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These Musings That I Call Poetry

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this dark black cloud,

always hanging around me,

never relenting,

never releasing,

never leaving.

some days it’s smaller

and i can see the sun,

even if it’s just a small ray.

but other days,

i can hardly see

the blue of the sky

and all i see is gloom.

i see others around me.

some have dark black clouds.

others don’t.

it isn’t fair.

they can seem so happy

and i cannot.

somedays it obscures my vision

and i think that no one can see me,

no one can miss me,

no one would miss me

if i simply let it consume me whole.

i’d be doing them a favor anyway.

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my eyes sting

and my eyelids beg.

let us down,

let us down, they say.

i don’t sleep much.

the nighttime

is the only time

where i feel peace.

i pay for it in a few hours though

as i try to push through the classes

i don’t feel passion for.

the cycle is cruel

but i deserve it.

i do this to myself.

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lost. going nowhere.

where am i?

who am i?

i hear things

but listen to few.


what i say is.

the same mistakes

i keep making.

tremble tremble,

my body is

an earthquake perpetual.

a mountain builds

but fate pushes it down.

i build more

and more

and more

and more



always just out of reach

and so I wander,

a fool of life.

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can you hear me screaming?

it’s not aloud.

it’s all inside.

but if you listen

you can hear me crying out.


crying out for relief.

crying out in pain.

crying out for love.

crying out in agony.


i’m banging against the glass

begging to be heard

but no one listens

until i try to decide it’s over.


but this might never be over.

and all I’ll be able to do

is scream



fruitlessly hoping

to be heard.

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a blue rose

who’s trapped on display

a blue rose

who hates her petals

a blue rose

who wants to be red


but there is one obstacle

a glass jar

she’s kept safe and sound inside

a glass jar

delicate keep her inside

a glass jar


let me out

she wishes desperately

let me out

she asks them constantly

let me out

she screams in agony


it does no good

protect her

she’s delicate

protect her

please let me fight

protect her


i’m not a doll

to play with

i’m not a doll

to dress up

i’m not a doll

to keep safe


they will never listen

anger flows in me

they treat me innocent

anger flows in me

won’t someone please listen

anger flows in me


it’s no use

they’ll still think this way

it’s no use

i cannot break free

it’s no use

perhaps they are right

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half in half out

reality and dream

here and there



i need sleep

give me sleep


the numbness makes it worse

as i sit in class

drifting in and out


let me sleep for now

let me sleep for a while

let me sleep forever

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i sit inside myself

my wings sheltering me

as a blanket by a fire


others flit and flutter

with not a care

outside my isolation


where’s the magic?

i ask myself everyday

where it was taken away


you took it away

you and she with the same name

squeezing it all out


i try to have hope

but you stung me deeper

than you think


i can’t go back

but i can’t fly forward

the rocks you left are mountain weights


why did you do it

why did you say it

why did you lie it


corrosive to my self-worth

no magic can cure the hurt

and i strike out


i am kind and sweet

you say i’m not

i am i just hurt


evil fairy

average fairy

nothing fairy


i guess my wings

are useless then

i’ll just clip them and fall

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there’s an inner rage

one that i keep all to myself

because i fear that it’ll hurt you


i let its words hurt me

i let its toxicity corrode me

i let its anger poison me


because it’s the lesser of two evils, right?

better me than you, right?

better to hurt a piece of trash

and not damage a diamond.

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someone misplaced me

i'm not where i know i belong

and its heartbreaking


but its so stupid.

its just a place

what's the big fucking deal


but i know i don't belong there

i know i don't fit

and that only makes it worse.

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i lurk in the corner

too scared to even ask

if i can be a part of their

group. my shell too

thick to trust many if any.


dont wanna hurt them

dont wanna annoy them

asking for encouragement

just makes me an attention whore


suck it up you bitch

youre not starving or dying

you dont know i am though

starving for love

dying from hate


could a blade really

help take it away

could a bottle of pills

clear me out of their way


thats what you do to monsters



i wanna sleep all night


or maybe never wake up again

wouldnt everyone be happy then


im not a monster

ive gone past that

a shadow of a monster

a husk of a beast

a hollow walking shell

just might as well

end this living hell.

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my life preserver is deflating

i’ve tried to fill it back up with life

but it doesn’t let me

it just spits it back out again.


it’s tired of keeping me afloat

and somedays so am i

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i am not okay


i’m not just sick


i’m not just joking.


i’m not just a night owl.


i am suffering

and the only way i

feel safest to let it out

is through this fucking poem


and no

i don’t think i want to be here.

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people say that I have friends.

people say that I'm loved.

oh yeah, they can say a lot

but they don't know half of it, i guarantee.


i see her, one of my friends.

see her with her other friends.

look at her. they notice when she walks into the room.

they notice when she's feeling sad and actually want to help her.


they don't blame her for feeling sad.

normally she's a sunbeam.

a garden of beautiful blossoms

happy, laughing, kind.


me? the complete opposite.

when i walk into the room, everyone ignores me.

when i walk into a room, no one notices that i'm sad.

no one wants to help me.


they blame me for feeling this way,

blame me for something beyond my control.

i'm a storm cloud to them, here to flood and kill that beautiful garden.

the weed. annoying, sad, dark.


i'm sorry for being the weed.

i'm sorry for being the storm cloud.

you think I want to be?

you think I like it?


i want to be noticed when i walk into a room.

i want people to notice when I'm sad and

i want people to help me.

help me.


