Leech Boy

My scars just weren't enough

reopening old wounds, to show you their depths

meat singed and blood boiling in the sun

exposed to the elements, midsummer's breath

.

Just a glance will do

flesh agape, waiting for you to acknowledge my pain

don't worry love, I have time

"I'm prett"

It's about all I could get out onto my journal,

before the copious amounts of molly and painkillers made me pass out.

I've done nothing for weeks now. Out of a job, out of money, out of gas,

and I just want to find something to distract me from myself.

I feel sick, I have a migraine that knocks at my vision and balance with every pulse of my veins.

My chest feels like I'm about to have a heart attack, and I feel like I need to throw up again.

I'm running out of time before I need to find a new place, I'm just so stressed I can't even focus on basic necessities.

Even with all the things I've tried to accomplish I feel like I've never really left square one.

I keep going back to these habits, I don't know what's wrong with me.

After everything I've been through I'm supposed to be stronger right?

But I'm so weak now it's almost funny.

I've fallen so low that the ground around me feels like it'll drown me if I take one more step.

No amount of drugs or alcohol can lift me past this trench of depravity I've dug myself.

They only drag me further down, yet I keep coming back for more.

So I look in the mirror once again with irritated eyes, blood crusted nose, vomit stained chin, and ask myself.

Heavy enough that it alone,

completely encumbers you.

It never really goes away,

-"Good. Then I like you too."

The manifestation of all my past trauma and future anxieties.

I will die with a blood-curdling bellow of my innermost feelings, and a gunshot.

For the ones who hurt from past love

The idea of requited feelings

Becomes more and more abstract

So in our solitude and sadness

We fabricate an idea of love

That we wish we could have

Piece it together bit-by-bit

Like a heart-shaped jigsaw puzzle

Once complete it seems perfect

"This is what I need" we say

But this is only half the problem

We desperately seek it out

Though it is impossible to find

Something of our own creation

Is not easily duplicated

When forged from the pit of our truest selves

And so I try this, an idea I have yet to finish

But it's an idea I think is good and whole

This puzzle is not for us

It is for one who you wish to show

How wonderful your idea of love can be

This is a puzzle

That you must give with caution

For its integrity is only as strong

As the pieces used to craft it

And in return may you find a puzzle

With a love sincere and true

Built with pieces of a heart much like yours

The stage is set.

Let's not disappoint.

I have a lot of people waiting.

Waiting for me to die.

"He's a junkie, he deserves to die"

They tell each other.

"The world would be better off without you"

They yell.

"If I were you I'd kill myself"

They call to say to me.

But I knew they were right.

They wrote the ending of my own play.

A poor excuse for a tragedy.

The audience waiting for the finale.

My entire life leads up to a pill bottle.

And an unsteady hand.

I thought I might do better.

But I knew I couldn't.

Not like this.

The odds stacked so high against me.

I've never seen the sky.

And with the world watching.

The only thing I can say is.

"Oh God, I tried so hard"

In an ocean of poisoned blood

Existing through suffering

No other way to get by

Until the very struggle I use to survive

Drowns me

There's a wolf in the corner of my room.

She won't let me sleep at night.

I can hear her growl in my dreams.

She shakes me with my neck in her jaws.

Until I wake up in a cold sweat, disoriented.

She won't leave me alone despite my pleas.

The voices in my head say I deserve this.

I must have done something awful.

The longer I go without sleep.

The more real she becomes.

I see her now, waiting for me.

Once I let my guard down and close my eyes.

She's at my throat once again.

She reflects how the world sees me.

And what I am to my own thoughts.

Malnourished but always high

Dehydrated but always drinking

Hungry but always skipping meals

This body can't last much longer

Laying, starving, aching with pain

Surrounded by pills, beer cans, and cigarettes

with ripped condom packages and pregnancy test boxes, a trophy to my habits

There's probably not much time left for me

If I could wish upon all the shooting stars to ever happen

And all the wishing wells across every sea

I'd wish for no one to feel this way ever again

For every tear of sadness I've ever wept

I want others to shed a tear of joy

Over whatever makes them happiest

A graduating student or a child's new toy

I want there to be happiness for everyone

I want to take this sadness down with me

I want to watch myself burn like the sun

So that I may in some way set the world free

If sadness and happiness is distributed equally

Then it would spell myself bliss

To take my portion down with me

my words so empty now

the canvas of my mind left blank with prepared dialogue and redundancies

half-completed poems with no desire to finish them

a lifeless stare, illuminated only by the phone screen in front of me

have I lost my touch?

or has it left me?

docile and aloof

almost as if I've been reduced to

only the most basic of human functions

my mind feels the pressure as a coat of grime ignorance gathers around it

and festers

as it hardens so too does my stare

a state of petrification so slow

it can be viewed by the victim

a growing awareness so gradual and consistent that it doesn't warrant fear until it's too late

will I succumb?

Possibly the end for me.

or perhaps this is merely a molt

to something far better

I'm not scared of love, no

I'm just so exhausted

Tired of loving and losing

If I break the cycle I save myself

If I continue though

I may be able to save another

The torrent of my emotions drowns me relentlessly, as if poseidon himself is preventing me from breathing;

and the calmness I prepared for this moment tries to soothe the waves of anger that are seething.

While there's a sadness piercing my chest like a thousand weighted Spears, crafted from solid oak and steel.

Hell bent on submerging me beneath the depths, blood runs and tears flow; the pain skewing what is and isn't real.

This bitterness won't fade. It grows like a tsunami, the desperate swim to escape gets more difficult as I grow old.

everything in my life is red as dye-

my saliva, my bank account, and my eyes-

surrounded by it on all sides-

I fight to maintain a guise-

things I tell myself to stay alive-

sustain the illusion that life's alright-

these little white lies-

fighting the crimson tide-

they're all I've got, and I can't compromise-

cause all my life it's been denied-