When the world turns dark


I realize I imagine it still– slitting my wrists. No, not exactly; not so much that action of slitting as the sensation of having your wrist slit. A numbing, tingling sensation and hands going cold, limp and weak.

I’m so angry– angry at the world, angry at everyone for being such a disappointment. But most of all, angry at myself, and thats’s the worst of all, the one that makes everything else crumble.

What is the point of it?

Too often, it is. The number of times I wish to disappear. Too often, to not exist. Too often, that there’s no point. Feeling too helpless, useless and trapped.

Yearn


and we yearn

to be thought of
to be cared for
to be loved
to matter

we yearn

to make a difference
to have some significance
to have meaning
to be real

we yearn

for so much
but actually, really, the simplest of things

which are the hardest to achieve .

Just one person, just one. To make it real.
Suddenly, it seems the saddest thing to know
That no one is thinking of you at this moment.

How can you be so silly?

Always yearning for more
more than most can give
When?

Demon I


Everyday
A demon whispers in my ear.

you don’t want to live
he breathes
you don’t want to be here
you don’t want this, any of this

imagine the blade
across your skin
silently slice, slice, slice
again, again.
hypnotizing comfort.

imagine the height
imagine the flight
what a rush!
of adrenaline and wind

Along the streets and roads
come and crash us down, come on.
Around the corners
sudden headlights and screech of brakes, come on.

what else does he say to me?
no one cares.
what else does he say?
you’re as alone as can be.
its echo-y in my head

((no one cares))(caress)(caresss))
((you’re alone))(alone)(lone..))

you don’t want to live
he coos
your life, so dead. empty. meaningless.
there’s nothing here. 

Everyday
A demon whispers in my ear.

Battling Demons (That feeling)


that feeling
on the edge
almost coming

fighting, fighting
fighting the demons (of self)
fighting the darkness
fighting back tears.

sharp smells
bright lights
memory is like smell and taste
can’t quite pin it down
describing never does it justice
but it’s so strong, so poignant.

fighting back thoughts.

that feeling:
all consuming
an emotion morphed
and spilling over
into sensation

that feeling
suffocating, all around
pressing in, closing in
can’t
breath

that feeling
like it’s
not worth moving
not worth opening
your eyes
not worth breathing
not worth living

that feeling
so unbearable
that a mental scramble
for remedies
leaves you thinking
only this:

chop off my head
just wanna chop off my head
surely that would make me feel better
make the thinking
and the memories
and the almost-crying
and the want-to-dying
stop

or just dig a hole in my chest
both sound good
sounds like comfort.
whichever’s faster, easier
quick, do it, quick!

fortunately
perhaps surviving confers immunity
perhaps having gone through it once
it’s lost some power
lost some effect
you get numb, maybe.
you get bored, maybe.
you think, i’ve seen this before.
I can get out.

fortunately
it’s much less
all consuming now
it’s much less.

fortunately
i feel it coming
but just hovering at the edge
and i battle not to let it in.

i’m never.
going back there.

demons, away!
be gone.

leave me in peace.