Tag Archives: anxiety

Blind Ears To See, Deaf Eyes To Hear, Mute Mouth To Speak

True friends lie underneath
These witty words I don’t believe
I can’t believe a damn thing they say anymore
Lie! Liar, you’ll pay for your sins
Now! Liar, I know all the places you’ve been
Forgiveness—this taste all but poisons my mouth…

~*~

We all have arbitrary problems

Whether it’s petty or magnanimous

The cryptic remains we wish to seal up

And bury inside a metal sarcophagus

But it could be easily exhumed

Or never even entombed, after all

And inevitably, sooner or later

I shall play the role of the coroner

When I’m contorted in a painful position

It gets to me, red sprites of confusion

To inject dopamine, a blush of adrenaline

But instead I’m simply a machine

Automatic in my messages underhand

Pretending that I could understand

What’s easy is difficult, I go into overdrive

The train of thought which never arrives

I wish I could spill out waves of clarity

Instead of letting the cobwebs gather

In my drying, decomposing mouth

Conflicted about platitudes I muttered

If only I could then convince myself

To cease listening to blaring smoke alarms

Remove the arrow lodged in my trachea

And ask why, it will do me no harm

But instead I end up feeling incompetent

In total oblivion from such a situation

I’m not a companion, but I’m merely a bench

A rusted statue, a broken monkey wrench

Seminal symptoms that cripple and debilitate

Responses taken from a mind that is surrogate

I wish I could confront, interfere, absolve dysthymia

But my tongue is affected by parasaethesia.

~*~

I scream but nothing, nothing will come out, you’ve gone too far
So tell me how does it feel, how does it feel to be like you?
I think your mouth should be quiet ’cause it never tells the truth
So tell me, so tell me why, why does it have to be this way?

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open season

i have never told you a single thing

because i do not want you involved

i do not want you to get in the way

of such trainwreck i have devolved

if it was better for me, i would bite

they all say it’s what’s fucking right

but i know there’s not a damn point

there’s only cliche bullshit to anoint

of medication and invasive therapy

that leaves no personal room for me

and i do not want paid-for sympathy

nor will i waste my time for insanity

six years i’ve been dealing out alone

and i’m still alive right now, aren’t i?

i’ve done everything to keep it all in

fucked in the head with fucking lies

but i’m fighting back, broke apology

i cut my wrists, but never too deeply

i repress depression, relapse, release

i’ve people to pull me out of the seas

i still hope, i still dream, and i’ll love

i’m still disgustingly human by blood

i am damaged, but that does not mean

that i’m not trying to change anything

so please just stay away from this mess

and honestly, this is just all for the best

say it’s help my mind need endures, but

you just might end up making me worse.

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repressed

i’m sad and

fucked-up

all the time

some days,

i’m just better

at repressing it.

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“cry for help”

thanks,

but i don’t

need your

bullshit

to be my

saving grace.

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[c]harmed

i simply feel like screaming

‘til both my lungs detonate

and every bone in my body

breaks with the sheer force

of such fucking vocal strain

i just feel like bleeding out

until i can no longer sense

such phenomenon and the

consequences of my action

even then i’ll still be in pain.

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Dear Medication

I got a year’s supply of capsules
I got a bottle full of friends
They’re always right around
To come show me the town
Delivered through a filtered lens…

~*~

My stomach all tied up in specular knots

As I hide behind abandoned parking lots

Bite down on the bittersweet medication

To unravel the noose and become human

.

Tribulations raring to return some control

Damaged sprockets needing factory recall

Offset chemicals slick as oil quietly leaking

Inside a system that requires dire repairing

.

A dose for breathing, one more for demons

Counterfeiting volition that I can’t summon

Blank and washed-out, it’s better not to feel

Losing doubts in a bottle, tasting acidic will

.

Cold cuts numbed and a pressed-down mind

Wonderland candy leaving me severely high

Living or existing in bouts of prognostication

A coronary slow motion, lost in convocations

.

