Language of the Light

I’m coasting along. Incredibly empty. I haven’t gotten sleep. No one’s listening to me.

Puts me back into my past, in school, with a mind right in between snapping on everyone around me or running away somewhere expecting death to meet me at whichever direction.

People talk a lot and wish and pray, but it never feels real when it actually happens. When what you’ve been asking for happens….No body is going to be after me or hoping for me and my future if I’m not.

Whatever…

My brother’s idiot behavior got his car stolen last night…As my mother says, that’s “life in the big city…”

I hate the players and I hate the game. There’s people actually believing the 2012 hype and all I can say is it seems too good to be true. The end of the world, so soon? Yeah, too good–that’s how you know it’s not going to happen…lol.

But I do still hope I’m wrong.

How Long Ago

Run the music, run the words
Calculate my end
My simple complication
Just as silent, just as dead

To live with scattered memory
And bring nothing to close
Fragrant of both failure and loss
To live sorry, to grieve their cost

There are many among us
I am one to get rid of,
When all is cold and without hope
To talk me away from

I’ve seen the limbs, I’ve passed the bridge
I dream the cliffs of high
And no one asks that I save myself
How long ago I’ve died

 

It just gets worse.

Sacrificed

Sacrificed

It’s placed at the end of eternity
But the fearful ones try anyway
A faithful reaching done in vain
Their lives that could be, grossly hang

From this old sage, the ancient tree
Thriving ludicrous philosophies
The marked fools are all in line
Dream-full, in their prime and picked to die
I am a distant witness
My excitement keeps me kind
For what each breath may, or not, mean
They still will not ask why, and

I hear the moonlight weep
For all those bodies squashed beneath
The hollow voices of ripened souls
Down this devil’s throat

One of those days I understand too well why I have no friends.

No one’s got it all…

Birthdays….

Are Horrible. Even more so when people, family, have forgotten. But that wouldn’t matter so much if I weren’t around to know it. I just need to be put somewhere.

Get rid of this pain
Put my faith into something

Maybe these pills,
Then I’ll be alright

Or this knife;
Maybe then I’ll sleep tonight

Within this lonely place
I’ve been still with every lie

And as I sleep in dark escape
I’ll wake ready to die.

The Heart

This is something I painted a few weeks ago. I think it goes with this poem alright enough. It’s also the image I have as my blog header.

To Pieces

Soaked by the falling rain
The bottom of a shoe
Always in my face

The live body
The prison cell
Each heartbeat marks
The bars of hell

Release this fury –trace with knife
Along my throat, along my thigh
Those precious blood ways I outline
Tomorrow at the back of mind

Pull my arms and legs apart,
Peel away my veins
Nowhere am I beautiful
My bruised dead face

I dream the open window
My several stories high
I’ve opened everything up
I’ve eaten all my insides

I’m licking at each bone
I bite to pieces,
Here alone

I really don’t have much to say anymore about my life. I don’t see past a year from now. This doesn’t change. I think I’m going to give up looking for a job right now as I don’t even understand how I’m able to function during the day. There’s nothing keeping me together and to be honest I’m having brief moments where I’m all about the details in how to get rid of myself, they’re getting into my dreams again. Things are just so messed up. I should be seeing the good I’ve been given and try to make something of myself, but I can’t get past just not being able to care, just not wanting to be here in the first place. And I feel I’d be doing everyone a favor if I killed myself–sooner rather than later.

But you know already. It’s my same tired story

Skull

After three days I finally finished it. It’s painted on a $4 piece of ply wood that was almost flat…anyway, I like how it turned out. I have another piece of wood left and I need a better idea as to what I could try. Hopefully it’ll come to me.

My mind is in pieces but I am still trying to volunteer. Every time I let the thought that something will actually go right creep into my head, it falls through. Seriously though, where do I go from here? I can’t find work, and in this stupid ass city of all places, hospitals left and right knowing they need help, no one contacts me about my volunteer applications, or they do and everything has to be delayed for some shit reason.

And the people here? I want nothing to do with. If another person steps to me in the wrong way, I swear to God… It’s as if this whole city is waiting for someone to snap. It takes all my will these days not to bitch slap everyone that opens their mouth to me. I tell my mother it’s depression, that I’m doing my best, this is just how it is without medication to numb my emotions and block my thoughts. She still seems to think it’s not as serious as it is, that all I need to do is get out of the house more often. That’s true, but I’m sure she wouldn’t be talking to me as if that’s all I need to do if she were to see the latest injury on my arm. I know it’ll leave a nasty scar (had no caution, didn’t even care exactly where it was placed, I just did it).

Yeah, I’m in pieces. Back to having no patience with people, random tears, and contemplating a plan to get out. I feel bad. My birthday is in less than a month. Just thinking about that… I don’t know why it makes me feel so down.

I tip-toe the sharpened edge

Stay away,
You can’t be responsible for this
These open wide cries
This splitting of my wrists

I’m standing at the end
I tip-toe the sharpened edge
May this reckless air be blessed
My higher soul I do not stress
On I press, so limited
It’s all that I can do
The risk I carve right through
To give myself little more room

To linger as a wound
Slit of pattern-less time
Sorted fast out of line
As the blood begins to dry

Just wanted to post the painting I did that goes with this poem. Below is a skull drawing I’m beginning. If I can get my head clear long enough to paint it, I’ll have that up this weekend probably.

