I can’t be the thing I was before

I’d like to see who I could be

Like is he happier with himself

Or does he smile more easily

My heart beats so much slower now

Like it knows what I’m thinking

I’m watching minutes become miles

A separate mind and corpse

I can’t cry much anymore

No more pity for me

Not even some from myself

Nor in anyone else

Please don’t be that thing

That haunts me so

Every mirror

A reminder

I am slipping

Losing grip

Slit purple wrists

Bleeding out

Whispering

Softly

I wonder

Will it

Hurt when

I

Take my

Life

My sweet heart

My heart has gone. I wonder where you have been. Wandering son find your way home. You have been stretching yourself too far for too long. My sweet heart, it’s okay that you did not find what you were looking for. I’ve made a place for you to rest in my chest. We can try again tomorrow.

For no one

You know I’d come to find you
If you asked me to hold you I’d be inclined to
Press my hands against the blades of your back so hard that the love would cut my palms
Swallow whole all the regret we felt so deep into my chest and exhale psalms
Of love and devotion
But you’d be holding a knife into my emotion
And I’d let you
You’d never want me too
But I would die just to keep you whole
As I’d go limp in your arms you’d mourn the toll
And no one would be happy
So, I’ll just let you go and work through this melancholy
Fill myself with hope that tomorrow will be different
Till the demon in me is so insignificant
That I can finally be the man I want to be
For no one but me

I’m okay

I’m not well, but I’m okay I guess
Just a trickle of whispers adding to my troubled existence
A constant tug to shoot all of my sorrow out
But I’m not sure if that’s what I want to talk about
Maybe for a moment instead talk about the growth in mental health
Bloodied knuckles that have racked against that door to a better self
I have a schedule now, items to keep myself busy and on track
I am not without motivation but it takes concerted effort of which I fear I lack
But growth is not a series of uninterrupted steps to the end
It’s faltering through a looped and winding road of memories
Waking up further back than I was, clawing at the dirt hoping for remedies
I’m getting better and clearer
But I don’t think happiness is much nearer
There’s a good chance it might be
But I worry that I’ve plucked out my eyes and I’m wandering blindly
Guided by a numbed sense of touch and a nose filled with ash
I do hear well though, not just the whispers but faint laughs in cache
Playing louder or softer down different paths so I try to find it’s crescendo
I’m not honestly sure if it’s progress or just an echo
Waking up is becoming less and less of a tragedy every day
I’m not well but I’m okay