gravity, stay the hell away from me."

this weight.

it's been on my shoulders for most of my life.

its constantly weighing me down and it seems to get heavier the more
stressed i begin to feel.

i don't want to believe they're responsibilities and the high expectations i hold for myself, but they are.

which ******* *****.

why do i have to live my life stressing over an exam that won't matter in several years when i could be worrying about the imminent plummet of this planet called earth.

this world, this planet, Earth.

it could die any time soon.

it could suddenly implode on itself, it could instantly fall to its inevitable doom due to pollution, overcrowded populations, human pollution.

this world that we deem as "home" could instantly disappear and we would go along with it.

but here i am

stuck worrying about an exam that determines whether or not i get college credit for the class.

stuck worrying about how my grades look in comparison to everyone else in my classes.

stuck stressing over the fact that i am not worthy enough to my parents because my level of intellectuality just isn't high enough for them.

stuck stressing over how i don't know what my friends think of me and whether or not they actually hate me even in the slightest.

i've conditioned myself to worry

about the absolute wrong things.

i despise that humans are identified based on their intelligible intellectualism rather than the amount of knowledge they've gained by simply living.

we all live in a world where, for some reason, numbers matter more than the youth's, young adult's, adult's mental and emotional health.

everyone is so worried about how much money they have because that's what they need to survive.

we need money in order to have that false sense of security.

money.

it's all we care about.

but in order to get that money, we must go through the hells and stresses and anxieties and depression episodes that is known as

the american educational system.

why must i worry about the letter grades when i could worry about the fact that people are dying.

that this planet of ours is dying.

that we don't know enough about the universe to even deem it as safe.

i and many others have this weight of over achieving expectations and responsibilities.

i have to do good in school or else i'll be seen as a failure.

i have to get straight A's or my parents will be disappointed in me.

i have to get a high education or else i won't be eligible for college.

and if i don't go to college, i don't have a degree and i don't get a job and i have no money and i will eventually die off as no one.

i'd absolutely hate to die knowing i stressed over some ******* letter and number grades when i could've explored my purpose and my meaning for living and why i drive myself to continue living.

yet, i will be too old to discover those things because i decided to dedicate all of my precious time to anxiety attacks and depression episodes because i failed several tests.

why must i and many people worry about this heavy weight on our shoulders.

why must this weight be so awfully heavy.

You're sorry and it pains you to say.
     You've found solace in other people's pain. Your shoulders were made to bear weight. You've only gotten weaker due to your training of literally everything other than yourself. They can't see your fatigue, after all you're the life of the party. You don't know this, but you're their gravity. You've saved them, and everyone but you can see.
     You are a broken kingpin. You live in what's imaginary. Chess pieces to your command, instead a sacrificed king. You don't dream because that's selfish. You fell in love by circumstance. You don't think you deserve this, you think you're worthless. So do those songs that scream the same sentiment- good thing you're eclectic.
     Intermediate stage of life and you believe you understand the end. Peer into their future, pity their misfortune, manifest your worth in their misguided action.
     "No, you need to do this."
     Show them how. They don't listen. Revert again, lend a hand, upon seeing their inept expressions. You suggest to restart another fictional world you can all escape in. The prophet dictates another prediction: "We'll be here again."