Anxiety

There is a freight train inside my ribcage
And it pounds at the walls
Shredding my dignity to pieces
This anxiety is scratching the chalk boards
Peeling away at the rooftops
It never leaves me alone
I am left with spider webs on my tongue
One bullet for one mind
A one way ticket to the unknown
Tonight I pray to a God I don’t know I believe in
For some type of relief
To help my soul from melting.

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Self oppression

once, i dreamed

everyone was bound by

invisible chains.

no one could see them but i.

some were bound by doubt;

others, anxiety; still others, fear.

the chains wrapped around the soul, then extended

and dragged

on the ground.

(though i did notice that some were unchained –

they were very few, and tended to create things.

there was fire in their eyes.)

even invisible chains make noise

(or so i thought – everyone either couldn’t hear them or pretended

not to).

the chains dragged and clanked

making the most terrible racket

and the noise was deafening –

then i awoke to find

it was never really a dream

at all.

Forgive me

Forgive me, because I don’t know how to forgive myself.

Forgive me for hiding my tracks, hurting someone who only wanted me to be safe and cared for in my darkest moments.

Forgive me for not being true to myself and compromising my integrity, faith, beliefs and strength out of fear of rejection.

Forgive me for letting myself slip into my demons, allowing them to culminate and get the best of me.

Forgive me for not knowing what to do and floundering through my days.

Forgive me for a lack of clarity, respect, trust and judgement.

Forgive me for not being able to let go just yet and re-opening old wounds.

Forgive me, for I am in my darkest and don’t know how to do so for myself.

Final destination

There is a sickness inside me & no one can see it
It’s been there for years now

A lifetime, maybe
It grinds my bones down

Slowly

Until the only thing left

Is stardust and moonshine
Drink it down, baby

One shot

No hesitation

No going back

Knock it down

And feel your empty heart fill

And your broken soul soar
How high is Heaven…?

I’ll never know
It’s somewhere down there

Beneath me and my high flying dreams

Deep within the flesh of the Earth

Still baking in the womb of the world
But where is Hell then…?

You would have to ask me that

Because only devils like me

Know the way
Hell is a dark

Hollow place

Etched into the very essence of our being
We are Hell

We imprison ourselves

We condemn our sins

We repent

And repay

And regret

And remorse
And none of it makes any difference

Because you cannot be rid

Of the Hell that is inside you
No one can see that either

Only you and me, baby

Your eyes reveal my secrets

Mine cry your pain

And together we hold hands

And let go of control

And one more drink, for the road…!
The way to Hell

Is a lovely little path

Lined with good intentions

And all the damage they do

It’s a quick trip

It only takes a lifetime

It only takes your life…in time.

Reality

Imagine being in a dark room, cold, void, lonely and quite scary.Are you there? – in your mind can you see that?, imagine being in that room for as long as you can remember, and at night, the faces, the whispers, mocking you, coldly reassuring you that you are always going to be alone, with just them. 

Do you know who they are? They are your fears, your doubts, your obsessions, your demons, everything that has driven you to that dark room.
Then imagine you can hear someone on the outside of that room, speaking, through the wall, at first you don’t want to hear them, just another nasty trick, I mean who would be interested in talking nicely to YOU?!

But, No, They are there, they are still talking to you, telling you things are going to be okay, they start creating chinks in that wall, tiny shafts of light start illuminating that room, the faces, they don’t like that light, the voices, they don’t either, they get less and less, the light gradually gets more and more. 
Still with me? 

Eventually, there is a hole in the wall, almost the whole room is full of light, that same person is beckoning you towards the hole in the wall away from that room, you’re apprehensive, so you take some talking around, but eventually you trust them, I mean they have freed you, only the deepest and darkest corners still aren’t touched by the light, you are about to walk out through that hole, into nothing but light, then that room itself will become a distant memory, and that same person who reassured you, who freed you, they push a boulder over the opening and walk away, all the lights gone, the faces come back worse than ever, their annoyed you almost left them. 

That room never seemed so dark, so cold, so void. Thing is, the only way out through this seemingly endless density of solid wall, is to scratch your way out – with your bare hands.

You sit and consider this for some time, then think, even if I do get out there isn’t anyone waiting on the outside, so what is the point in hurting yourself in the struggle to get out, just to be as alone out there, as you are in here. 

Other voices, not as strong – you can hear them on the outside of the wall, making feeble attempts at reassurance, but you don’t want to hear them anymore, no more hope, that person took all that with them, the first time you trusted someone, they broke it, shattered it like a mirror, why would you trust someone ever again? 

