Suicidal Ideations

It stinks around here
There’s a nasty odor in the air
Mold spores in the air turn blue as they’re breathed in
The timeless affect of a dirty generation
There’s a funny feeling
The children play with lead paint peelings
Poisonous metal penetrates their minds
Mine is the same, but doctor prescribed
Lithium runs through my veins
Soothing my nerves, and calming my brain
My eyes still wild, my hair a mess
Loose words, loose tongue, and a bloody wrist
A new queen awaits her coronation
While I patiently await my own consummation
My lover though sits undecided
His passion for me has surely subsided
I sit atop a high set ledge
Talking again to a burning hedge
Some call me crazy, some want me dead
Should I jump? Am I losing my head?

The pills never helped

Her last year of childhood

Was stolen by the mental hospital

She took too many pills

Slit her wrists in suicidal rage

Her days became routined

And constantly guarded

Bored, she flirted with impulses

And she always kept her heart hidden

In fear of crumbling again

She clung to all she knew

The voice in her head consoled her

One last kiss for his love too soon

But she became an adult

He became bitter and angered

Not loving her anymore

She grew catatonic and blank stared

"Kill yourself, you fool

You have no reason to live

No one loves you or could

Give you love like I did then"

So she took a few more pills

And fell asleep again

Woke up in a hospital

Like a pin cushion clad

It never ends

It never ends

It never ends

She screamed

The nurses rushed in

A few more drugs in her IV

Seasonal Affective Disorder

As the days shorten
I find it more and more difficult to photosynthesize
The energy drains out of me
At first it's kind of beautiful
The change in color
But I know what's really happening
I'm slowly dying
I slowly dull and shrivel up
And it doesn't take much
But a small shake from the cold front breeze
To push me over the edge
And I jump
Falling to my death

Fearless

I thought I saw you last night
In the corner of my room
I thought I heard you whisper
"My princess, I love you"
And I was not afraid
For the first time in years
Your voice was a comfort
That drove away my fears
I can’t tell you what was different
Maybe I’m stronger now
Maybe time has healed me
But I’m better now somehow

Hi, I'm Hope, and I'm a caffeinaholic.

Caffeine, let go
I need to sleep
Burn out like gasoline
My demons must breathe

Just sleep

I know you know not anything but just despondency
But a flat affect psychology is no excuse to not be brave
And I tell you almost honestly, 
Nothing good can come from descending to the grave
I know you face insolvency from a poor economy
And you probably blame your sadness on a hapless biology
And this is correct most possibly
But you'll find more peace in delta waves
Than you ever will in death

Make it a point to do something, no matter how pointless that something may be.

I never told you why

I never told you the real reason why I begged you to quit smoking
I told you I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes
I told you I fear of you dying of lung cancer
I told you yellow teeth are unattractive
I told you you’re wasting your hard earned money
But I never told you the real reason

I never told you the reason I got you an ashtray
Even after I begged you to quit
I told you I didn’t like the mess

I never told you why
I never told you that all I wanted
Was for you to love yourself as much as I love you
For you to care about your body because
I think it’s the damn sexiest body on the planet

I never told you how much it hurts me
When you use your skin as an ashtray
I just told you that you needed to quit smoking
And bought you an ashtray which you still never use

I miss you.

If you could be me just for one day
Maybe you'd still be alive
Maybe you'd see the beauty I saw
If only I gave you my eyes

If you could be me just for one day
Maybe you'd still be here
Maybe you'd laugh at all of your jokes
If only I loaned you my ears

If you could be me just for one day
Maybe I'd still have you and
Maybe you'd know the comfort of your
Touch and your kiss and your hand

Maybe it's selfish for me to wish that
You could be me for one day
But I miss you so much that I don't know how
Much longer I can go on this way

aided sleep.

Perception shifts
Lights flash in all shades and tones
Darkness engulfs my surroundings
A heaviness sets in
Lights blur
Guilt sets in
Stirs in my chest
I fall asleep.

On The Bell Jar by Plath, Chapter XIII

I visited my father
At his salmon colored stone
A bitter dead Atheist
No Heaven to call home

Now I'm in the cellar
I've counted fifty pills
It's time to fall asleep
Forever at my will

Parent-Child Relationships.

