Some things in this life are worse than fiction… some things are so real that even if I told them word for word as the truth… no one could ever believe… it is best to remember that not every one thinks like you… that not every one has shed their animal natures… and not every one in this world is good… it is easy to forget… it is easy to push out of our minds… what goes on behind our backs… and in the darkness… but not all horrible things happen in the dark…
This post is very different for me… maybe not in content… I tend to talk about things that are on the darker side of life… no this post is different… because unlike most of the things I post about… this poem is not about fiction… or dark thoughts that find their way into my head… I am a firm believer in the thought… that it is one thing to think or have dark thoughts… and a whole other to actually act on them… sticks and stones will break my bones… but words will never hurt me…I took that cliche in my mind and ran with it…built a fiction collection on it…
That is how I think… that is what I believe… but even with my own beliefs held firmly in place… some words… some ideas can be too much to bear… the topic of my poem today is… Sylvia Likens… and my reverse order for my post is because unlike most things I write… I feel context… what I think… How I feel about what happened to Sylvia… Is more important than the work below…
For those of you who don’t know… Sylvia Likens was a child in 1965… who was abused… tortured… raped… and killed… not by a serial killer… not by a known sex offender… not even by her parents… but by those in her community… by the very children she knew… by her very neighbors… there is so much to this story… to the truth of the event… that I can’t and won’t be covering in this post… more about the tragic death of Sylvia Likens can be found here…
There have been movies… stories written… about Sylvia and the horrors she has been through… and even if you have read or seen any of them… then you know they only scratched the surface of her horrible experience… She has long been laid to rest… but her memory is not forgotten… Her tale as horrific as it was… should never be forgotten… Because people… children… still experience similar horrors every day… to this day… this is long over due… it needs to stop…
Many of us may have even experienced some… many of the things she was put through… may be even today… right now as we read… we need to put an end to it… we need to open our eyes… our hearts… and our minds… because… just because you don’t see it… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… just because you don’t have the time… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… just because it isn’t happening to you… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… because it does and it is… in our silence… these monsters are slipping through the cracks… as we look away… people are being tortured… children are suffering… this isn’t an isolated incident… this isn’t something that only happens to someone based on skin color… age… where we live… or sex… these are things that can and happen to anyone…
I myself was a victim of abuse… I know how it can feel… I understand the shame… the fear of speaking up… will it happen more?… if I just keep my head down… then it will pass… I’ll be fine… excuses we tell ourselves to survive… Truth is the monster will always live in the dark… until you bring it to the light… I say you… but it takes more… it takes us all… There is no harder thing in this world than to ask for help… no matter the situation… it is the hardest thing any of us will ever face… but if you don’t… if we don’t… no one will…
Many of the signs are easy to overlook… it was a one off… it was an accident… abuse is hard to define… it doesn’t seem like it would be… seems pretty straight forward… but it isn’t… that is why so many people suffer in silence… reach out and get turned down… because of this one way thinking… because we aren’t paying attention… this is how and why… Sylvia was tortured… abused… until she died…It is easy to point at her tortures… her abusers… as the monster… but in this extreme case… the monsters weren’t just the ones in the room with her… but the society that surrounded her… that’s why we need to be paying attention… speaking up… and taking action… big or small… we must do all that we can…
Accidents do happen… people go to far… as a victim I know the signs… if anything good came from my abuse… my experience is that I know when I might go to far… when I am wrong… and need to take a step back… I know how easy it can be to cross that line… I’m not immune because I am a victim… I’ve said things that I regret… almost done things that I know were too far… I’ve seen the look of fear that I know myself once carried on the face of those around me… a look that has brought me to my knees… to tears… and made me question who it is I have become… I’ve seen both sides of the line… I have felt how either side of the line can feel… and just because I didn’t act upon my anger doesn’t mean I too couldn’t be a monster… I’m not a saint… I am human… we all are… and not one of us is perfect… but… there is a difference between an incident of abuse… and a pattern of repeated abuse… neither of which should go unchecked… or be put up with…seen as okay…
