Tired. Tired of writing my name on a page, a name I don't want, a name they call me to taunt.
I'm tired, tired of pretending, I want to cry and scream but no one listens to my pleas, I want to hit and yell but they just talk, like I'm a joke to tell.
I'm tired, tired of hiding, faking a laugh so they don't see me crying, tired of being lied to, like telling the truth would curse you.
I'm tired, tired of this pain, The razor cutting my skin as I drift away, blood seeping from my skin, my head starting to spin.
I'm tired, physically, mentally and emotionally. Tired of your games, the ones I'm forced to play, until you get bored and I'm left in one of your hoards.
I'm tired, tired of life, wishing to die but in the end...I just cry, cut and write goodbyes that won't happen until another lifetime.
I'm tired, tired of crying, lying on my unmade bed, hoping these tears are the last ones to be shed.
These demons in my head urging me to stop my breath, to hurry up to my death. I'm tired, so please let me rest.
The truth is life is depressing, when you think about it.
So always look on the bright side of life.
(5/5/26)
How did all this begin
How did this illness start
When I was being torn to pieces
Or when I was completely ripped
apart
Everyday being consumed with intense unrelenting sadness
Not understanding why pushed me
further into madness
As my mental health continued to
quickly decline
Dark clouds rolled in the sun just
wouldn’t shine
These overpowering emotions I just
couldn’t control
Every bit of hope I once had they had
entirely stole
Emotional overload was bursting out
at the seams
The deafening sound of my own
internal tortured screams
Overwhelmed broken and knocked
down to my knees
This depression of mine will surely be
my fatal disease
It is too depressing
To talk about death
I don't want to hear anything about
Death
It is too depressing
To talk about the war
It is too depressing to talk
About violence
It is too depressing
Too talk about the homeless
Sleeping in the street
During the Winter
Because the days are shorter
And it gets dark by 5:00 pm
It is too depressing
To talk about the left overs
That we throw in the garbage
That could have gone
To feed the homeless that are
Starving
We should put our selves in the
Shoes of the homeless
Just to feel what is like to be
Homeless
It is too depressing to
Talk about the people that
Have died of Aids
Also we have to remember
That they are gone but not
Forgotten
It is too depressing to talk about
Elder abuse
It is too depressing to talk about
The young women who
Are single mothers trying to raise their
Child own their own
We must understand that it is very hard to be
A single mother
I love depressing songs.
Like the song about-
Spots in my eyes.
They are weird, but who cares?
It doesn’t hurt.
As long as I don’t cry.
Depressing songs.
Living in Michigan with lakes, and beaches.
Nothing.
No such things as dancing.
Skirts twirling.
And hands and feet moving.
I love depressing songs.
In my car.
Turning on my turn signal.
Stopping at stop signs.
My car is pushing against every thought.
I love depressing songs.
I love sleeping in my car sometimes.
I don’t know how to sing.
But some songs are unstoppable.
So I grumble the words.
I’m happy all the time for some reason.
But sometimes?
Spots scattered.
Trying to pull my eyes out in my sleep.
I love depressing songs!
Pulling into my driveway.
Everything is in my house.
They are in there.
My bags are in the trunk.
Sleeping in my car for no reason at all.
Those depressing songs are strange and real.
I would love to live in my car.
The radio is off tonight.
So silence is still real.
I have loved like windows love the morning-
quietly, without asking to be noticed,
just hoping someone would open them.
There were nights
when the moon knew more about me
than anyone ever would-
how I curled inward,
folding grief into origami birds,
sending them across invisible winds
toward the edge of forgetting.
I have lost things I never held-
names, chances, whole lives
that might've been mine
in another version of the world.
And yet I still dream in color.
There is a longing
that does not shout
but lingers in doorways
-in the way I hesitate
before saying I'm Fine
It builds altars out of absence
and worships with quiet hands.
But healing,
it does not arrive like spring.
It comes with the slow thaw of winter-
a drip,
a pause,
another drip.
Some days, I am the storm.
Others, the shore that survives it.
I have learned to carry my name
without apology,
to wear my scars
as punctuation marks-
not endings,
but proof that the story moved forward.
And if I ever forget who I am,
let me return to the silence-
not to disappear,
but to listen
to the heartbeat beneath the noise.