A corrupting hold to sanity of a harmless little kill

Vices forgotten, bleeding tongue against chalk pill

Incriminate not the release of the sterile pharmacy

Rather, blame me for attempting to induce humanity.

~*~

Chemical angel
Comfort I crave
Don’t come around no more
I’m already saved…

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The Emptiness

I feel at home with shadows from ghosts of the living
I dance along to melodies as silent choirs sing
I’m sick of always giving when there’s nothing left to lose
That place we’re in is breaking, it’s trying to break me too…

~*~

Another day, another death.

I wake up, empty. Tired to the very bone, despite the fact that I slept for more than ten hours. The bed feels so cosy and comfortable, as rain serenades the windowsill and cold morning air nips at my feet, luring me back into a dull oblivion. As usual, I don’t want to live. I don’t want to get out of my bed and function mechanically, feeling nothing but nothing. But I have obligations. Responsibilities. Projects and procrastinated homework. So I get up sullenly and do what I can. Do what I should. Brace myself through the freezing shower. Dress up, scarf down breakfast, flag down a vehicle, go to school, socialise, do things, and try to make it through another day.

I started the day feeling shitty as usual, but halfway throughout it, things were looking up. I finished my crammed essays. I made some write-ups and started a story that I’ve been raring to write for ages. I got to catch up with my bands. I helped classmates out, actually recited, accomplished my quizzes and seatworks, actively participated in class. I finally got the thing I’ve been excited to receive the entire weekend. I ate great food and hung out and laughed with fine friends. For once, this was an honest to god day where I acted like a proficient human being, where I didn’t act up and was not my usual dysfunctional self. I did everything right.

So why does everything feel so fucking wrong?

I ended the day running halfway to my house, after having a complete breakdown in the middle of the public city and making people have to put up with the wreck that I am, and unnecessarily infecting them with whatever sad fucking irrational bullshit I was going through. I ended up nearly getting ran over by a bus, nearly missing my bus stop, fucking crying on a goddamn bus as guilt and goddamn pain internally ran me over. I ended up lusting for my vices for the millionth time, for a razor and a pill to infest my system, dying to relapse, living to die. I ended up empty, tired, and unfulfilled, the same way I wake up everyday, and the same way I am as I go to sleep.

I thought all this was supposed to make you feel stronger and make you desire for a greater life, not feeling vulnerable and washed out by the sun, sitting in your dark bedroom, anxious and wallowing, curled up in your own contrition and regretting everything, heaving emptily as everything drains the energy out of your existence. In the end, everything, all of it, writing, reading, songs, bands, fandoms, obsessions, friends, love, emotions, momentary bouts of faux happiness and vigilant but futile hope, it’s just mere distractions in the end. All just stupid petty little distractions to make it seem like there’s actually a chance to change. A chance for something better. A fighting chance for me.

But when all those distractions falter and fade away, I’m always left feeling ten, twenty, fifty times more miserable and pathetic than before; flooding at the gaps in my memory, making the permanent patches in my skin ache, intensifying the taste of the fucking bitter sick on my tongue. And I’m sorry. I want to be optimistic. I want to accept those butterfly pastel mantras and keep the faith. I want to keep on keeping on. I want to fight back and achieve something for myself. I want to make people proud, and make those who were thought I’d never be alter their perception. I want to see the glass-half full, not shatter it because I’m disgusted of my own reflection. I want to change. I want to believe.

I never wanted this. But somehow I can’t do jack shit about it. The only change I can see in myself now is that I’ve become more shameless, more degraded, and more screwed up than before. Anxiety, harder-hitting depression, cutting, drugs, invalid pain, panic attacks, mental breakdowns, bad decisions, I am a picture-perfect smorgasbord of everything that should never be put together. And now I don’t even bother hiding it anymore. I’ve given up trying to counter it. I’ve given up. I’ll always be cynical, and I’m screwed in the head and all fucked-up. Life feels like a constantly looming death sentence, and I want to be my own executioner. Nothing changes. Everything stays the same.