I was lucky… as far as my abuse went… as much as the memories still hurt me today… I was lucky… that I ended up in the hospital… that people around me spoke up… and did something… that my mother said enough was enough… a victim herself… not all of us are so lucky… for some of us… we don’t receive any help… until it is too late… Take care of yourselves… Take care of each other… it may seem like nothing… but is it worth the risk?… is it worth the hurt?…
Sylvia Likens
Kicking and screaming Dragging and bleeding Taken to the basement Time to figure things out Pressed against what’s left of the mattress Laying naked next to the floor What did you call me You called me a whore Silently screaming Begging and pleading Took me to the darkness Time to figure it out Strung up by the wrists Stripped of everything I had left What did you do to me You stabbed me some more Dying and breathing Scarring and seething Taken to another level Time to let the devil out Burned the words into the flesh No one would want me That’s what you said
I gave you everything and you took it away This is the sound it makes Still meant it all the same Still meant the same thing in the end Words spoken with no tongues A fools idea of what this all is meant to mean I’d give my life to God but he won’t have me Driving the nails down deep You’d think I’d remember but I just can’t sleep Gave up on God when he gave up on me Think I’d remember but I just can’t believe The nails drive deep, the pain reaches to my feet Thought I had seen it all Knew when I said the words I was wrong
My depression doesn’t leave too much room for admiration…
I’m suicidal and I couldn’t tell you What I’d do to let this all go Spent too much time on useless things Too much energy wasted to care anymore
Sadness consumes me and I move on…
Your promises go quiet Replaced with lies Seems to happen every time I become comfortable A pattern that is too hard to ignore How I feel inside confuses me Pain, hatred, hurt, alone Running in circles inside my head Can’t expect you to stay When I’m so busy running away Your promises never stay the same Hard to keep track of everything in my head Want to say something but I know it is in vain Wasted time wasting away Could what you say really mean What you think it does All this time and I’m left with regret Used, mad, thrown away, isolated A world moved past me What do I do now that All of your promises have faded away Stuck between two spaces Two frames of mind is a empty place to be
Using an old logo… because why not?.. spend too much time thinking about useless things… a lot of random thoughts this week… the blood in the picture isn’t real… I did gnaw at the glass to see what it tasted like… feeling pretty random… feel a whole lot like that last piece… trapped between two spaces of mind… keep it going… or leave the dead where they be… lonely place to be… not sure if lonely is the right word… fuck it… changed it… that’s what notes are for… will only makes sense to me… in this empty place…
Memories are nothing more than random bits of information processed at varies speeds. This is how I remember my childhood. It comes back to me in pieces as my head slams back into the ground. Lift and repeat. Lather, rinse, and dry. Blood runs throughout your body providing oxygen and nutrients to every cell. When blood gets into your eyes it provides nothing at all. Nothing more than pain. How does someone end up reliving all their horrible childhood memories on the cold pavement? I’m not really all that sure anymore.
Where did I go wrong? Politian’s, health-conscious assholes, leftist fascists would say it was when I smoked my first cigarette. Signed a one-way ticket to hell by today’s standards. God would I kill for one right now. Just to feel the smoke hit the back of my throat and shoot down into my lungs would make all of this a little bit more bearable. I wonder what heroin would be like in this scenario. I wonder what food will taste like as my teeth fall to the ground. Will anything ever taste the same again or will it always taste like blood? I don’t think the iron, rust like taste will never leave my mouth. I always speak my mind maybe that’s how I ended up here. The more my head hits the ground the more I forget. In the end all we have is our memories. The good ones and the bad ones. Our memories are all we have. For some reason, the only memory that keeps popping up is the time I learned to tie my shoes. Maybe because when all is said and down here. I’ll never be able to do that again. Funny how after all of this something so significant won’t even matter. Too defiant anyways. Never really learned to tie my shoes. Found a way, but not the way I was taught. The memory still comes breaking through.