Its okay, you can stop imagining that cold room now, come back to the reality of where you are sitting, feel the warmth, see that soft light, but spare a thought, that I cannot stop, because what you have just imagined, is my reality every single day.

Seven days 

Monday.
she wakes up with tear-streaked eyes and her window panes clouded with broken promises. she’d smile, but there’s no fixing other people’s mistakes.


Tuesday.
she decides that we all have twins living in an alternate dimension, and whenever they do something terribly wrong we get punished here. it’s really the only way to explain why things just can’t be fair.


she wouldn’t mind life being just a game of chance, if she had better luck.


Wednesday.
she wonders if fake smiles can buy her way into hearts. she wonders if smiles can buy anything, anymore.


she needs to stop complaining.

Thursday.
she falls asleep with no will to live, praying that god please –ohpleasegod erase her permanently.


Friday.
the sun rises red with apathy and regret. if he was there he would deprive her and torment her just how she likes it and hold her down under the covers. but she wakes up alone, and she wakes up alive.


Saturday.
she goes to the park to watch little girls in flowered dresses twirl and kick up dirt under cute pink shoes. they press tinytiny fingers to redred lips and when they breathe in fresh air they actually want it in their lungs.


Sunday.
she starts to pretend they are all dead, after the realization that it’s easier than believing they chose to leave her.

‘this is my past lover, good friend, family, the died in a fatal accident one night when

the collision of hearts was too strong. I was the only survivor.’

In reality, she died too.

I think my soul leaked.

The lights hurt me; the sounds do too. Everything hurts. I hide behind my hands. It’s not enough to calm me down. It’s not enough to protect me.

I’m not shaking. My breathing isn’t heavy. It’s all inside. I’m paralyzed. This is nothing, I say to myself. I’m not even shaking, this is stupid, I say. Why don’t you move? Why? But I just can’t. I want to cry.

 I’m mad at myself for being so weak. I’m mad at myself for being sick while my body isn’t showing any signs. I’m not shaking. I feel stupid. You’re a mess, Rosie. 

My hands are glued to my forehead, like a small roof infusing my eyes with a light darkness. I can’t move. If I move I won’t be fine. I find a semblance of comfort and safety in this position. 

My body wouldn’t respond anyways, would it? If I try to move I’ll fall, won’t I? If I don’t see him, he doesn’t exist therefore he can’t see me and I can be fine.

I want to cry. I just want to go home. I want to hide. I need silence and the comfort of my bed to relive this moment over and over in my head and torture myself. I don’t want to be here anymore. But I don’t want to move. 

To get out, I’ll have to take my hands away from my face and that’ll leave me exposed. Exposed to the light, the sounds, the eyes, the room. I don’t want to face this. 

Maybe if I remain like this long enough I’ll disappear; or maybe he will. I want to try this. I don’t feel strong enough to look up. This denim skirt makes my legs look fine. These are my legs. From my body, right?

I hear her speak. Her?? It’s so far yet so close. She says “I’ll help you home , okay?” No, it isn’t okay. It’s not. But if it isn’t for you I won’t get out of here. She moves and grabs my jacket. I can’t get up. She’s waiting for me. 

I don’t care if I have to rip my skin off to get those hands away from me. I get up. I’m sorry. But thank you, oh thank you so much. My skin is intact. But I’m burning up. 

We walk. I can’t look up. The noise is killing me. I stare at her feet and follow them. I say sorry to them. My tongue is missing. My mouth is a hollow cavity that cannot even gulp down enough air to ease the lightheadedness. Thank you for saving me from this hell. Does she know?? 

She stops many times. Let’s get food. You need sugar. There are so many people. They’re all probably staring at me right now. “Look at that weird bruised girl with her eyes glued to the floor.” “Why does she play with her hands like that?” I feel ugly. Stop staring. We wait in line to pay. This feels like forever. I feel weird. Tea with 4 sugars she all but forced down me. 

It’s okay.

We walk out. I close my jacket and put my hood up. I don’t want to see the lights and surely not the people in the streets. I stare at the ground and let my feet do the job. I’m on autopilot. My body is. My mind is busy overthinking everything and going back on old and fresher memories and stamp everything with guilt, shame, doubt or anything else it feels the need to. I feel like crying but it won’t work. I let my feet carry me. They know the damn road too well by now. I feel horrible. Shaking. But not very much still.

