If Only You Know How My Hands Would Shake When No One Was Looking. How’d I’d Stay Up Late Staring

I tear my heart open , I sew myself shut.

My weakness is.. that I care to much!

There is a hopelessness in my chest , a weightless, heavy thing no one can see.

I used to feel shock at the word ‘suicide’ wondering how someone could truly end it all. The one telling others things get better.. but humans are naturally designed to fight to stay alive..I know this because when I stood at the edge, I was held back by the smallest hope for life. But now I don’t wonder anymore… hope is a gift not everyone gets to keep. Some of us are just left with an emptiness where hope used to be. They say ‘’hold on it gets better” sound familiar? But they never tell you how heavy hope can feel in hands that have already been holding on for so long.

Truth is, it NEVER GETS BETTER , people just like to drill some type of encouragement or hope inside you like when you are young and your parents used to tell you , “”if we don’t punish you, you won’t learn for next time” truth is it wouldn’t make any difference the next time but it sure made mommy and daddy feel powerful. Or “God is good he will look over you” we’ll turn off your favorite movie and look at the news or “” money doesn’t buy happiness/money doesn’t matter”” yeah only if you have all powerful giants giving you everything for free. Truth is , we have been living a lie from day one… it’s ok though.. after all it always gets better….

We don’t talk about it.

We don’t talk about it at all.

That night I scratched lightening bolts into your back , shook so hard I thought winter was leaking in from the window. You curled towards me in your sleep , heart as loud as a drum line.

Now….

We are quiet as headstones.

I didn’t know all the difference, morning brings.. 💔

WITH THIS NEEDLE, I THEE WED

So now little girl, you’re tired of grass

LSD, acid, cocaine, and hash

When someone pretending to be a true friend

Said “I’ll introduce you to Miss Heroin”

Well, honey, before you start fooling with me

Let me inform you of just how it’ll be

For I will seduce you and make you my slave.

I’ve sent stronger ones than you straight to their grave.

You’ll think you could never be such a disgrace

Then you’ll end up addicted to poppy seed waste.

You’ll start by inhaling me, one afternoon

Then you’ll take me into your arms very soon.

And once I have entered deep down in your vein

The craving will really drive you insane.

You’ll need lots of money (have you already been told?)

For darling, I am much more expensive than gold.

One day you’ll realize the monster you’re grown,

Then solemnly promise to leave me alone.

If you think you’ll have the mystical knack

Just come on and try getting me off your back.

The vomit, the cramps, your guts in a knot,

The jangling nerves screaming for just one more shot.

The hot chill, the cold sweats, the withdrawal pains

Can only be eased by my little white grains.

There is no other way, no need to look

For deep down inside you’ll know that you’re hooked.

You’ll desperately run to the pusher and then

You’ll welcome me back to your vein once again.

And when you return, as I have foretold,

You’ll ultimately give me your body and soul.

You’ll give up our morals, your conscience, your heart

And then you’ll be mine, ‘til death do us part.

When I say that I am afraid of being my father or making mother’s mistakes , I am greeted with the old saying , the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as if I am destined to be just like them solely because I am a product of them. I want to tell them that the apple can roll away. That it can hit the ground running and drift away with the creeks stream. That it can be picked up by gentle hands and placed somewhere different , a better place where the apple is polished and admired and painted like its art. The apple still did come from the tree, they’ll argue.

But it can feel different , be different.

The apple doesn’t have to go far in order to be nothing like the rest of the tree. My exterior may look like theirs but I am not filled with their rot.

When I say I hit an all time low,

I mean that I spent two hundred and eighty nine days without sunlight,

I’ve never known a rose to grow immersed in eternal night -

auctioned off my heart for the gift of sight,

I wonder how long I’ve lived my life blinded by the rose tinted glass?

false love will have you struggling to distinguish between gold and brass.

I draw out the sequence.

your palms met her flesh,

my reflection in the mirror is reduced to ash.

I feel my heart hit the floor,

blood stains in the carpet - proof that love does not live here anymore

next time just wrap them around my neck,

I get the same hand of cards

out of every single deck.

from love,

suffocating, choking,

that is the only sensation I have come to expect,

you know that better than me,

extinguished every fire set to your trees,

don’t you remember?

she left everything around you to burn,

choked on all the smoke,

still you fixated on all the ember,

if this body was ever not hollow,

I wouldn’t remember.

two hundred and eighty nine days,

I spent treading in the shallow,

moulded my existence out of clay just to fill another persons shadow.