More hidden, less lost
I want to run away,
I want to hide,
I want to sleep all through the day,
Not forever, just until these feelings subside,
I need to scream,
I need to cry,
I need to gain some control in this scheme,
Not trapped in the darkness, not confused no matter how hard I try,
Take me in the direction the wind is blowing,
Take me to where the sky meets the ocean,
Take me to where the river stops flowing,
Keep me away from all this commotion,
I feel like the world is too big,
I feel like I'm too small,
I feel the pressure snapping me like a twig,
Help me feel nothing at all,
More hidden, less lost,
More hidden, in your embrace,
More hidden, at any cost,
What I would give to see your face,
But you're out of reach, in another dimension,
But you're far away, your name etched in stone,
But you're six feet under and I'm looking for redemption,
Because now I know how it feels to be so lost an alone,
When I'm lost run out into the meadows where you and I used to play,
When I'm lost I pretend you're not gone, we're playing hide and seek,
When I'm lost I sit at your gravestone, whishing you could light the way,
Less lost, more hidden, that's how I feel when I'm with you.
More hidden, less lost, now I'll join the ghost of you.
Through the mirror
I'm a survivor. I'm lucky I'm here today because if things had gone to plan, I would've been dead years ago - but I'm not. Sometimes I wish I had done it, ended it all, but I ignore that feeling. That's all it is, a feeling. A feeling which will go away in some time, right? The scars have started to fade, blend in, but never leave. It will always be a part of me.
I walk through the corridors, my head in the clouds, my heart at rock bottom. That's when I notice her, in a bubble similar to mine. She's surrounded by people yet she stands out to me, because she's reminds me of myself. Long-sleeves, hiding herself as best she can, bright smile, loud laugh. It's so obvious that it's fake, why can no one see that it's fake? Her footsteps seem hollow, as the seconds tick by so does the time-bomb attached to her. Counting down the days until she snaps.
Our eyes meet, a fleeting moment, an understanding between us. Today I know my mission, no matter what, I have to pull her back. Pull her back from her safe place, away from reality. It's dangerous, addicting, you'll want more and more of it, less and less of the world. It pull you in and your strength alone isn't enough to get you out. Maybe I'm still far away from escape but I will make sure she never has to ever again. When I look at the mirror, I pull away, cover my eyes, the masterpiece on my skin overwhelms me, but when I look through the mirror I see her. When I look through the mirror I see hope.
Watching her grow
She stands surrounded by the weeds,
When we were planted I didn't know they grew amongst our seeds,
Two flowers lost and apart,
One left alone with a broken heart,
They stand between me and the light,
They tease me for still having hope but I won't give her up without a fight,
She is so close I could pull her hand in mine,
But if I did I'd have to pretend to be fine,
Fine with always being the first to reach out,
Fine with trying to believe she'll always be there and shaking off this plaguing doubt,
Why did she let them make us a thing of the past?
I would trade anything to go back and make it last,
I would give up my colors and petals to stay by her side,
I would become a weed, and my loyalty would be forced to hide,
She didn't like how clingy I seemed,
She wanted to blossom but becoming someone to her was all I dreamed,
As spring arrived she blossomed beautifully, a burst of colors,
I was still in my bud, blooming later than others,
The weeds came between us before she could see how much I've changed,
Will she like me more now that my petals have been rearranged?
They are killing her slowly, why can't she see?
I would treat her so much better if she was with me,
My old friend is with me but not,
We are on opposite ends of the same pot,
I wish I was worthy of being her friend,
But even if I were her I wouldn't try to make our friendship mend,
I don't mind her new fame,
I just hope she remembers that when she needed me, I came,
Even now she shines brighter than all the stars,
I want to shine with her even though I know she wouldn't save me if I was behind bars,
So I'll stand watching her grow,
Just seeing her smile will bring me back from feeling low,
I'm only a spectator, not forgotten nor remembered,
In her mind our past lies dismembered,
As long as I can watch, I'm okay,
As long as I know she isn't in dismay.
Kill me slowly
You knew you had me in your grasp. You knew I was right in the palm of your hand, you had me right where you wanted me. You tore a hole in me but I was too delighted by your touch to push you away. You were always hurting me but my brain was the only one that recognized it.
Pick me up, take me away, throw me back on the streets just as long as you come back when you need me. Pathetic, that's what it is. Me needing you and you loving it. I'd never admit it, not to myself or you, that if you had my blood on your hands I'd wash them for you. Ignorance is bliss, ignorance is safety. When you hold me in your arms and I feel the cold metal slicing my back I will only hold you and cry. I don't love the pain, I don't love the fights and long nights. I love you. I love the look it you eyes when you get excited, how you can't stop talking when you're embarrassed, I love every part of you that you try to cover up.
But I hate that I love you. If I love you, then how am I supposed to love myself? Being with you is killing me, my only request is that you do it slowly. My only wish is that I can drown in your eyes one last time before closing mine forever.
I hate you! I hate you so much, but I love you double that. I have o one but myself to blame for it.
Palliative Love - page 1
The only reason I keep breathing, doesn't need me anymore. When we met - he and I were both pretenders, with our heads in the clouds and our hands intertwined, we'd allow ourselves to be consumed by empty promises and fantasies just to make living more bearable. Except, he doesn't have to pretend anymore, not the way I do. All this time, while I've been attacked by the waves, only the string of my imagination keeping me from drowning, he's been fighting against the current. He's been following the string to calm waters.
My legs are too tired, but he refuses to resurface without me. His hand is stretched out towards mine, the water is too murky for me to see his face, the promise of safety in his arms is the only reason I don't let go of my last breath. He doesn't need me, I'm only stopping him from reaching what he has always longed for, the light. The weave of my thread is slowly unraveling with tension.
