If I just laid here would that be okay?
If I just staid here would that be okay?
If I just breathed here
Feared here
Cried here
Tried here
Stopped here
Thought here
Would that be okay?
Because I walk on these fragile egg shells hoping that you don’t see me.
But deep down though, I hope that I do break through this very thin ice and I hope that the air escapes me making me drown in the frigid spiked waters below.
Because anywhere is better than here.. in your shadows.

Picture of the clouds I reference my blurb.

There are so many days where I just want to take the towel and throw it in, I want to run in every direction, I want scream slightly and think loudly. These are the days where the clouds above are puffy and grey where when they intercept the sun and it becomes dark. But I think that the darkness that they create is the true light, the light where thoughts and reality blossom.

These ‘somedays’ are the days where great poets and artist flourish where the limits of gravity are only subjected to solely your imagination. It’s easy to have those puffy grey clouds stay in place and sit and wallow within their castes shadows. It’s hard to have the strength to walk out of their unnatural darkness. I have been here in the shadows for awhile now, it’s comfortable here. It’s controlled here no one can cause me any discomfort, it’s only me.

I’ve had these dark thoughts that cover the sun for as long as I can remember. I remember thinking of the days as moments closer to our death and finding a dark pleasure in that. Feeling that somedays suicide is beautiful and merely just the ultimate expression of life. Where the only high I could truly feel what the knife cutting into my skin and breaking the seal that separated my innards from the free moving. I never felt like having self love was really an option for me. I did feel that my outward madness did bring an equalibrem to me on the inside.

It seems that numbing the nerve endings that was causing pain was half the battle for most normal people but for me that was easy. I just removed limb that contained the hurting nerve and put it inside the trunk that was decorated in bumper stickers that said “lock it up tightly for the dead will walk”, with pretty little skull and bones and lock it in a dark room in the basement of my sanity.

But laying here limbless I realize that I am not healthier than anyone else I am just emotionally stunted.

I rather die alone than have a relationship like my parents.

Oh you can see my scars on my legs? Oh does that make you feel awkward?
Dose it make you feel uncomfortable?
Because it wasn’t that comfortable making them, it wasn’t that awkward for you to ignore me when I needed help, was it? So I don’t care if my scars make you feel anything, because when I made them they made me feel that I was still alive. Is that awkward? Is that too dark for you to handle?

Oh family what you don’t know won’t hurt you.. Will it.

My life. My thoughts.

I am an invisible disaster, I look put together. But I am far from it. My heart is broken. I cry, I try, I’m trying to live but I am stuck, stuck between what was and what will be. Broken. I may be a genius but I’m alone.

I’m sad and I miss you.

Love.

A name once so flavorful, so inciting, now so bland and tasteless.