"Nothing To You"

You're in my head.

I drive myself insane

day after day.

I need to

pull away.

I'm scared that you'll leave.

It's so familiar: this pattern.

Yes, I am obsessed.

It's just the insecurity, though.

Don't you get that?

Can't you understand?

Do you really not know?

Once I let go

a little,

maybe we can

even be

friends - for real.

How would that feel?

What do I mean

to you,

nothing at all?

You don't need me

the way that I

need you.

They never do.

I feel like nothing

because I am

nothing

to you.

Yes, you are in my head.

Yes, I am completely obsessed.

If only you could

reassure me somehow,

but you won't

and you don't

care as much as I do.

Why can't I get

close to you?

You make me so happy -

and yet what do you do?

Almost nothing at all -

just be you.

Do you know how I feel?

Do you even

care

how I feel?

I'm scared that

my intensity

will drive you away.

Please stay.

I'll be okay

in the end.

I'll work through

these emotions,

let go a little.

I won't hurt you.

I won't bother you

at all.

You're in my heart,

and in my head -

and I need to

pull away.

Yet, somehow I know

that I won't stay

away

for very long.

You mean

the world

to me,

even though I know

that I am

nothing

to you.

"Moonlit Forest"

I walk through

my moonlit forest

of fantasies:

soothed by illusions;

beautiful so-called "delusions" -

more real than the cold concrete

of a reality

so hostile,

from which I now choose

to escape.

"Shadows of Endurance"

I hide in the shadows

of endurance,

and by the time I emerge,

I am ready to be diverted,


and I try not to mention

too many details

about what I've just

been through.


I want to forget - not explain.


Yes, I can seem okay.

Yes, I can even laugh.


But no, I am not really fine.

"Ebony Night"

Body, mind, soul -

I am put daily to the test.

Physical, emotional, psychic - such pain -

and I do not get to rest.


I have searched all of my life

to find them - my people - true friends.

I have found temporary relief in delusional hopes -

again and again -

but each time, the crash comes and then

my world duly descends


into familiar chaos: living hell, where I belong.


I dissolve into grey -

scream into scarlet and crimson -

find sanctuary, finally -

in my spirit's

ebony night. 

"Scarlet Ink"

I hate me.

As I write my words of self-hatred

in my bathroom mirror,

I fantasize

about scrawling them, bold as screams, in scarlet ink

upon these magnolia walls:

the scarlet ink

of my blood.

Just because - I can - and why the hell not?

Should I add names?

I would love to add names,

just to externalise

the obsessions,

that live in my mind,

as I slowly die:

people who have hurt me,

are hurting me still,

and don't even care.

Is there

an end

to the

torture

that is

my existence?

"Burden to Society"

drained by this way of life

the constant pain and endless strife

relentless bubbling

of anger inside

internalised

then externalised

hate myself

resent the world

unwanted - unneeded

my warning's unheeded

because no-one really cares

and I am left here in despair

contemplating suicide

not one place left to hide

writing depressing poetry

thinking

knowing

that this world will

surely be

a better place

without

the burden

of me

"Something's Not Right"

what do you do

when the pain and discomfort

keep you awake at night

your body sending out

her unsubtle signals

that something's not right


do you write poetry

that's boring and repetitive

just to get through

do you have secret fantasies

do you ever just cry

what do you do

to make it through

another long night