"Hey, my name is Felix, and you are?" It was the summer when we met. The walls of our prison seemed to be impossible to escape, neither of us imagined we would get through the season. I was lying between the sandpaper sheets of the hospital bed I was confined to. The intruder, who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders all with a cosmic smile was leaning against the door frame, chained to his IV. He was different from me, I knew it from the moment our eyes met; his gleamed with hope and mine were dulled from the medication.
"I'm Freya." I sat up slightly, I don't know if he could tell, but I pitied him - more than I pitied myself. People like him deserve to live, by the looks of it I thought he wouldn't. "Aren't you supposed to be eating lunch?" I looked at my own lunch tray, left untouched on the tray table. He raised an apple.
"I thought we could have dessert together, maybe?" He seemed so full of life, it's hard not to get captivated by his ludicrous hope. That first day, he sat on the edge of my bed, munching away as if he was eating the fruit of life. Doing his best to lure me towards the unidentifiable blob on my plate. And that's how we began our summer together.
Deeper than the cuts
"Are you okay? You look sick."
Maybe it would be easier if I had admitted I was struggling a long time ago, back when it all started. I'm in too deep now. They don't look at me now, they look up to me - so how can I let them down? How can I admit I'm a fraud. I painted over my scars with smiles and decorated my burns with glitter. Wait until they find out what they're looking at isn't me, it's who I want to be. I act confident because I want to be confident, but they don't know anything.
They don't know how I have to feel pain to stop myself from giving into the urge, the urge to let it all go. The urge to ruin all the progress I've made, to go back to the girl who's weight and grades were the only thing that mattered to her. I left to start on a clean slate, in a place where people would never find out about my obsession, my obsession with being perfect. The cuts distract, they stop me from stepping on the scale. They stop me from linking my self worth to numbers.
'No one can know', the bigger, smarter part of me whispers but a small part of me begs for help. I know better than to listen to it. I look at my food, shoveling it into my mouth, the words tumble into my head. It's an avalanche, I have to push it down, and wait for the guilt to kick in. My friends are jealous, jealous of my grades, jealous of my confidence, jealous of my smile, jealous of me. Wait until they find out, it's all a lie.
I love pretending I don't care, but a loud voice in my head is screaming at me every time I eat, counting my calories for me - making sure I destroy myself to burn them at the end of the day. My head hurts but my heart hurts worse. I'm wearing a costume that seems to have seeped into my skin at some point. So you tell me, how can I ask for help? How can I ask for help when that voice is a part of me and it's all I've ever know. The only thing that's stayed by my side my whole life is killing me. It's a part of me, deeper than the cuts, deeper than the flesh, it's in my bones. The only way I know is to pretend it's not there, so that's why I push all these thoughts down and reply.
The truth is a lie
When you write, it's never only about the facts. Many times, we don't write the truth, we write our truth. We as writers can't define the truth, because to us there's no such thing. We see the world as a spectator and we know - more than anyone - that it's always bigger than the truth. Our truths are mixed with emotions and feelings, experience and perspective. We don't know 'the truth' about anyone, we only know our truths.
As for writing what we don't know, I think we do that all the time. We write what we don't know and sculpt a meaning for it, because the world is simply too complex for us not to draw out the possibilities. It's too heartbreaking and cruel to be lost in a world this big. So we draw up a hypothesis for every small thing because it's better to be wrong than to constantly be confused and unsure. Us humans have to believe there are truths because we love to lie. If you take away the 'truth' we'll realize just how lost we are in our own lies.
The wrong side of karma
I always wondered what evil I had done to deserve these burdens. I thought, maybe things would get better, maybe I just had to wait out the bad stuff and soon I'd be saved. Well, I'm tired of waiting for a miracle to happen.
"Please, don't do this." I can't look her in the eyes, she weeps at my feet but I refuse to give in. It's amazing how fast people switch sides when there's a gun to their head. "You're a good person, okay? Nothing like me. You shouldn't do this, you'll ruin yourself."
"Oh, so now I'm a good person." My laughter comes out as hollow cries, I can't recognize the sound of my own voice anymore. "I thought I was a worthless pig." I press the cold metal harder against her head, she whimpers as I flick the safety off. "How does it feel to be powerless?"
"Listen, I had no idea what I was talking about, okay? You'll regret it if you pull the trigger."
"Is that a threat?" I shake my head. "I'm so tired, I'm exhausted. Trying your best gets you no where, and having someone like you torment me everyday didn't help at all." I feel the tears slide down my cheeks before I can stop them. My hand shakes but I don't move them from the trigger. "It's time to take things into my own hands." It was almost too easy, eliminating my problem. Except, the problem wasn't her, it was me.
I look out the window, watching the rest of my classmates in their own little world, with no care in the world, there's only one question on my mind - which one am I going to kill next?
I felt myself slipping away. I was lost in this world, too overwhelmed by the noise to hear myself screaming. Scared to hold onto the little girl who never got a chance to shine, scared to let go and become just another person going through the motions. I spent my days feeling tired and my nights staring at the ceiling. My voice had been quieted a long time ago, my vocal chords cut off by the standards society had held me to. I took the knife and severed my old self from the carefully curated version of myself everyone wants, the blood is on my hands.
I felt myself slipping away to the point I couldn't understand why I kept holding on. So, I let go, no one caught me. I landed in cold water, drowning but still finding peace in the silence the water brought. But, the world pulled me back. I wondered how I could keep living, I wondered how everyone else did it, until I saw how my fingers could dance. How they danced over the keyboard, how my ideas could spill into words. How pieces of my heart could be preserved forever. How I could slip away into my own world from time to time.