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they are so loud

i scream back

but they do not listen

my voice is so small

compared to them

it is drowned out

i keep shrieking at them

but when i open my eyes

i am looking in a mirror

screaming at myself

tell them to leave me alone

the crazy is not what’s outside

it is me

in me

how do i get them out

pain makes them quitter

until they yell at me

that they want more

an endless cycle of pain

& screams

i just want quiet

i do not even want to be with myself

i will surly die soon

because they will kill me

everyone will say it was suicide

they just do not know

that i wanted to hurt them

none of me was left to break anyway

they took it

all of me

it consumed my entire soul

every last bit

i could not hold on tight enough

to myself

so i slipped

into the oblivion

the dark nothingness

that is living without a soul

nothing is inside

i finally know why i can not feel

anything anymore

because i am not alive

just existing

not living

& that is why

when i die

you will know that my soul came back

in those final moments

i was happy

that the pain

was finally over

as it sits in the sink

with blood covering the cold white porcelain

you can see only blurred parts of yourself

in the broken mirror

you had smashed

not wanting to see the person you didn’t recognise looking back at you

seeing their mouth open as you say your name

over & over

desperately hoping that at some point

your mouth will be closed when you hear the name

as if to prove to yourself

that your not trapped in that shell of a person

violence is so comforting

the already bruised fist that you never even saw hit the mirror

the feeling of true searing pain rushing through your knuckles

the sound of glass hitting the sink

it was just a second of relief

scratching your name into my paper

inside the small book that knew more about me than any living person

such emotion

passion.

as i wrote about

you, us,

the world,

everything.

i knew that this happiness was not going to last

so nothing mattered

tearing the pages as my pen pressed too hard

into the paper that i wish was my skin

only that paper can be put back together

i could not

but the words

the black ink on those pages

with red to accentuate my inner madness

& anger

it made some sort of peace in me

my body in flames but my insides

they seemed so numb

but also okay

words hold so much power

stabbing me would do less than words

letting me bleed out as you said the 4 words that would kill

would be incomparable

so i go back to the words on those pages

where demons can escape me in ink

expecting salty tears to be pouring

but your hand returns with blood

is it yours

try to remember

look in the mirror

but no face is looking back at you

it’s a hazy figure

as if your blind to faces

then you remember

the hole

in your head

you put it there

a feeling of sheer terror & euphoria

you haven’t felt this alive since you were a child

dying really is some sort of nirvana

slowly turning you see your body

laying on the floor

you never liked it

it was only a shell

your skin to keep the demons from escaping

when you tried to let them out

red

from your gums

the strange taste of it

takes you back

to thinking of your 1st love

pain

the dark prussian sky spotted with dark grey clouds

as if some higher source dimmed the lights

it fades into a rich black night with many stars

somehow not completely absorbed by the darkness

if you could see it you would wish too be like them

but ur somewhere else

your soul is not aligned with the body driving the beat up cadillac

occasional street lights in the middle of somewhere give faded light to your disheveled face

your zoomed in

or out

you can smell the flaws of human before you

but what you see

is the complete entirety of nothingness within another universe

how strange a experience of feeling things while being surrounded by a view in your skull of nothing

but that as is most things

just the

downfall of mortality

& the disgusting beauty of living

or rather just simply staying here

a shell of everything around you

wherever here may be

but through my twisted and blurred outlook

i think

sometimes dead flowers are prettier

more desired to me than the new & alive ones

and you

the rose with such sharp thorns

the single drop of blood that they drew from your finger

was a puddle of warm red pain for me

to pretty & sharp to hold for too long

unless you liked the pain

which i couldn't learn to love until it was too late

so pretty & enticing roses are

but sunflowers seem safer

why cant i want them

like i want the pain of the rose

the stream of blood seems safer than any soft touch ever could

so i crawl back to my rose