A fraction of home,
Can she come to me? See?
Ignore the useless bodies,
They can’t have what’s mine.
Can’t even tell what’s a lie,
What is living? (Living, living, living.)
Why do you come back?
Dread is all it is,
It can’t hurt me, but my home SUFFERS
My hands are gross, coincide with my arm,
One is insecurity, the other is selfish.
Do you drag? Do you wait?
Why do you stall?
Sometimes my brain deludes me into believing that I am utterly unlovable.
Like a dog who has been in the shelter for far too long, being prepared for his final meal.
My throat closes up,
My lungs shut down,
And there are no other thoughts to be had.
I often convince myself that I do not deserve good things,
Like I am destined to live and die in a world of hurt.
As if something I have done in a past life created this monster of a brain,
As if I earned it in a way.
I know my brain tricks me,
It is conditioned to make things harder than they have to be–
I, ultimately, made it that way.
It is kind of beautiful though, that self-hatred and trauma can actively alter your brain in a physical sense–constructing neural pathways.
Sometimes it helps me to discover the trace of beauty within hideous things.
It is addictive.
Used to it
like the wicked bitter pills
that one swallows to numb the pain,
to block the feelings.
Lethargic yet nerve-wracking;
A tightness in the chest that
never goes away.
Faint, throbbing, persistent.
It is inherent to me.
the salinity of an ocean of tears,
the chaos of a storm wrecked ship,
the thorns of a lonely cactus.
Never clears away by itself.
Haunting like monsters,
nauseating like rotten hopes,
Appalling like oblivion,
Repulsive like nightmares.
One drinks it,
Slowly.
Like the morning cup of coffee,
Bitter, gone cold.
Yet addictive.
Mine alone.
-Ree
Why am I not better yet?
I’ve stopped eating,
Stopped thinking
The clock is ticking
Faster, faster
The days are blending together
I’ve cried too many tears
I’ve lost too many friends
I’ve ran out of sleep
My hands are shaking
My legs are bouncing
My hair hasn’t been washed
My teeth are yellow
Why am I not better?
I’m drowning in my own tears
I’m ill and no one is helping
This illness isn’t what it seems
It’s blood dripping down my arms
It’s tears being shed nightly
It’s the thought of being dead
It’s thoughts of hating myself
Is this all life has in store for me?
Why am I not better yet?
Clouding my heart from the peace I know I should feel,
Anguish and hate tear away inside of me,
With this hate follows only destruction,
With this anguish follows fear,
Will I ever be at peace from myself,
Will peace ever find me.
I have nothing
but regrets
and memories
that make me hate myself
more than I did before,
I feel as if I am in a never-
ending war
with myself
and I'm losing,
my heart is steadily bruising.
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