Is that all?

"I am a poor, wayfaring stranger a-wandering through this land of woe"

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can i go

these days I have no control of myself.   i am an unruly stranger, yet pitiable and pathetic i wander, because i am lost. i am lost. where am i what am i doing who am i anymore

a few weeks ago i bought razor blades. blood. blood everywhere. i stood in front of my mirror couldn't help feel sympathy for the weeping and hurting girl who faced me her eyes bloodshot, dazed. holding on to tylenol as if it would stop the pain.

a few weeks ago i prayed that He dispose of me my purpose here has been fulfilled. i have done it. i know because someone said he could not be who he is now if it wasn't for me. i have done it. someone will remember me

i can die now.. please.

these days i have no control of myself what kind of person lives with no self control i am not fit to live anymore.

the light that used to shine in my eyes, well, that's been turned off, in fact, the bulb lies shattered, i feel the shards often in my heart. i'd rather die with some semblance of a heart than to die with one that is numb, what will the ants eat

i can die now. please.

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What is it to be poor? Is it to be desirous of the finer things? Is it to be content  even when you have nothing because you know that  father is doing his best? Is it waking up on Thanksgiving day to him saying that dinner is served even though he brought it back from some food pantry?  Is it teaching yourself as a child to not want anything because desire hurts like a searing knife laid right in the middle of your back where you couldn’t relieve yourself of it? 

I know the answer to all of these questions is no. I know that life has its ups and downs, that someday it will be okay. I know that sometimes looking at. what others have, what others are doing makes you feel like you have nothing compared to what they have.  I know that the answer to these silly questions I ask is no because I don’t know what it is to be poor. I don’t know what its like to live a life with no hope of a better tomorrow because I have always had hope in a better tomorrow. I am a coward, this is why I just want to run away so I don’t have to deal with this. I am calling myself out to be what I really am, someone full of pride and arrogance that I can’t even stop to say thank you. I don’t know what poverty is, and at times I wish I did, perhaps I’d be a better person. I’ve had the things that matter, I’ve had food, shelter, the works even though it was at minimal. I can be better. I can recognize that there’s so much more to life than what I’m feeling, that there’s a much bigger picture than what my only good eye can see. 

I wish I had the guts to step beside myself and realize that I am a spoiled brat. Moment of honesty. 

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In light of the recent darkness

There's blood everywhere among us Helpless animals Responsible for each other's demise Torn apart by constructed ideologies That we could tear apart with one word Unity We dive into deep waters Because the reflection within is our enemy Mother nature has more mercy Because our hate exceeds the scale We disregard the price of life Yet value everything else I'm sorry, I can't live like this. The man in the mirror is not enough Because she's a coward in her room Far and removed from the ills of the world Her only pride is her profile picture But solidarity alone is not enough... What else can I do, I beg. There's blood everywhere among us Helpless animals We are one, aren't we? We are one, aren't we? 

Why is this so hard to understand?

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Sometimes I still think of you

not quite as much a I used to, 

but once in a while, 

I remember our conversations. 

My, we talked about everything 

life, our homes, the weather, 

we joked, we teased each other,

we were good friends

why did we let feelings get in the way?? 

oh right, I was just a girl

and you, just a boy

and all we had was each other. 

I’d almost forgotten. 

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Meanwhile, between blinks, my brain slows my lids and keeps them shut as I become an audience to another memory of us. The day I thought would be our last, you caught me before I could fall into your suitcase and that was so cliché it almost ruined the moment. You brought your arms onto me from behind as you nuzzled my neck, you devil, you know that makes me weak. You guided me in a slow dance around your empty room and we swayed to inaudible songs, the sound of each other's heartbeats perhaps. I fell in love with us in front of your huge mirror, you, the brave one and I, the saved. The smile on my face was one I'd never seen before, something drenched in honey and I couldn't believe just how lucky I'd become because for once, I had someone holding me.

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"Offer Me That Deathless Death"

"Good god, let me give you my life"

that abrupt resolution is my reality,

a stone cold moment that stretches

over all other realities, sobering and 

excruciating like a needle’s point into

my cliched heart.

Life’s no proper story, neither was yours

and mine’s, 

relieve me of the climax you thought nonexistent

forget about the falling action, I just thought you’d catch 

me, 

and everything else, well I wish it were written 

in pencil, 

Life’s no proper story, 

but stories can always be re-written.

