All this will make sense when I get better.
I am hopeless, meaning I have none left.
I am giving up too early, and that’s okay with me.
I have no more tears to cry over you. (or hold back.)
That’s fine, its all wrong anyway.
Everyone I ever wanted, doesn’t matter anymore.
None of it matters.
It didn’t happen then, it won’t happen now.
Pessimist.
Paranoia.
I will never appreciate what I can, when I will strive for what I can’t.
Part of me wants to keep going and wishing.
And part of me says.. just stop it.
You’ll be the one they’re ashamed of.
Just as he was.
They’re all fucked.
Denying it is harder than accepting it.
But not in the long run.
and run.
and scream.
because along the way, I tripped.
I broke.
every bone in my body.
But somehow..
wrists, ankles.
they move.
You will take this rope.
And you will tie it.
Around my heart.
You will lead.
And I will follow.
upon shattered bones.
Blue.
You draw me in blue.
Not anymore.
Draw me in red.
Red.
You will tell me stories of stars and roses.
Still?
I don’t think so.
Tell me stories of swastikas and hate.
I will crawl.
When I can’t see.
Everyone is crashing down.
around me.
around you.
You shall laugh.
Your morbidity surpasses me.
No compassion.
How hateful I am.
I’ll look back.
And none of this will be true.
Bury it, bury it in your subtle apologies and worries.
Distorted poetry.
I haven’t written any poetry in a while, though I hardly think that qualifies.
Eh. I feel less depressed.