Sit up straight
Shoulders back
Yes sir, yes ma'm
Arch your aching back
Hide your scars
Dress your wounds
Yes sir, yes ma'm
Hum a soothing tune

Call your father
Call your mother
Tell them lies and tales
No sir, no ma'm
I do not lie nor fable

Visit once or twice so often
Fabricate a smile
Laugh a little, laugh a lot
Endure another trial

Yes sir
Yes ma'm
I am doing well.
Yes sir
Yes ma'm
I hope you are as well.

bipolar disorder type I

wow, you look great
it's so nice to see you smiling again



thanks
I'm having a manic episode

I have so much energy
and I'm so in love with everything
and everything is so incredibly wonderful


fuck you! fuck this!


oh, please excuse me
I have inappropriate outbursts of anger
and I get quite irritated easily

Life Lessons

Teach your mouth

That it's just as important to be able to speak the word “yes”

As it as to be able to say the word “no”

Teach your body

That it's just as important to hold on to someone tight

And to let someone hold you and touch you

As it is to let go

What it really comes down to is

Teach your heart

Teach your soul

Teach yourself to love again

Teach yourself that it's okay to be loved too

Teach your lips to kiss a man

Or a woman

Or whoever the hell you feel like kissing

Teach your hands to stop pushing away

That not everyone is dangerous

And not everyone will hurt you

Teach your mind

Teach your mind to allow itself to heal

Allow yourself to heal

Be healed

You know you've lived a shitty life and are a terrible person when your family tells you that you don't even deserve a funeral.

I feel like a lot of people are just waiting for me to stop thinking about killing myself and actually just do it already.

sometimes I feel like people are preparing for my death more than I am.

I like that you're as fucked up as I am.

I love being able to have someone to talk to about my unhealthy obsessions and fantasies of death, torture, self mutilation, and many other taboos. It's just nice to be able to tell someone that you often fantasize about sawing off your own arm drinking the blood and eating the flesh without them judging you. I love talking about the different ways I dream up death and torture and have someone listening who can entirely relate. It's nice not being the only sick fuck around here.

Giving a fuck really just takes too much effort.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

I hate you because everything that's wrong with me is wrong with you too, and you make me realize how much it fucking hurts to love someone like us.

I get so lonely,

and wish and wish that someone would keep me company. But then when people do, I just get annoyed. Not an "I don't like you, go away" annoyed, but rather a "I'm too exhausted and talking to you is just too draining" annoyed. And then I'll find some excuse to end the conversation, or not hang out, or go home, or whatever, and I'll go right back to being lonely again.

I hate this fighting against myself stuff.

I'm conditioning myself for the big day.

Fear subsides.

I don't like the pain.

I like the moment right after the initial pain. When the pain is still there, and is still strong, but it's fading. I like to feel the pain as it drifts away. I like trying to remember what the pain felt like and what it felt like to dissipate. I like trying to hold on to the pain as it escapes me. I like becoming absorbed in the pain. Overcome by it. I connect with it. And though I don't like its intrusion, I miss it when it's gone.

I want a reason to doll myself up and look pretty.

Deaf

I still think
I still think all of the time
My mind still never shuts up
And my thoughts still never quit racing

But something is different

My thoughts go as quickly as they come
I can't remember my own thoughts
From a mere ten seconds prior

I can't grab my thoughts
They don't solidify anymore
They never touch ground
They only fly away

I can't hear my own mind any more

Staircase

Have you ever been kind of zoned out while walking around somewhere? Sometimes I do this. I'm completely in another world and paying no attention to what I'm doing and where I'm going. I used to do this at my school all of the time. I'd start off on the upper level and I'd just start walking around. A few minutes later and "snap back" into reality and realize that, without even being aware of it, I had migrated to the lower level.

My depression often manifests itself in a similar form. I just start mindlessly wandering around, and without even knowing what I'm doing I start going down and down and further down until I've reached the bottom. And I don't even remember getting there at all.

Sometimes, like today, however, when I "snap back" and realize where I'm at, I'm not quite at the bottom. I'm like three-fourths of the way down - or at least this time I am. I've kind of stopped, looked up, looked down, and then looked back up and realized that walking back up that three-fourths flight of stairs is gonna be a hell of a lot more effort than just walking the quarter of the way down.

And so I'll just walk all the way down. Completely aware of it this time.

I'm so afraid of going insane

It's hard for me to even talk to people because I'm always afraid that I'm not even talking to anyone real or replying to anything that was really said. I have no evidence to support that my mind is deceiving me, but that doesn't lessen my doubt. Sometimes I just wonder if I'm driving myself crazy wondering if and fearing that I'm going crazy.

Tears are just demon piss

That's what tell myself to make myself stop crying.

Words

I always forget the words I want to say before I get the chance to say them. I always feel sentences that I just can't articulate. They sit inside me and bleed like a wound I can't see but can only feel the pain of.

