I crouch in a dark room. Sun closed off. Sky closed off. Curtains, keep all sight away, because my chest is painfully tight and a hole is burning through me for no reason, and it blisters against the thoughts screaming "Why?" But there's really no answer to that. Or an answer too large to hold, … Continue reading Off Kilter
Tag: mental illness
The Day My Brain Busts
I whisper to myself jealously that I'll be alright. My body's gone this far. My brain will be the first to shut down, like an engine with just one too many miles. But the rest of me is still fresh. But tomorrow I will be clean. Start at dawn clean the places I have been, … Continue reading The Day My Brain Busts
A Strip Away
Tell me how to strip away my skull to get to the broken bits within. The twisted wires that connect me to the overwhelming want for darkness, for nonexistence, for my flesh to peel off, because I cannot survive with just bone. Tell me there's a strip of hope I'm not seeing, one strong enough … Continue reading A Strip Away
Wake Me Up When I’m Smarter
What do I do now, Father? The die's been cast the game now bought and the red numbers higher than ever, while I, here, have no hands-on in controlling the flow of money. Blank, hard, cold cash. It hurts the lack thereof, but hurts more than I even want it at all. There is no … Continue reading Wake Me Up When I’m Smarter
Quiet, now. For once your fears or discomfort are whistled to, he shall deny them. But they shan't dissolve. So whisper to the darkness that something's wrong and let it echo back. Or perhaps the abyss will swallow it. So hush. For if wrong's swallowed you'll want it too, you'll lean over. But should someone … Continue reading Whisper
Is This Mental Illness?
Rationalize the irrational sick brain. It says 'die' tell it 'no.' But a thought is still a thought, both 'die' and 'no,' leaving the heart alone in the chest, craving, craving. Only death really ends it. Now there's a reason. Rationalize that irrational screaming. They'll leave no love no warmth no peace the world's a … Continue reading Is This Mental Illness?
We Manage Us
You make me queasy. You make me long to sleep the day away and never leave this quilted, padded hole, where no one can find me. You make me hurt. You make me dream of jamming screw drivers to my broken brain to dig out the part that malfunctions, no matter how necessary, so I … Continue reading We Manage Us