Halfway home. Now I feel numb. I open my jacket. It’s getting hot in here. Get rid of the hood. The light doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t feel very real. I think about my small room and how it’s devoid of people; how it’s devoid of the outside world. I feel sad. Is this how my life shall be till the end? I don’t like being alone. I don’t like this poisonous bubble. But part of me doesn’t want to pop it; not that I could.

Home. 

Goodbye Rosie get some rest you’ll be fine. 

Finally inside. I get rid of the damn jacket and walk into the bathroom. I’m slightly shaking and my breathing is heavy but not so much. I take my clothes off and wish someone would do it for me. This is so tiring. I manage. I get in the shower and almost burn to death. I can’t think fast enough. After three tries, I get the right temperature; not really, but good enough. I stand numbly under the water and let it wash away the infinite bullshit I am covered in. I can’t cry. I get out.

Now I’ve got to put clothes on. The. Struggle. I don’t feel anything anymore. I brush my teeth. Boy, do I look ugly. So much darkness on my face. My soul leaked again, I think. 

I stare into space as I mechanically fill a glass of water and sit on the bed. I grab my computer. It’s so slow. Please, don’t do this right now. I need some music. It’s finally on. Struggling to give me what I ask for, but hey, I can’t complain. “Like master, like pet” or whatever. I finally get my music. I hesitate. I don’t know what I need right now, I think. I listen to one song. Then another one. Still not it. I DON’T KNOW. I finally settle on Nine Inch Nails downward spiral album and open my WordPress tab.

I type down some shit on a draft. I start typing what I think will be a poem but soon turns out to be a weird somehow vague post about how fucked I am. I’m hungry but I brush it off; my body won’t accept it, I won’t swallow and ugh. The pain sets in. Every inch of my body aches. Painkillers. I throw them back my neck.
I post what I wrote and pick a book in the hopes of finding some peace of mind. My stare is still very far away. I’m not here anymore. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be back in the cockpit. Maybe not. Every day is a surprise. What will I get? What degree of hell? How will I manage?

I don’t know what this is.

Now I feel Numb
Lost deep in this endless pain
It takes feeling really high

For me not to sink as low again

Something I use when I feel myself sliding
It takes me high but pushes me down lower than I was
I wish I could get off this roller coaster
My head is empty but my eyes are full

And to the point that I feel the rush
That silent cry when the tears fall and you can’t hold them back
That’s not happening though

I’m teetering on the edge of

A breakdown and trying to keep it together

I can feel them start to roll

That hopeless sting

When you can’t fight anymore
But I can’t even do that
I don’t care that I messed up

I don’t care if I stuff down the pain

That I feed the hurt

That I let myself be the victim instead of it..
Because he’s it to me

Every. Single. urge. is
I want that hopeless sting to roll down my face
That awful feeling of being so numb that the tears help
But you’re senseless.  
You can’t feel it
And instead
You let them drip down your cheeks like a senseless train wreck
That noticing the wetness won’t change the empty shameless plug that can shut everything off in a second
And when you do feel it? You hit your knees because the tears are so heavy
Crushing

Smothering

And ending you
That feeling hits you so strong that guilt overwhelms every part of your mind that you don’t have anywhere to go
You have no idea what to do
Then it comes
And surrounds you and invades all the empty space
It wants to wreak you

Break you

Hold you down and force the air out
Begs for some ground to smother you in the never ending thoughts

Burying a wh.re

And when I die,
surely from sin and dirt and living-
Do not bury me in white.

Do not brush my hair and paint my nails.

Do not shine my heels and iron my dress.

Do not speak of me so bittersweetly.
Bury me in lingerie with frayed lace.

Muss my hair and smear my lipstick.

Scuff my boots and rip my tights.

Speak of me with thinly-veiled vehemence.
Do not love me,

when I am dead.

For none did during life,

other than in the glow of a t.v.

that only played to hide the moans.
Do not bury an imposter

and spin tales of a sweet virgin

who died too soon.

Bury a wh.re

and rage that you were not the one

to finally silence her.

Prison.

I bare such useless emotions:Sadness,

Loneliness,

Annoyance,

Jealousy,

Boredom,

Empt­iness,

This terrible feeling that I’m feeling right now,

This feeling that wants to rip me apart,

This feeling that’s clawing at me,

Tearing me to pieces,

Pulling at my flesh,

Pulling at my skin,

Pulling at my bones,

Trying to break me .

My soul wants an escape from this

Terrible

Useless

Useless

Useless

Prison that holds it captive.