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the man you spoke about is lost 

at sea but you must know

that he lives on

beneath the water, among

the darkest of creatures,

swimming around in blindness

and occasionally, he meditates 

on the spectacular view of hell 

but you must know 

that he lives on as one

happy disconsolate

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Forte

The reprise, shall they spit the boiling broth? Apprehend their mistake in case one slips under the rug once more, the ant under a dead horse's nose. If innocence is sinful, then perhaps ignorance should be charred onto the handcuffs glinting below the florescent sun, a displeasing pleasure Desirous is more More is lust Lust is disaster Shall they sing again? The king holds the reprise Forte Forte Let them spit the boiling broth.

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Grey Skies

If I were rain

You, the blue sky

You wouldn't be blue anymore

You'd have me

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get well soon, don't leave

daddy, I have no

posies in my pockets

please don't go

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Forget it, it means nothing.

I’m vulnerable, you know this about me. How dare you take my neatly taped dignity and set it on fire with just your mouth?

On the fifth stair we left a stain, and if ever we are to haunt the place, they’d be an apparition of 

a girl fiddling a blue pen while he looks into her eyes asking why she always laughs when he wants to kiss her. He would then lean in and hold her neck as she surrenders and closes her eyes, their lips conjoining in momentary harmony only it would endure a short while as an interruption would have occurred, shattering the lonely event.

 The spectators would never know that you were crazy and selfish, that you lead me on only to draw a line of petals called friendship while I stand, trembling for more. They would applaud your romantic nature, thinking me so lucky but little would they know that your romantic nature is a terrible flaw because it only takes your heart into account, moving like a blind ant. You say more will make you want more and you know I can't grant you that blessing, but you're also leaving in a month so it doesn't matter. They would never know that atop the stairs, you uttered the words "forget it, it means nothing," all the while holding my hand.

I'm vulnerable, you know this about me. How dare you burn me only to apologize for touching me?

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I'm Quite Alright Hiding Today

Sometimes I carelessly let my brain wander over borders it shouldn’t concerning you. I know right now we’re sitting on some dreadful hiatus, like a delayed flight except I don’t know if i’m the passenger or the pilot, but at my lowest points, I blame myself, while I stand waiting for you to unfold me again in forgiveness. In the dead of the night, I sometimes imagine you on the other side of my bed, your form perfectly shaping mine as we listen to the music of each other’s breath. The scarce possibility of you ever being in my bed stops me cold, shivering before the posters in my room. I listen to Jack White’s “Freedom at 21” as I quietly move around the room imagining you dancing along with me, except you probably wouldn’t even listen to that song.

Of all the things I regret, the day I sat in the closet and pretended to cry while I told you I wasn’t ready is on top of the list but I hate how you didn’t even fight me, quietly telling me that you were used to it and I felt so bad after. All I needed was some fucking time but how were you to know that I was a mess behind all that quietness? How were you to know that I live in my head, which is such a shallow place and that the only other person in there was you? 

In the midst of my hallucinations, your eyes brush over me and I remember how you hugged me under that streetlight at the Walgreens parking lot and for that moment, you could have killed me and I wouldn’t have been upset, I swear. As an optimistic person, I like to imagine all the ways I will hold you when finally we break hiatus but I just don’t believe anymore. Perhaps I’m a happy nihilist, you see. I think back to the night you kissed me, holding my face as if you could touch the depths of its origins and me opening my mouth too much I apologize because I didn’t know how to receive your gift and for texting you later saying ‘that was terrible.”  Obviously I have some issues with things outside of myself, but does any of this matter?

The good thing is that I’m ready now. You’ve shown yourself to be such an amazing person and I don’t know how I can ever live my life knowing that somebody else will soon behold those searching eyes and your soft lips.

But as we all know, when does life ever hand it to you when you’re ready? 

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"Don't make me read your mind, you should know me better than that." -The National

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Then my eyes stretched into the abyss and all was my shadow a lonely darkness, moving at the speed of life yet deeper below the barren pit lurked a cold and frigid desire unrequited and untamed muddy and ugly that I, someday, should stand tall.

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Does anybody know what happened to this poet named mymindisarazorblade88?

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"Listen, I’m sorry." “Alright. It’s alright.” Well, damn. It’s fallen again. This is the sound that it makes, the clang that it produces. This overture begins the procession of many apologies to come, many misunderstandings. It always starts with one, then another one, with less sincerity and then the rest is a lie that trails tears from the bathroom to the bed. The problems are minute but the symbolism is far reaching and ominous. There’s never the ‘glue’ to mend it back together and so eventually, it falls apart. No words anymore, no apologies anymore.

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I'm sorry for staring I sometimes forget to leash my eyes Its just that there are certain Things I wish I could Say to you now, So many dreams I've had It's as if you weren't real