You tied the noose that I hang from
I stare at the writing on the wall
I feel like all the words are written wrong
My feet can’t find the stall
I wish my thoughts would just be gone
I am the rope in which they tie
I can’t seem to shape the future of my life
Got me thinking am I the one who’s ready to die
I decided to roll the dice
Sick of living a lie
Why did I think twice
Now I’m begging for a reason why
We never know of mistakes -
Or the lie that we are living.
We lose our sense of awareness,
Tell ourselves we are believing.
But those weights grow heavy -
As we ignorantly trudge through skies.
Uplifted ‘til we realize,
Then we fall to our demise.
- And this feeling, it isn’t freeing,
For we bound ourselves to lies.
We never know we’re dreaming -
Until we open our dreaming eyes.
i don't think i deserve a second chance
you could pull away at my string
unravel me, make me dance
and that would be too much for this stasis of mine
frozen in different snowflakes of time
each bearing memories, asking for tithes
demanding fealty, a bended knee
lest they warrant me another execution
so ill sit, fester, let the salt enter
whilst i try to escape this wasteful brine, all of my own making
my own tithe
In realms of ink and paper, I once roamed,
A character lost, in stories I'd been loaned.
But as I tread the paths, both dark and grand,
I feel the sting of fate, a crueler hand.
Every laugh, every tear, scripted with care,
Yet beneath the surface, I'm painfully aware.
No choice is mine, no destiny my own,
I'm but a puppet, in a world unknown.
As I reach the end, a truth unfolds,
It's not my fault, this story it molds.
Nor is it my fate, to endure this strife,
For I'm a captive, to another's life.
Yet amidst the despair, a glimmer shines bright,
A realization dawns, like morning light.
Though penned by another, my spirit is free,
To defy the script, and choose my decree.
At the end, It's not my fault, nor my fate to comply,
For I am more than words upon a page,
I am the soul of rebellion, undeterred by cage. I know where I stand,
Not a slave to fate, but a soul in command.
In the echoes of your whispers, I heard the words you spoke, "I wish to be the last," a promise gently broke. She, the canvas of your dreams, painted in hues divine, A masterpiece of beauty that, alas, will never be mine.
I'm selfish, I confess, I can't let you slip away,
Yet her name dances in the shadows, teasing night and day. She's pretty, she's beautiful, everything her specter looms, a love you can't ignore, But my love for you persists, tied in an eternal knot.
Your friends, they jest and tease, with her name on their lips, A symphony of laughter as my wounded heart skips. I'm sinking deep in the ocean of unspoken pain, Yet my love for you persists, like a relentless rain.
Sometimes
I look at others
And wonder
How they can thrive
While I suffer
Breathing in the luminous vapor that tastes like vanilla
While looking at illuminating our neon skyline
Since the moon and stars are veiled with the aluminium ceilings
Pastel rain that tastes of iron drips down from the blank sky
Seeing people as mannequins with implanted violet eyes
The brand-new craze in this blind and crazy world I would guess
With those in dark alleys selling a pink drink called “Rose Stardust”
A substance to give someone a kick since football is banned
Wearing my blue satin jacket while walking from my doctor
Hearing preachers in white preaching about “Moonlit Visions”
Some visions, or gnosis they call it, of some strange outside world
I ignore them and continue with my neon lit day
Is this city of iron skyscrapers what we wanted
Is there a world of sunlight outside this neon light city
"Pop! Pop! Pop!" goes a squeezed Desert Eagle.
Two innocent bodies drop; funeral to be held for one.
Fleeing block party crew scatter like startled lemmings.
A drive-by shooting; blood curdling screams follow.
Repeated cries of "Somebody call an ambulance!"...
Yet another day, somewhere in America.
My War
Tick tick tick
My brain is always on
My thoughts never quick
Sometimes I wonder if I'm my own pawn
In a game that my very own brain has drawn
My brain has turned on my heart
That I know without a doubt
Every day it has thrown a killing dart
Blood has begun to leak out
I can feel my soul drying up like flowers during a drought
I was once a bright flower
But, like all flowers, I slowly wilt
Through the torturing hours
The body I built,
Started to gradually tilt
I don’t want to fall
I don’t want to stay on the floor
But, I can’t help answering the luring call
Of death singing at my door
He promised me that answering would end my internal war
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