My stepmother left me in a chair all day with the same story that I could get up if I tied them the dumbass way she showed me. With the bunny ears or something. The instructions are still lost on me, but the torture is clear. “If you tie your shoes we can go to the beach.” I used to love the beach. I used to love a lot of things. Too bad we were in the middle of fuck all Indiana where there is no such thing. She paraded around in a bathing suit and beach bag as if we would leave as soon as I miracle my shoes laces together. What kind of sick fuck does that to a child? The company you keep I guess. Too defiant maybe that is how I ended up where I am. Too strong-willed and stubborn to tie my shoes. To listen to anyone else.
My head hurts so much that my face has gone numb. I’ve been trying to pick myself up, but my head feels as though it weighs too much. Leaning into the punches is not helping any. I say lean but it is more of a sway. Confused by what it is I am even doing. I’ve got nothing left. Everything I had was all used up before I even got here. A teacher once told me that you come into this world with nothing and you leave it with nothing. I can see her old wrinkled out face mouthing the words, but the world has gone silent. Gone away into the distance that is my existence. She was full of shit. You come into this world screaming and you leave it with pain. The constant that doesn’t let you forget. Can’t change much when your life flashes.
Can’t change much when you know you are going to die. Can’t take away the things that you have done. Can’t forget the time that you pissed on the street corner as the neighbor’s daughter watched. Can’t take back the punishment. The belt that struck over and over again. Not even the truth can set you free after it is all said and done. That she wanted you too. No, you are only left with the memories of a childhood you wish you could forget. Can’t change the time you climbed a tree you were told not to climb. Ended up in the hospital for not listening on that one. Should have stayed in the tree. Why didn’t I just stay in the tree? Can’t change the time you got a girl pregnant and waited in the abortion clinic waiting room. Scarred out of your mind, sad for the life you wasted, and too young to realize they are one in the same. No, none of that will ever change. Time can’t change after it is already past. Time can’t change after you’re dead. Your impressions, actions stay with those you’ve affected long after your gone. Actions speak louder than words yet the words of those around you in circle your every thought.
Don’t do this, do that, why do you got to be such a little shit, clean up your room already, have you been drinking, this is for your own good, tell me what happened, happy birthday, please take the dog out, win some and you lose some, thou shall not kill, I hate you, why couldn’t you have been better, clean your face, you disgust me, this is what you deserve, I love you. Some good and some bad they all flood in as if they should mean something, but they don’t. Is now really the time to reflect on all of this? Maybe I just wanted freedom. Maybe it was only love. Maybe it was both. I don’t know what anyone could ever want out of a world like this.
For some reason, they have stopped. Could be because I’ve stopped fighting? Maybe because they know it is already done? I can feel a smile come across my face as the hits start back up. Their anger in this world somehow more intense than my own. I want to laugh, but do I dare? I can still feel as though that all of this is some kind of prize at the end of a long game. The words aren’t clear in my head anymore. Here and gone. Trapped and freed. I feel cold yet warm. But all I really feel is pain.
Broken Thoughts Vol 1: Between Me and You Now Available On Amazon
There is a line we do not cross Hop over it once and it’s all your fault Step over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between hearts and breaks Thin lines grow between us Keeping us apart yet very much the same There are lines we do not cross Reach over them once and it’s all your fault Fall over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between souls and life Thin lines grow within us Keeping us together yet very much the same
“What do you got there Sylvia?” An orderly asks. Her young frame hunched over an open notebook. She pretends to not hear the question. “Hey Sylvia,” he calls out once again. As the youngest patient in the asylum he isn’t used to her teenage attitude in this dark dingy place overcrowded with pain, neglect, and isolation. “Nothing, just something I have been working on to pass the time,” she answers. “Did you not hear me the first time?” He ask. “I heard you,” she says into her notebook. “Okay, well maybe sometime you could show me what you have been working on,” he smiles. She looks up at him, “Yeah maybe.” She buries her head back into her notebook. The orderly shakes his head and walks over to the other side of the room to talk to the other patients in the recreation room. “So what are you working on Harold?” She hears him ask the only other patient not drugged out of their mind. She picks up her pen.