Statistics

It's midnight

I recall a statistic that someone in the US commits suicide every fourteen minutes

103 suicides per day

It's a minute shy of a quarter past midnight

And I wonder who is quietly sinking into their death

A peaceful death of pills and liquor

It's two minutes short of half past midnight

And I hear the cry of a child

Awakened by the sound of the demon who cursed the life out of his father

With a gunshot to the temple

It's three minutes shy of a quarter until 1am

And I can feel the splash of a young woman plunging to her end

During a midnight swim with death

She thought, “I can finally fly” and couldn't finish her next thought

It's four minutes short of one in the morning

And a chill goes down my spine

“What if I'm that next statistic,” I think

“What if I'm that 'fourteen minutes?'”

What if I don't make it to one in the morning?

What if this is the end?

And so I stick the blade deep in, and I think to myself,
“I better be that fourteen minutes.”

Self-loathing

I'm sorry for every time I owed you an apology

But I wasn't able to swallow my pride

I'm sorry for every time I put myself

Before your well being

And most of all, I'm sorry for kicking you in the ass

When I should have been kicking myself in the ass

I'm scared, so scared

I'm scared.

I'm scared because there are so many people inside of my head, and they won't get out.

I'm scared because I know that logically I shouldn't believe that they're there.

But I still do.

I'm scared because I can't look someone in the eyes anymore.

I'm scared because that's how they enter my mind.

They look into my eyes, waiting for me to look back, and then the second I do, they enter.

They enter into my minds and sometimes they never leave at all.

Self-mutilation

Sweaty palms

Uneven breaths

Tremoring hands and legs

Heavy beating in my chest

Dead and numb

Fingertips, stale and old

Afraid to breath

Because the air is so cold

The world spins

Fast and stills quickens

Each time I inhale

My thinning blood thickens

Toes tingle

And knees become weak

My mind cannot think

And my mouth cannot speak

The pale silver moon

In its sharp crescent form

Makes the blood in my wrists

Flow and grow warm

I begin to feel powerless

As I lose control

The ache in my heart

Reaches down to my soul

Words of encouragement

Fade away in my mind

I begin to forget

All those people so kind

As I hold in my hands

This sharp piece of steel

I care not about letting

My former wounds heal

The sharp edge of the blade

Penetrates my bare skin

My sadness released

And my anger and sin

I care not about safety

I care not about health

I care only for blood

And I have that in wealth

I look at my wrist

Stained red and swollen

From my torn open flesh

The devil has stolen

All sense of hope and worth

That I ever could find

He took it all out

Though I really don’t mind

My mind terrifies me so much.

I hate those

...little, shallow, disposable razor from the dollar store cuts people make. You know, those ones that only bleed a few little droplets. The ones that only take a week or so to heal. The ones that actually do look like cat scratches. It makes me so mad when I see those. It pisses me off so much that other young women and young men (and probably some not-so-young) are doing that to themselves. Don't they know what that leads to? Don't they know that their cuts are only going to become deeper and they're going to find out what's it's like fainting in a bathtub full of your own bloody water. Don't they know that they're going to form scars that won't ever heal. Don't they know they'll get trapped in awkward conversations starting with, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOUR ARM?" Don't they know that one day they'll cut too deep and next thing they know they'll wake up in a hospital. Don't they know that they're going to have to make up some bullshit lie to tell their children on why they're all scarred up. Don't they know how sick and stupid they are?!

Oh, but they just don't care.

I hate you, but I miss you.

and I don't understand why.

Do you ever have a "new" memory?

Like, all of a sudden you have this recollection that you've never had before. But it feels so real. Like of course that happened, but how come I never knew about it before? It's almost like someone is travelling back in time and changing the way things that happened and the memory is just kind of added. I don't know, I feel like I'm not explaining it well. It happens literally ALL the time to me, though. I don't even trust my own memory half the time anymore because I'm afraid it's just making things up and trying to trick me.

so much noise

I can't even hear my own voice anymore
And I can't even hear my own thoughts
The world that I've been away from for so long
Is so loud and I almost forgot

this is my fate

what if I had no peace and no freedom to die?

there is no justice in this.

If I were a painter

Even if you were to ask a painter, he would say
That people are more than just colors and shapes
But if I were I painter, I would know
Still that some people are just empty frames, without a soul

Words can't even describe how I feel.

It's like when I try to put my feelings into words the words just come back emptier than the feelings themselves.

The story goes as follows

When the climax rose
I fell
Expecting to be caught
Oh, how incredibly foolish of me

Four

I took four pills
With the promise of no more pain
But the pain was still there
So I took four more
But the pain was still there
So I took four more
And four more
And four more
And four more
And the pain was still there.