And if things went the way they were supposed to be, and I acted properly, did things right, played by the rules for once, and lived a normal, happy, fulfilling day, and the ultimate end of it all is feeling exactly the same as when I do the exact opposite, feeling that same crappy screw-all depression running through my failing system and ruining everything for me, then fuck it, what’s the point of even trying?

Why should I bother looking for something that isn’t even there?

~*~

I built these walls to keep the outside world from me
And I’ll fight to stay in the hell of my own mind
It’s safer on the inside, underneath where
You can’t ever get to me…

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cold feet

anxiety is a chill

embedded at the

notches of your

carved backbones

anxiety frosts over

making you shiver

and it pierces you

in places unknown

anxiety leaves you

breathless and red

and that blizzard

affects you alone

anxiety can’t melt

away, for the icicles

have hardened to

pure diamond stones.

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the sober and the selfish

Loose lips sink ships, so I’ll keep silent
Suggest your words stay in your mouth
It’s never ending, the cycles ascending
People keep asking, I’m not here
I don’t really think that you’ve ever walked
A mile in my shoes, I don’t really think
That you know what I’ve been through…

~*~

yes, i’m such a selfish bastard

who understands the complications

of fucking up my own existence

but i do it despite the consequences

because fuck, why the hell not?

i’m self-destructive and apathetic

and there’s a cyclone constantly

ravaging my barely-functional system

and frankly, we all die anyways

so what’s the difference if i go just

a little earlier than i ought to?

and even if that should, would happen

why should, would you give a damn?

i’m just another needle sticking your neck

just one less burden to carry and get

the crippling sciatica and scoliosis from

and don’t you give me the excuse that “you care”

platitude, because i’m honestly so sick of it

and you know i would never believe in

such poisonous lies, such mechanical bullshit

i know i’ll see graveyard dancing at my own funeral

and you’ll be the one leading the goddamn line

so just give it all up, won’t you? it’s useless.

i’m just another one of those cheap, godforsaken

open-ended dime novels that nobody cares to

solve, because it’s frustrating, not worth their time

and the less you act like you’re a genuine heart

the less you pretend this ain’t pathetic entertainment

the more you’ll understand, the more i’ll get it

and the easier it will be for the both of us to let go

yes, i’m such a selfish goddamned bastard

who doesn’t deserve jack shit, who thinks that he will

never be good enough for anything, and a selfish,

egocentric narcissist who hates himself and pushes away

the things he loves, and this selfishness is all i will ever have

oh, how inconsiderate of me not to care about you

when i could barely start to care about me, but hell no

i’m the selfish one…now isn’t that just cleverly fucking ironic?

~*~

All your life, I wish you would
Have learned to swallow your pride.
And stop preaching
I know what you’re thinking
You’re so far above me in your mind…

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3 a.m. cake and day-old coffee

I can’t afford the kind of love you sell
But I can’t afford to ever watch you leave
Won’t you come and put your sugar on my tongue
You’ve got your spell on me…

~*~

i would pretend

that it’s to mask

the bitterness

and overpower

it with even more

bitter grounds,

or to dislodge

the hard lumps

forming in my

drying throat,

but i’m not that

deluded or fucking

melodramatic—

or maybe i am.

the cloudy creams

of ivory frosting

melts with a touch

of tawny coffee,

perspectivism

and disillusions

blending madly

as i sit there,

stuffing my rictus

with pastries in

the darkness, like

a total gluttonous

shameless piece

of poison pie.

i am disgusting;

but i’m merely

enjoying crumbs

and leftovers of

my ant-eaten sanity,

trying to kill time

and soured anxiety

with decadent sugar

and innocent tongues,

all while attempting

to ignore the fact

that the immense

sweetness makes me

want to throw up.

and i indulge in the last

few poignant pieces

of a humbled life,

before this cold cake

and day-old coffee

becomes my final meal.

~*~

I’m the only one who knows
The secret places that the light don’t show
(The light don’t show) You know…

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