I’m so depressed here. I wish I never “volunteered” to be admitted. Should have just run away again or finished what I started. I’ve been rubbing the scars again. No one would listen to me outside of this walls or inside them. I should have known he would have sent me to a place that wouldn’t listen. This place is like school. “Sylvia stop your lying.” Maybe I’m not lying. Maybe you aren’t listening. The deep jagged cuts down my arm don’t help me to forget. The pain is long gone from the last time, but somehow still linger in my mind. Thought maybe if I wasn’t pretty anymore. Wasn’t perfect then maybe. It doesn’t matter what I thought. How many times am I going to tell myself the same thing? How many times am I going to justify trying to kill myself? No one cares why it happened as long as it isn’t happening. I’m safer here than at home. That’s what is important. As long as I keep my volunteer status he can’t hurt me. As long as I am here I am safe. The reason doesn’t matter anymore. No one is going to stop him, but at least I did.
The orderly makes his way back over to her. His footsteps echo within the room. She closes up her notebook, “Yes Charles?” He checks his watch, “I’ve been reminded to remind you that your next appointment is in a five minutes.” She rolls her eyes, “Funny how that seems to be the case every week.” He smiles and pretends that her attitude isn’t bothering him. A talent he learned from his two girls at home. “It is quite odd. Might have to do something about that,” he jokes. “Them doing anything here would be a first,” she says as she gets up from her chair and walks away.
The door to the doctor’s office is open slightly as she knocks on the door. “Come in. How are we doing today Sylvia?” The doctor asks as he looks at a chart that isn’t even hers. “Fine, I guess. Same as always,” she mocks. “You know you can leave whenever you want? Maybe go back home and spend some time with your family. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He asks without looking at her once. “I’m sure they miss me immensely. At least that is what they would want you to believe, but I’m certain I am just fine right here,” she looks down at her scars once again. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll make a call to your parents and tell them you are ready to go home,” he says. “I didn’t say that at all,” she says. “I just want to tell you Sarah we made some real progress in the time that you have been here,” the doctor rattles off. “My name is Sylvia,” she says in anger. “Yes, I am aware and I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to write you a script for some mood suppressors. You don’t have to take them, but if you feel all the anxiety coming back on I want you to feel safe,” the doctor says. “I feel safe here. I want to stay here,” She tries to reason. “Change is good for you. You have been here too long. It’s time for you to go home. I know your father misses you every much. I have been keeping him updated and he seems as optimistic as I am about your recovery,” he looks up from his chart. “So go ahead and get your things ready for tomorrow. That seems like a perfect place to end today,” he gives off a weak smile. Sylvia begins to cry. The tears falling from her eyes to her arms and running along her scars, “I don’t want to go.” The nurse comes in and places a hand on her shoulder. “Nurse remind me that I need to call her parents in a bit and if you could have Charles bring in the next patient that would be wonderful,” the doctor asks. “Yes, sir. Come on Sylvia let’s get you back to your room,” the nurse says to her. “But I don’t want to go,” she begins to sob. “I know dear. I know,” the nurse says as she rubs her shoulder. The doctor goes back to his file as the nurse escorts Sylvia from the room.