I’ve stolen another razor. The little pieces of sharp metal my mother uses in her sewing machines. I feel so low about it. Wondering to myself why steal razors when I have a knife all my own? Razors just hurt a little more, that’s why. That’s all.

I want out.

Skull thrown
Against a wooden wall

Nails tap the mirror then-
Shards

Thank you.
Now look away.

These Tears Are Never Enough

Alright. I think I’m finished.

For real this time. I will never stop getting in my own way. Trying is useless; from what I”ve already done, it doesn’t even look like I know how to try and give things a real chance.

Today my mother and I almost got hit by a train. We were in the middle of a railroad crossing when I noticed the red lights were on indicating a train near, but the gates hadn’t fallen soon enough. I told my mother to back up the car, but as I said it another car pulled up behind us, blocking the way. I looked at the right and saw the train moving closer and my next thought was of not getting  my foot stuck in the tracks, because I was set to unbuckle and get out of the car. But my mother told me to hold on and she sped the car forward. Afterward she said “those people behind us are probably saying that was a close call for us…”

There’s no point to this story except to say I should have gotten out of that car and walked face forward into that train. The last two days I can honestly say I’ve never felt more infuriated with people as a whole. The waiting I’ve had to do, the nasty attitudes…I would love to reverse the mistake all life and creation has turned out to be.

I want to get this over with. Thinking about what I’ll miss or who will miss me or who I’ll hurt is not going to save me from failing at life or from causing myself more pain by trying to make it. Survive for what? I am not understood, I will not be missed.

One of these nights I’m going to try. I’ll go as far as I can. And if it’s not good enough, I’ll consider it practice, and I’ll try again. With the medicine all gone from me, I do feel more like my old self again. My old, suicidal, depressed for no reason, self. But this time, no longer waiting to feel better.

So alone it hurts.

 

The stitches I pull open
Bone, tainted by the breeze
Moments infected pass with ease
They say ‘I know it hurts but breathe’

My darkened spirit sounds the trill
Another self I’ve got to kill
Pray tell; it’s a quick two or three
I bleed–the panic quells to peace

Between the breath and beating
I say I need no more
Now dazed, half awakened
And watching my blood pour

I protect them from their fear
The nightmare swimming in this mirror
I feel my angel turn away…
This time, the end,
Be near

 

I’m going back to what I usually do. Post my art and crappy poems and leave it at that. My personal life sucks and is not interesting and hearing me bitch about it is a huge waste of time. I’m eventually going to kill myself anyway. It stays with me and pulls me toward it; One day I’m going to get there.

Closer

Something’s going wrong again.

I can’t write, as everything I’ve written seems like complete crap—I’ve never known what I was doing and there was and never can be a meaning behind it. My art means nothing and I can’t even finish the drawings I’m working on now because I don’t feel as if they’re my ideas anymore. I don’t own anything I’ve ever done.

I just feel disconnected, brainless, blank and unimaginative. And it’s constricting in on me. And whatever I might think of doing to fix this is more of a loss at the end of the day.

This is hell.

Why can’t I appreciate what I have and stop bitching about having to breathe? I have a life. It’s going to end one day. Why isn’t that enough anymore? Why don’t I find enough comfort in that anymore?

The last thing that genuinely made me feel better was listening to my mother tell me about her grandmother, on her father’s side, having a pet praying mantis she’d let roam around part of the house. And my mom telling me how there were never any spider webs where it was and how it used to just sit on the piano sometimes. It makes me want to write poems on all the other strange stories like this that have been told to me about my family.

Stories from the past, from someone else’s life, because you know I don’t live enough to have much at all to say.

Last week I slammed my wrist against a wall in my bedroom as a signal to my brothers to shut up. I was trying to sleep. Diplomacy is out of the question. I have lost a lot of respect for them, and actually don’t mind the thought of hurting their feelings.

This can’t last too much longer. I’m getting closer and closer, not being able to stop myself. Yesterday I was just about to hit the side of my wrist onto the edge of my desk when a tired feeling flooded over me, and I dropped every thought and just shut down.

I need to be taken away so badly.

Counting…

I figured taking strange pictures like this would help the feeling go away. But this was taken about two weeks ago, and it’s still with me. I want to slip further. For the past week I’ve taken 200mg, and for a time I was doing alright. Numb as can be, but it wasn’t bothering me. But now the apathy is weighing me down, and I’m thinking about suicide for no other reason than to end my pointless existence. Do I make a little sense?

I actually think it’s more the medication than anything. I don’t know why it is that I’m just now finding out about ”apathy syndrome”, but apparently it’s an effect that can happen in some cases when anti-depressants are taken for long-term treatment. And increasing the dose (as I’ve been doing) will likely worsen the feeling (from what I’ve read)

So, I will make an appointment with my doctor and tell him I want to wean myself off this medication. I don’t care if the depression comes back or if my anxiety worsens at this point. I don’t want to risk taking any other kind of anti-depressant because I don’t want to deal with the unpredictable symptoms again. And I especially don’t want to take the chance getting one that causes weight gain (the Zoloft actually caused weight lose for me).

That’s about it. I’d rather die than feel this way forever; unable to care, and without any motivation– except to break  out of it somehow, to hurt.

I’ll take 150mg tonight, then 100mg tomorrow night and then I’ll make an appointment with the doc to get a liquid form of the drug or something so that it’ll be easier to lower the dose…or something like that.  Taking this medication is the only kind of ‘help’ I have left and I’m choosing to let it go. I’m not making very much out of my life, and I no longer feel my attempts at staying well are working or deserved.