I'll be alright

I hate the wind for being so cold

but I'll be alright

The ongoing fire inside of my head
is enough to keep me warm

-

I have nowhere to lean anymore

but I'll be alright

The walls built around my heart
give me enough stability

Anxiety

There isn't enough oxygen around only me
And you even dared to take off
With the last breath that I struggled to breathe

I like to think of people who once "meant the world to me"

...and try to remember everything about him/her.

I try to remember the sentimental things: the good and bad times with him/her, the characteristics I liked and disliked about him/her, the way I felt when around him/her, etc. And then I also try to remember the physical things. I try to remember the color of his/her eyes, his/her height, the sound of his/her voice, etc.

It's usually when I can't remember what his/her voice sounded like when I realize (again and again) that a person whom I was once close to is no longer a part of my life. And that's okay. I get so terrified of becoming close to and then distant from people. But really, it's no big deal. It happens all of the time, and it isn't really a thing to fear.

Seperation

Disengage
Get away
I will not hurt you too
Detach and
Disconnect
Distance myself from you
Don't touch me
Don't love me
I can't care about you
This is for
Your own sake
You will understand soon

Inspiration

Inspire me,
sadness,
inspire me.
Whisper t' me beautiful words
that I may transcribe onto paper.
Paint the inside of my eyelids with
magnificent terror
that I may make visible
for the rest of the world.
Terrify me with beauty.
Make dying and death into
pleasant art
and not a thing of taboo.
Teach the rest of the people
to paint with blood too
as you have taught me to.
Be honest and real
and portray what life is,
take off the children's masks.
Inspire me,
sadness,
inspire me
to be more real like you.
Inspire me to take off my innocence
and to face reality truly.

She had the saddest fucking story, without a doubt. It almost bummed me out.

Fear of flowers

The snow finally falls
And the snowflakes stick
The world turns cold and white
But the beloved coldness shouldn't last
Or that's what they tell me
They tell me the sun will come
And the snow will melt
And the flowers will bloom
And the birds will sing
But I prefer the bare trees
And the brown grass
I prefer the silence
Please, Spring, don't ever come

Numbness

I keep telling myself that I am tree
And the season is only Winter
And that one day again the Spring will come
And my leaves will flourish again
But I am not a tree
And the season is not Winter
Everyone else I see is alive
Even once dead, once again
I, on the other hand, am dead
Have been and always will be
I am a numb, fragile skeleton
Like that of the dead Winter trees

The harlot's corpse

I've been being haunted
By the heart of a harlot's corpse
Not by her nasty ways
But by her crafty curse
For every night I fall asleep
In the arms of my shameful past
Praying that a hopeful future
Is not out of my grasp
And in the morning I awaken
This time I've had enough
The harlot's corpse shan't lure me more
With her romance off the cuff
In night again I fall asleep
This time in peaceful rest
Heaven nor Hell shall welcome me
Because darkness knows me best
Alike the harlot my corpse will rot
And feed into the dirt
The Earth will spin, the flowers bloom
The people will laugh and hurt
A victim new will be lured in
To the romance and the shame
Sleep will come, and darkness know
That this is not a game

Clinical depression

So here's a little story of a hapless punk
She was high all week and spent her weekends drunk
She was happy and content; she was doing fine
As long as the skin on her wrists was clad in bloody lines
She held a steady job; she made a decent wage
She had a perfect life, but she lived in a cage
She was everybody's puppet; she was such a fool
Thinking any day she'd turn and make her life her rule
She finally took control, and then it all went south
When the police showed up, she had a gun in her mouth
She then made the decision to try to figure it out
But she could never see through that vast, nebulous cloud
Confused and in a daze, she knew not where to go
She couldn't stop herself from spinning out of control
The cuts became deeper and the drugs became more often
From the choices she was making, she was building her own coffin
Everyone gave up when they saw that she had too
Her skin went pale and her lips turned blue
The doctors couldn't save her; they had been too late
And for the first time in long time she was truly doing great

Oxymora

Some people find happiness in their misery, and that's not to say that they're optimists - because the good lord knows they ain't. Some people, though, just enjoy being miserable, and there isn't a simple way to explain that. No, it doesn't make any sense at all. Yes, it contradicts itself. That's just how some of us are, though, and there ain't no changing that.

Sincerity

The pursuit of happiness

Is grounded in misery

And I'll be truly happy

When death comes to greet me

When my organs have failed

And begun to decay in the ground

In this state of being

Is where true joy will be found

It's cold

My mouth is so cold
my fingertips are so cold
my heart is so cold 
everything about me is so cold
that thinking brings me shivers
and the cold, wet rain doesn't help a bit
so that's why I bought myself an umbrella
to protect myself from the rain
because even cold rain on a cold body
can hit hard enough to pierce the skin
to reveal a layer of thick, cold blood.