Sick

 

 

Unprepared; the world says I have to want to be.

Haven’t the angels seen my desperate screams?

God, put me to sleep,

 Forget my promises you keep

 

If I could only cleanse or clip away the wrong in me

Chain and whip the numb and all excesses I perceive

But selfish me, lazy me, so lazy I’ve stopped eating

 

In a horrid, bloody daze where I fearfully envision

That my guilt ridden cuts could never be made deep enough

There are new wounds for each day my death

Runs over due.

  

This is a summary I guess, of the last two or three major entries here I’ve made. The running thoughts, and blank numb moments I am trying to make sense of right now.

 

Soon To be Over With

       Well, tomorrow I will withdrawal from school. And I guess sooner or later they’ll send me a bill for whatever I owe on the loans. This is hell. My mother doesn’t get it. Nobody does. I want to tell her that I don’t want what I am expected to want. What is life? Working at a job you don’t care about, just to get money to buy things you also don’t care about. God, why don’t I just starve. I want her and everyone else to be so angry with me. They should hate me with everything and then I’ll disappear, just the way I should. It would be easier if they said they hated everything about me…confirming what I already feel, making it easier to fall completely through.

She used the words ’she’s dropping out’ to my father, since he’s taking me to the college tomorrow. It sounded like a knife going though me. As if she’s stating finally that I am a failure. I have not lived up to her expectations. But it doesn’t hurt worse than wanting to escape this whole thing. I am scared all over again. Stuck all over again in my own failure. It’s easier to curl up into my mind and block the rest of the world out, pretending I don’t need to eat or drink or feel, and pretending I’m not distressed despite the tears and the blood. I don’t want to hold on anymore.

Looking back trying to see how everything could have led me down this path, I start to remember the things I just didn’t have, things that I see my cousins and even my parents have had. They all haven’t and didn’t lose their friends when they most needed their support. They all had some kind of support from their immediate family. They never got completely lost in themselves like I have, driving sharp things into their skin to dig out a reason. They never got this far. I look at my three younger cousins, all girls, three to four years younger than me, and non of them are where I was at their age; friendless, hopeless and hanging on to nothing at all. They are fortunate right?

I am still running. From life and from relationships and pressure. I avoid and it’s been that way for so long. Nobody ever told me how to handle this. It’s as if they all assumed I’d know everything I’d need to know to be on my own in life once I turned eighteen. No option I am left with is one I want to stick up for. What would they do with me, if anyone knew I wanted to end my life and would not accept anymore “help”, no more pills, no more talking? They would shut me out for the lost cause that I am and forget just as they should. It’s not so hard to understand anymore really. Disposable, useless, filthy and deranged…who could look at me and not call me a throw away?

Somebody should call me out. Send me on my way down, because I will not ever complete what my heart is actually hoping for, for my life. The population is full enough and I am useless. Art is not needed, and if it is needed, there are better people out there to overshadow me. My poems are probably too dark or boring to be published. They always find reasons to reject things…I could try, with the short amount of time I have left though. I’ll try and sell myself as best I can, and when it doesn’t work, at least I will be content with taking the risk at all.

The Bleed

I polished this a little bit more and thought it right to re-post it now. It is all a true story, one no one in my life knows about, and one I don’t ever intend to explain to them, because of how difficult it would be to honeslty understand where I am coming from without being sickened or afraid. I could be wrong, but I just don’t think they’re ready for something like it, and I am not ready myself to have the words leave me.

At a selfish hour, with rightly selfish thoughts

Lines so overwhelmed in agony are taught

To be my shock from a pleading secrecy

To scream; to justify the pain and the release.

 

Generous moonlight, illuminated tears

I hide my twitching sanity in sheer.

A lasting sorrow with night only to care

It’s the leaning, slit, the drip and stare.  

 

Reap, to rid my eyes of their breathing hue.

The nightmarish things I put my soul through

Dangerous hope with razor hostility

The longing, the depth in red defeat.

 

There’s a throbbing chill, I’ve practiced this before.

Dark dream, reality, the feeling I’ve prayed for

The shadows wade low, grieving what they see,

Swallowing the sight of a desperate bleed.