“There she is,” Charles calls out as he walks by her open door. “Glad to see you writing again,” he says to her. She doesn’t respond to him as she sits still at her desk. Memories flooding her mind. “Wanted to check in on you. Heard you were pretty upset earlier,” he says to more silence. “Also heard you were going home tomorrow too. That is good news,” he tries to sound excited. “Mind If I take a look at what you are writing? I understand if you don’t feel like talking,” Charles suggest. “Very much so. It is private,” she snaps at him. “I see you are excited about leaving tomorrow,” he snaps back. “Maybe even sooner,” she says under her breath. “What?” Charles asks concerned. “I said I want you to leave. Did you not hear me the first time,” Sylvia screams at him with tears in her eyes. “I just want you to know that I am here if you need to talk,” Charles says in a caring voice before walking out of the room. Sylvia quickly gets up from her chair and slams the door behind him. Only doors don’t slam here. She pushes all her weight against the door to try and get it to close faster. Tears streaming down her face as she struggles. Despite living in the same room for the past six months her room is nearly bare. A bed, a dresser, and a desk. “Her desk,” she thinks to herself. Her father’s money was at least good for something in this place. A private room and her own desk, but they wouldn’t let her have her pens. Not after what happened. They gave her special hospital pens, but only after she had developed trust. She couldn’t do much of anything with those useless things any way. She calms down enough to return to her desk and flips open the note book to where she left off.
There is a silence It is a constant There is a sadness It is a constant There are so many things And they are all constant I can taste the blood on the page I can feel the sweat on the page I can see the tears on the page As each drop becomes the page Why doesn’t anyone understand
Sylvia tosses the note book as hard as she can. It bursts open as it smashes against the wall. Papers, words, time falls to the floor. She begins to sob at the thought of the words, “I know your father misses you very much.” Visions of the past fill her mind. Remembering the pain. Remembering the fear of it all. Remembering that no one would listen. No one cared. “How could you ever say a thing like that about your father,” her mother’s words echo in her mind. Only to be replaced by the memory of his touch and his words. “You are so beautiful. My perfect little angel,” his words like poison slipping into her mind. You are confused at first. Why now? Why this? So you fight it the best you can, but the fight becomes useless. The whole thing becomes normal. A daily routine that you can’t wash away from your mind. The thought becomes clear. If I’m no longer perfect then it will stop. The memory of the pain from before washes over her once again. Make myself imperfect. Make it go away. The blood drips on the floor. It stains the carpet, but they clean it and they move on. It never stops the abuse. The monster doesn’t care if you are perfect. The monster doesn’t care at all. Deeper you dig. Deeper you find yourself in pain. Deeper until you think that it is over. Until you find yourself here and know that it is. Sylvia reaches under her desk to grab the item hidden beneath. When she got here she was hopeful that it would never have to be used again, but deep down she knew someday she would need a way out. She holds the jagged piece of mental in her hands. “We don’t even know what she cut herself on,” he mother told the hospital. Squeezing all her anger and the pain into it. “Here we go again,” she thinks. “A conclusion I can no longer hide away from.” She holds the broken piece of metal in her hand. She gently places it on her desk and opens her last remaining note book.
“When we bleed it is only to cleanse our souls. It’s like letting the air out of the tires every now and then. Sometimes it hurts more than others, but the hurt never compares to the pain. The hurt feels good in a way. The pain doesn’t. I wish someone would have listened to me. Anyone at this point. I wish I could explain the pain that I am in, but for some reason, I can’t. It could be the lack of blood still left within me or my ever lack of words associated with the pain. Pain is nothing like the hurt. The hurt comes and goes, but the pain. The pain is always there. Every once in a while I found myself here in this place. This dark hole surround by all the pain I don’t understand. This place of self-loathing and hate. I control my own destiny, right? Or have I just misheard some well-placed advice? Maybe I don’t control anything since no matter my choices I always end up here. I always end up with this pain. No one cares, but everyone’s still listening. I know it is not my fault and maybe it still is. Should have never. Should have done things differently. This has to be for the best. Nothing else left to do. Except release myself from this burden. Release me from this hole. I tried. I really did. Maybe not enough or in the way I should have….”
This is a work of fiction, but sadly the concept behind it is not. This story is lived day in and day out by an unknown amount of children. Many of whom do not reach out. It is not normal and it is not okay. If you or someone you know is being abused. Please reach out for help and never stop reaching out for help. Help is always there even when it feels like the whole world won’t listen to you. Click the links below to find help or to find out how you can help those in need.You are not powerless and you are loved.
