There's a fire in my brain with steam shooting from both ears, and a flame in each eye boiling every droplet of tear.

I'm trying to keep my thoughts from getting too out of hand, because a long time ago I told myself that joking about suicide was banned.

Next year should breeze, and I'll see the now through trivial lenses.
But this temper is untamable, and I already feel Death's commencements.

'Too far gone' hasn't even left yet,
But sometimes I ask myself if I'd rather an open or closed casket.

It's like a broken record and all the copies are damaged too.
I could barely live with myself and then God added all of you.

I'm being too extreme and I need to calm down, because being in the ground is a bad look for salvation's propound.

One more chance is much too many. Three has been passed for five months of hell breaking. I'd rather be six-feet under and in eternity with Big Seven. I have no more room in my head for fancies and hate makes my heart disgusted, but congratulations to me, my ninety-nine just flipped to one hundred.

Yes, I'm overthinking, overreacting, and being dramatic, but in all reality, I'm underplaying, undermined, and falling back into bad habits.

It's ruinous, what our brains will put us through with one moment in tragedy and the next still sane.
Yesterday tried to kill me, this morning I wish never came, and tomorrow I'll be happy as ever forgetting about today's pain.

Sometimes I'm silent and sometimes I'm known. When I write how I feel, don't make it too real, and if you're the same just know you're not alone.

Sometimes I'm quiet and sometimes I'm loud, but in order to be uniquely me I write my smallest thoughts free and profound.

Sometimes I'm reserved when I have baggage to unpack. I just want to use my poetry as a megaphone for the people in the back.



Friday 7 February 2025