I’ve tried to reach out
to people
to the birds
but I can’t even talk to myself
without venting to the sea
about how her moods are too light
for even my own obstacles
I’m trying to ground myself in her eyes
as her eyelids crash into the sands of old buildings
built upon open grains
I haven’t fallen
out of love
with myself yet
obsessing with
who I’ve obsessed over
I haven’t fallen
inlove
with myself yet
obsessing with not obsessing
over obsessing
I haven’t run
out of time
to prepare
for the now
instead of wallowing in yesterday
I haven’t run
out of love
for you
for her
for them
for me
I don’t know if I’m meant to be here
to be there
to swallow
myself whole
or just jump
I don’t know if I’m meant to
drown
or to wade
underneath the sunset
of next year’s arms
7, finally stumbling across
the right words to scream outloud
but coming out in waves of
fake emotions
coming across with little to no sense
I waited so long to cry out into the palms of
my mother’s ears
when I could have said what needed to be yelled
across the fires of the pews
But I couldn’t find the right way to
crawl into the arms of the devil’s skin
that night
when I realized
he fucked me over
with open wings
and closed eyelids
Are you sure you even know who I am anymore?
You used to tell me to grow the
fuck up and look at myself
Are you sure you’re fine now?
Without me, you’re fine, you’re okay
and so am I
didn’t appreciate you as much as one might
And maybe you might want to blame me
And I hope you do because it is my fault
It is not your fault that you let me in and I couldn’t keep my door open enough to let your light in
It is not your fault that you felt so deeply for someone who makes webs out of people and fights to weave through it when the person packs up and flees
It is not your fault that you are choosing happiness over heart ache, if anything, isn’t that more rewarding than going to bed wondering whether someone is going to leave or not?
You are a strong light, not just a strong shoulder for those who can’t always feel.
You are not a sponge even if it seems like you just keep soaking and your heart keeps growing
You are not the broken promises used to build you up and destroy you lower
You are not the pain you feel or the people who try to take your good things away
You are you, you are yourself, you are a good person
You are doing what’s best for you and you will get through
To you, CinFox.
I see, or so I thought I saw
Something less but something more
I saw, or so I think I saw
Something more out of something less
And I saw what I see now and I see what I saw then
Out of something less came something more
I’d be lying
If I didn’t try
To tell you the truth
About wanting to lay down
Inside and stew
In my own grave
I’d be lying
If I spilt but didn’t cry
Whenever I needed to escape
This headspace cave
Built from nothing
Like a hotel, our bodies are being rented out                          temporarily I squander around                                            for rooms that aren’t occupied                                            but every spot is no longer vacant.
As I round the corners, slightly folded                                  into eachother like a hospital bedsheet                                    I realize that I don’t have Schitzophrenia                                 but I have conversations with people who aren’t there
Are they? Maybe they’re all the versions of myself talking to people they used to know.
Slipping in and out of conciousness all the while being awake at the same time                                       just running out of space, perametre is smaller than the waiting line
Abruptly woken up by an alarm, watching the surface crack                                                      snapping of the mouth, walking through the marsh
Our souls are just ghosts carrying around a lifeless corpse
I finally jumped onto the Twenty One Pilots band wagon and am writing this post while listening to:
Car Radio – Twenty One Pilots
“I run off before I even push them away. I try so hard to solidify myself to situations.. to my own state of being but im a ghost carrying around it’s own corpse. ”
I feel as though everything seems to be a matter of ” trying ” mostly because I over think and under think.
I think too much, but I also hardly think before I speak because my mind is constantly racing, tracing the constant circles that I ahve created cycles within.
My head keeps falling while my body stands tall and weak waiting for the exact moment that my mind will match it’s lively hood.
Crawling, sprawling out amongst the fields of my sprouting memories, dampening Nostalgia.
Embraeyceing 