noose in a tree

I guess i'll go another way
for now I know I mustn't stay.
The wrongs and the rights,
all float about like a noose in a tree.
It should've been clearer to me.
I guess i'll flee
run away from you all
i've lost all my faith
i've lost all my friends
some days it seems like the end
is this the end.
The worlds got the best of me
are skies still blue?
there's a subtle hue
covering up my existence
foggy and dull
like my brain
I hide the depression with exhaustion
and sink into my bed of nothingness

The daydream continues

I don’t know who i am or where i’m supposed to be
Daydreaming through life
Feeding on the pills
The doctors tell me, “these will make you better”
I am inside my head I can’t hear you
You don’t exist I exist and I am miserable 
They say the brain named itself,
The brain is powerful
How powerful can something that causes so much pain
and misery and hopelessness  Really be ?
Powerful enough to make you hateful
Hate your family, hate your friends, disconnect
Reconnect, disconnect.
Have you tried turning it off and on again?
My life needs a reboot 
But the powers run out, and the cord is gone
If this is where i’m supposed to be
How did I get here, and how do I get back

Back to how things should be, back to missed opportunities
Relationships, lovers, friends, family
I’ve never had any of that, how will I get something I can’t have.
Feed me more lies, feed me more pills

The daydream continues.

Life is a blur

This time of my life is a blur
Looking back, years from now
At this year, 23, I will not remember anything 
Significant  I will remember self hatred, pain, suffering, and misery 
I will remember the friends I didn’t have, the loneliness
The sorrow of happier times
I know i’ll remember the bad, and pity this time of my life.
I know i’ll regret not doing more by 23, and during 23 and after 23.
Looking back at high school, I view a much different me. 
I see a pretty, skinnier girl, confused, but hopeful.
At the time I was even more depressed, and confused and miserable.
But I was healthier and seeking stability.
I really fucked up my life.
 I have a lot to fix.
But I've also fixed a lot.
I’ve come a very long way, a very windy, bumpy road. 
But looking back, I've come closer and closer to the me 
I’ve always wanted to be.
My high school self would be impressed with parts of me today.
But also very disappointed. Missed opportunities, money management, life lessons.
Learning everything the hard way, and learning things the wrong way
Make for a very miserable being.
My mother instilled a lot of hatred and doubt in me.
But it wasn’t necessarily her fault.  Hateful people raise hateful people. 
That's the way life goes.  I’m slowly learning, and that's OK
As long as i’m learning.
I find myself disconnected from this hateful world
The news, the Facebook posts, the media
It's all very scary, everyone is terrified, and acting irrationally. 
No one knows what they are doing,  and its made for a very chaotic existence
To disconnect from the disconnected is very lonely
You can’t talk to people and make friends unless its online,
No one wants to talk on the phone or meet in person.
There's no 3am phone calls, no support, no spontaneity
Just the people we pretend to be, and try and make up for in person.
If i’m not who I pretend to be, who am I. And why am I here.
I find myself asking more questions and getting less answers.
Because unlike most my age, I read, and write, and paint, and desire a better existence 
Than what is provided. Most people pretend to care, but only for views, or likes, or heart emojis.
If technology disappeared one day, Facebook died, selfies and Instagram were nonexistent,
 happiness would soon follow.
We are depressed, so fucking depressed.
Feeding off the lies, eating the pills, shooting up,  guzzling the poison, smoking the earth.
We can’t handle being human, and it hurts us. 
We all hurt so much. It’s a strange and scary life.  And we are lost. 

But can we be found again?
 August 2018

Bane of my existence

They say the best art comes from pain  
I don’t know if I believe that  
But I do know that most of my paintings  writings, and photos come from  
A very unhappy place.   
Also who are “they”  
Do they hurt, and cry, and bleed?  
Do they understand how miserable a life can be?  
And how did “they” spread this around?    
I don’t know if the best art comes from pain.  
But I do know the bane of my existence is pain  
And that writing and painting and carving it out of myself 
Like blood on a wrist  
Is where my art exists    
Though it may be sad, it’ll make you feel.  
And for most of us, to feel is a luxury.  
The pain of our time must be felt  
Or else we will never learn from it.    
And the vicious cycle happens again.