I feel like I’m floating in the middle of the deep ocean

blue, I keep things right for myself.

At any minute, things are thunderous. I can relate, It’s one of those things the ocean can’t help.

I see the storm head and the waters gilt and jolt me with it. I panic the same when I discover someone new.

The stormy weather leads me to the underwater graves of ships that never made it to land. Lasting spirits of the widows perched on hollow wood that gives false hope that understanding.

I am my vessel returned where the weather is going to take command.

My feelings about myself —it’s like an ocean; idolized as calm, but widely known to be disastrous.


Stuck Thinking

Tell me you need me, but in a way, I can understand.

Let me in your world, at a time I can withstand.

Your energy, I can’t stand it. It still haunts me to this day.

The time I spend thinking about you, it will never go away.


You don’t think about me like this—I know it.

you have no interest in me; your silence show it

I’m silly for this. To me, this isn’t new.

I mourn the day, my mind breaks free from you.

Inner Distruction

What he thinks when he sees her:

I’d reach out and touch you and let you know that I am everything that will keep you happy, warm, and safe. Alas, I won’t because I know you will never accept because you don’t like the way I look. But it’s just a look, not who I am. But that’s okay because I know you’re too good for me and you would be embarrassed to take me places because you don’t want people to laugh at you for being with me. I would never want people to laugh at you for being with me.


The seamless sacrifice destruction of it all. He can’t see that she want’s him. She desires him, in his all.

His self-talk destroys his reality, it’s sad to think she will never call.

She’s waiting for him to answer. His destructive self-talk blocks her call.

What a day

What the time?

I know that day!

You left me.

In the morning,

There was a little shine.

You regret me.


That’s the stint,

No severe hints.

You out walked on me.

A beautiful day.

A glorious way

To shun me.

11:03 P.M.

Hot/cold feelings sinking in with regret,

I don’t know where I’ll take it out next.

Rushed sensations are less prolific

Like spirits that casually pass by

The unseen eye

They lie when they say you can’t see people who died.


Hard/soft feelings of love are holding me back

Wish I never had told them that

I thought emotions were rushed to the eye

And love faded when my spirit died

to an untrained eye, they say you can’t see

I see that I died, I see a former me.


The dreams that been used

To beg I wasn’t misused.

The teams and things

I hold over me

When someone loves me for me

I know it can’t be.


I lost all hope, and I’m taking full blame

I chose to end now because of I’m not good at the game

The beautiful things they pass me by

Turned up noses when they meet my eye.

I can’t sleep, it takes me over

The happiness, I lost twice over


7:55 P.M.

It’s the rush of it all; it moves like a quake.

I killed the old me,

I shot it with spite.

And smothered it with love

hated for the secrets.

And knowing I cant keep it

meaning sanity, I’m losing it.

All to gain me again, and choosing me.

In the self-love, I’ll go on a self-murder spree.


To the Glory

Instart with the candor

Loud, startling allegiances, galore.

Stop toying with the masses,

as if they can’t see through the glasses.

they’re red, rosy even

and you’re using vengeance—it’s reveling/


Sing another song of the glory,

used up like a played out a story.

11:24 P.M.

You’re staring at everything you hate about you.

“look at this fool,” you obsessively yawn.

You make this routine— the ‘self-hatred’ song.

Don’t you realize, the most robust conversation you have is with yourself?

You can’t let your esteem falter, like an unstable shelf.

Self confidence is a skill that takes time to create.

That little advice sure sets the mood straight.

How long it takes to hone this skill is never wrong,

because the self-hate thing can only last for so long.

Then you start to crumble in the ashes you make.

Of striving to be something else, something you died to fake.