I debated on how graphic I wanted to get with this story… from the suicide to the abuse… I debated for a long time… this story kind of took a life of it’s own… I started the story with the idea to write a back story to a previous character… Sylvia from Purgatory… seemed pretty simple… I liked the character a lot from that story… I liked her attitude… I liked who she could have been… seeing how everyone in that story is dead already when we meet them… I wanted to do a sequel…
The original idea for Sylvia was to write out a “love story” where she explains what her scars are from to the main character of Purgatory… (Fun fact… I only kept writing that story because of her… Sylvia to me was the thread that held that early story together for me…) but I don’t do love stories very well… and I wasn’t sure how she had gotten her scars… In the original story she never says… she hides them when ever she can… spark… “why?”… and the more I thought about it… the more it became the story above… Of course when I came up for air I found myself someplace very far from a “love story”…
The first couple of drafts had way more detail… way more things that didn’t need to be said… and I’m not afraid to say certain things… I’ve got stories toprove it… but this one seemed different… though this didn’t happen to me personally… it felt personal… which made this one that much harder to write… as an observer it is always easier to write something when you are not attached to the subject… I of course didn’t want anything to ever happen to Sylvia… I don’t want anything to happen to anyone… and sadly these things do… So I didn’t want to just file it away and pretend like these things don’t happen… That these things could never happen…
Sometimes the hardest things to say are the ones that need to be said the most…
Forcing myself to die Tearing out my eyes Want to tear everything down Forget that I ever existed At all Unhappy with the path I’ve craved A hole in my heart I can not fill Your words are worthless Ready to go home So obsessed with the thought That all of this is pointless Forcing myself to die Tearing out my heart Want to tear out every part Forget that I ever existed Turns out, none of this was fun After all Unhappy with the life I’ve created A hole in my heart I can not fix My thoughts are worthless Ready to get going So obsessed with the thought Bags been packed for a while Forcing myself to live Tearing up at the thought These faults are my own Forget that I ever existed At all So I can move on Letting the hole in my heart Bleed out Words I thought I could lose Burned into my skin I love you now like I loved you then
Living In Time
Thinking about the future Dwelling on the past What to do when the scars don’t heal Open, bleeding wound Close my eyes and hope Nothing ever comes Time heals all wounds Truth is, the best we can hope for Is that time will stop the bleeding Your lies a thorn in my spine Walk, pretend everything is fine Following the path of least resistance Resisting the urge to end it all What’s starting over If the most that you hoped for Lead me here This has all been a waste of time Everyone tells me I’m fine This is normal, give it time A splintered lie digging in my spine I don’t care, lets say I did Thinking about the future Dwelling on the past Close my eyes and maybe I’ll die
This could go on for a while… I mean a long while… I have pages and pages of how I feel… how I’ve felt… how I’m feeling… as of late… to be honest… I think I have only hit the tip of the iceberg… so bare with me… this glass is sharper than I thought…
In other news… I am going to start working on a big project… so look out for that… on top of… sad poems about killing myself… : ) Always a good time… here at Chewing On Glass…
Digging at the stitches Running my fingers across the scars My heart nothing more than a reminder A map made of blood and pain Who am I to know what to say Who was I before all of this The blood runs down my fingers On to the floor, on to more A bloody waterfall made of everything I have ever felt Who am I Who am I to question what any of this means Took what you wanted Left the discard for me to pick through A mess of emotions, tangled up thoughts The fuck you care You’ve always gotten what you need Who am I to question you My dear
Speaking crazy is not a train of thought The roaches crawl over the bodies Stacked up in the corner Laying eggs and feasting on what remains Breeding ideas that lead to a darker place in me The smell becomes home Lay your head down and inhale Takes time but all things work out in the end Cold grin chiseled into my skull Should have never taken what was never yours
Shh… you made your bed of razors Go ahead and lie down Press the cold steel against the skin What’s been done has been done Line after line Digging my own grave Said you understood Lied as you buried me in Caved in, suffocating underneath it all Lost in the darkness Your light no longer reaches me Buried under so much shit Struggling with every breath How is this any different than before A question to haunt me as I rest The final place I’ve always wanted to be Searching for a lifetime As it stood right before me, by my side Who am I if no one at all Ringing, repeating, beating, trying To be what it is you instituted in me A society I’ve always hated The world I never wanted to be born in One in the same, one among the sheep A wolf in bloody clothes
Got rejected again… starting to like it… liking the idea… that every one of my submissions is a thorn in somebodies side… does that make me an asshole?… probably… but at least I tried…
I will just have to keep on digging that grave… not like I have anything better to do anyway… listening to depressing songs to make myself feel better… yeah I’m that kind of person… no idea why… just have been… secret is… they never make me feel better… trick myself in believing that they do…
The hurt feels like it will never end Chain smoking the pain from my head Got it wrong, but then isn’t it always in the end Chained myself to a dead weight Now I’m sinking Thinking what is that I really need Air?
