The razor and the slice.More Like This
Don't know why I even try to live like a person.
I'll just kill myself like some poison.
I'm sick, I tell you.
I don't know what I'm gonna do.
I'm slowly losing my head.
I'm shocked I'm not dead.
I slid that razor deeper, so I can cut off the skin.
Trying to forget the pain I'm in.
My eyes no longer cry.
I feel like I'm gonna die.
These cuts keep bleeding.
I feel dead even though I'm breathing.
I don't understand myself anymore.
Lying here, cold and alone on the floor.
Slice right through the vein and let it bleed.
Hurting myself seems like a need.
Begging for some help, but, help never will come.
I force myself to be so numb.
I swear I'll be the death of me.
Why the fuck do I have to be?
BipolarToo young to grow upMore Like This
Too old to be a child
These feelings pent up
For more than awhile…
Too quiet to be noticed
Too loud to be ignored
With all in this life
How can I be bored?
Too thoughtful to give up
Too selfish to care
How much more of this pain
Can my poor soul bare?
Too blessed to be abused
Too violated to feel free
How in the world
Could all of this happen to me?
Too united to be missing
Too lonely to be found
I barely know what
Makes my world go round…
Too happy to ignore
Too troubled to acknowledge
How did I end up this way
With all of my knowledge?
Too creative to be ordinary
Too dull to be unique…
All of this uncertainty
Makes me feel like a freak…
Too difficult to be deciphered
Too simple to be misread
Unable to get this chaos
Out of my head…
Too pure to be tainted
Too corrupt to be clean
Powerless to figure out
What all of this means…
Too exhausted to keep writing
Too revived to end
This is one way
I help my heart mend…
BipolarEvery day, wake up and take a pillMore Like This
So you don't go looking for lethal thrills.
Haven't you ever wanted to go to the brink
Of destruction, just to see if you'd sink
Into the clutches of death or if you'd survive
Just because God still wants you alive?
You live on time stolen not borrowed
From some intangible thing called tomorrow.
Forget that white, round pill stamped 1-4-2
And you'll realize how much you can do
If only they would let you try
To jump off, spread your wings, and fly.
But even with the meds in your system,
You still aren't without symptoms.
Your working memory abilities
Are poor enough to come to futility.
Imagine the frustration when you find
You can't recall what was in your mind
Just moments before. You find yourself lacking
And your brain seems to be slacking,
Even when you're given some cues
Not everything comes to mind for you.
And not only memory, but functioning speed
Is a hindrance and daily you find you need
More time than others do to process events
bipolarmy emotions are likeMore Like This
spilled paint, flooding
the streets with an array
of manic colors. the fumes
rise into the air like the
angel-sweet smoke from
a stick of incense, and my
peers are getting high off
my mania laced with misery.
[they'll never forget me after
i'm gone, my epitaph
depicting my fame].
i'm staring at the city
skyline from the edge of
a cliff, questioning my
existence yet falling in love
with the incandescent lights
under the midnight sky,
reflecting in my midnight eyes.
i try to refrain from leaping
off, slowly letting go of my
education, my enemies, the
memories that haunt my
head like wailing poltergeists.
[i spread my arms, wondering
if i'll fly, but the stars hold me
they're all watching my
neurosis, laughing at my
journeys back and forth
between grandiloquence and
melancholia. i'm a pawn in
this game of psychotropic drugs
and therapists with plastered-on
smiles, a game i'll be playing
until the end of my days.
i shut my eyes to the remarks,
the expectations o
I Hate MyselfI hate myself, for all that I've done.More Like This
I hate myself, for trying to live.
I hate myself for showing emotion.
I hate myself for attempting to love.
I hate myself with a burning passion.
I hate myself for all that I am.
I hate myself for crying my eyes out.
I hate myself for trying to stand.
I hate myself, nothing can change that.
I hate myself for not having died.
I hate myself for cutting the rope.
I hate myself, for the failed suicide.
I feel the grip of my own self-hatred.
I feel the cold, hard hand of God.
His grip is cruel, his humor worse.
He sent me from being happy, to this lonely rotting hearse.
I hate myself because of life.
I hate myself for trying to hide.
I honestly think I'd be better off dead.
I might as well commit suicide.