There is a cold embrace
That I must face
A desire to live and be well
That I must now quell
I simply can not escape this forest
For this dolt is just a tourist
A disruptive visitor
Looking for something simpler
Good riddance to dreams
They only ever tore at my seams
Pulling me away my stability
And reminding me of all the fear still in me
Was once told that maybe no one could feel like me
Lately I have thought that I do not feel like me
The deep ridges of my fingertips
That I carved so recklessly
Have filled in
Every thing I touched knew
That my id was suffering
Now I am nothing
My tornadoes are ending
And the hurricanes recede
Wondered if the Sun would show
But these pregnant clouds will not leave
I can feel the pores of my skin pool
With their stagnant warm water
But is it not in stale ponds
Where the most harmful bacteria grow
I am not sure if I can do this any more
And at my lowest a memory reminds me
Of a time from long before
Cruelly corrupted by my coddled entropy
My wicked hands drum up a devil
Whose eyes are purple and green
Gifts outstretched and ready to revel
Upon this gruesome scene
Whether it be poisoned water
Or a piece of cold rounded lead
In an old colt revolver
I come back to rather being dead
Because I am
Way more comfortable in pain
And all this “growth” is a scam
Synthetic hope to shoot in my veins
I keep tricking people into a belief
That my tomorrow is guaranteed
But I am a liar and a thief
Robbing their trust for my needs
Whether it be injection or a gun
In the end my body will burn
I am ready for this to be done
I am ready to rest in my urn
I don’t hold things sacred often. But I drive by this tree everyday. Seeing it in the morning and in the evening used to be a point of shame for me. This tree is a five minute walk from my house. One year ago I walked out to this tree and I sat underneath it with my gun for several hours. I cried and screamed and was the closest I had ever been to commiting suicide. I had only loaded a single round into the magazine and when it felt like my head was splitting open I shot the gun into the ground and threw up. I voluntarily gave the gun to a close friend for until I’m healthier. Back then the grass was overgrown, there were pieces of rebar and the tree was bare from the cold weather. It’s now well kept as they are planning to sell the land. The last few weeks driving by this tree has been a comfort. It’s now a marker that I have had 365 victories in a row. I have been if only in this one aspect of my life successful. I don’t normally condone the marking of trees and stuff since they’re living but I made a small exception. This tree is sacred to me because I live. I don’t have a bright follow up message but I’m alive today and I’m thankful for that.
Callous conversation quick to categorize the case closed on my capricious character
But I can see the monsters tumbling from my eyes
Wet and shivering backs rise out of my tears
Their sinewy emaciated skin revealing the lack of fulfillment
Fingertips like hooks reach for my sleep
They never seem satiated
Maybe if I died they’d be content
But I wonder if they’d just float along the waves of grief
Laying their eggs into the people I love
An invasive species of sorrrow
Nothing could stop me from loving you
But nothing seems fast approaching
I spent so long pushing against the trap that cripples me
Your voice at the nape of my neck
Kept my spine from splintering
But nothing is closing around me
Lifting me up like a doll
Another one of its playthings
I feel myself caving under the pressure
But that’s okay
It’s okay
Could I
If I
Lose you
Lose I
I’d lose
My mind
How Hope Was Lost 