The hurt feels like it has been going on for a while Staring down all the suicidal thoughts from my head Got it wrong, but then its been that way for a while Starving myself to a dead weight Thinking what is it that I really need Food?
The hurt feels like it has gone on too long Walling off all traces from my head Got it wrong, but then isn’t that long enough Unchained myself to a dead weight Now I’m confusing Thinking what is it that I really need You?
Of course I would return to the warm weather in Texas after a month away in the cold… and get sick… powering through it though… So if this week is all scattered and makes no sense… it’s the sickness… (rolls eyes)…
Fun highlights of my life right now…
I gave up soda… in a second step to cut out caffeine from my daily life… I feel like punching someone in the throat… so it’s going well… haha… the biggest differences I’ve noticed so far… besides my irritability to anyone who speaks to me… not a whole lot… I’m at that point in my withdraw… where quitting makes no sense… I wasn’t dead before… I was happy… I was a fun person to be around… It made me feel better… I think it is called denial… I’d ask someone… but then I might punch them in the throat…
I started playing bass guitar again after a sixteen year absence… I’m as awful at it as you are imagining… it’s awesome… bass guitar was the first instrument I got as a kid… I wanted drums… every parents nightmare… my mom talked me into a bass guitar… I only agreed because Mark Hoppus from Blink-182 was cool… so why not… less than a year later I was begging for drums again… which I eventually got… I played drums through out high school… I just realized there was no point to this story… haha… yeah I need more sleep…
Driven under, fighting for a breath I’m drowning and I don’t know what for A prayer for the sinner Living in your sin Useless words laid down on paper Talking to myself, preaching to the stupid Driven under, holding myself down I know the problem and I have no solution A prayer for the sinner Living with this sin I’m killing myself and I don’t know what for
Has it really always been for you?
The world is shit Deal with it
Getting lost in the words Getting lost in the why Wandering, don’t have to go far To find reasons to die Worlds full of them Reasons to live, they are hard to find Hope you like a mystery What is it that I’m thinking about today A puzzle, getting caught up in all of this Getting lost in the words Getting lost in the why Same place I was before
Drinking harder than I’d like to admit Catching up to the darkness inside A piece of me I’d love to hide, on display
Standing next to a burning dumpster fire Called it my heart once now it’s only filled with shit Thoughts of you, me, how it should be Fucking lies I’ve told myself to get by And now I’ve told you everything Everything to make you stay The ship already set sail Waving to me from the shore You smile but I know what it means Saying good bye was always the hardest part for me
Well that was a depressing post… afraid the next few will be much of the same… I haven’t written much of anything… if at all in the last month… and everything before that… well it was pretty dark… dark as it gets I would say… Maybe I’ll drain my soul… maybe I’ll just hold onto all the hurt… chewing on the glass that has been my pain as of lately… taking it slow because for the first time in a long time… I don’t really know… what it is that I’m trying to say…