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made in God's image, you say?

oh no.

no. God does not look this ugly.

God is not a monster.


i’m not beautiful.

beauty doesn't cover its face and hide

when it is approached.

beauty shines proudly, yet modestly.

beauty, of which i have none.


it's all gone.

the lights from my eyes and soul and heart

have faded long ago when they knew i was ugly.

i’m a monster.

and they know it.

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im sorry about myself

im sorry im not

kind enough

smart enough

pretty enough

talented enough

confident enough

happy enough

social enough

good enough


im sorry

that i take things so sensitively

im sorry

that my emotions control me

im sorry

that i want to hurt myself

im sorry

that i feel beyond help


im sorry

that i cant read subtle cues

im sorry

that im socially confused

im sorry

that i seek others’ praise

im sorry

that i want to end my days


im sorry

that im so fat

im sorry

that i don’t look like that

im sorry

that i have acne scars

im sorry

that im not among the stars


im sorry

that i hope for tomorrow

im sorry

that i let myself drown in sorrow

im sorry

that your standards ill never pass

and im sorry

that i cant write a stupid fucking poem for class

Chapter Text



not a sound

save for the ticking of a clock

in the farthest corner.

i still in my loneliness

wondering what had gone wrong.

a thought comes to my mind,

one which became

now common for me to think of,

i’m a failure.

i pull my sleeves up,

my fingers are at the ready.

on the skin i push.

rush back and forth

up and down






oh, it hurts.

it hurts alright.

but i don't care because

this is what i deserve,

what I get for failing myself.

i deserve the hurt



the after pain makes its home

upon and within my arms.

tears fall from my eyes.

this is what i deserve.



tell me that happiness is a choice.


tell me to think positive.

you are not my conscience.

i don't want you

to tell me what to do

i just want someone to listen,

someone to be there for me,

someone to hug me

and tell me that

everything will be okay.

someone who cares about me,

someone who will make me feel whole again,

when i cant make myself feel that way,

when i can no longer smile.



a way to hide yourself,

a built-in mask,

i tell myself “just fake it until you make it

they don't really care about your problems anyway

they have their own

but you're the only one who deserves yours"



mere child's play.

yet hiding so much underneath





even a past not yet discovered,

not even by the owner itself,

as they watch on

forced into silence.



i look down at my arm,

scratch marks stinging.

i smile--no my inner demon smiles--at my success.

“why are you so sad anyway?" she taunts.

“you have such a great life.

you have everything.

and yet you're so greedy.

greedy people don't deserve to live."

it's a daily struggle.


a fight.

a battle.

a war.

she stabs her swordsman

in my self esteem,

tears the bits in bits.

i try to patch it back together

and yet i fail.

time after time i fail,

to put it back together.

“you had so much hope," she torments.

“and yet it was thrown away.

this is why you shouldn't be happy.

happiness only hurts you.

there's no happiness in ending it.

take that route.

take it now.

what are you waiting for?

you're becoming more

and more worthless

by the second.

just end it all now.

end a vessel of uselessness.

of worthlessness.

of helplessness.

of invisibility.

Do it before humanity ends itself because of you."

“shut up!"

a scream falls from my mind's mouth.

it's a daily occurrence.

and i want it to end.



the slip of a rope.

the crack of a gun.

the slit of a knife.

the swallow of a pill bottle

can end it all.


don't think such thoughts.

you're worth living.

“are you really?"

the she-demon returns.

“yes. i am."


yet unbelievable to us both.

We both know how it will go.


she spits this word at me constantly,

attempting to implant it into my mind,

and it works.

i work

to hide this from people.



in a room full,

i dare not cry,

only smile.

only mask.

Never show tears.

"Its a sign of weakness," she tells me venomously.

“people will pity you




there is no one you can trust,

absolutely no one."

no one cares for trust,

only for perfection.



i want to prove

i succeed at something,

having once much hope

that I would make it

and then,

like the flame of a candle,

it died.

i'm terrible.

a failure.

i don't want to be pitied.

i don't want to be pitied

just for being who i am,

for being what i am,

a failure.

i'm sorry

that i am not at your standards.

im sorry

that i am useless to you.

tell me not please what i already know,




i try to convince you

that i am fine,

despite the tears

in my eyes,

and the stains

on my glasses,

despite the scars.

and red spots.

and bite marks,

on my arms.

despite my

desire to die

i am fine.

Chapter Text

depression’s kicking my ass

even with my medication

i can’t focus on

what needs to be done

can my mind just pick something

to do already?


i keep wishing to paint my skin red

in the hopes that it will turn my focus

to something else

other than this goddamn dark blanket


i just want to sleep

sometimes for good.


but are there fandoms in the afterlife?



what are fandoms?

what are fans?




people scoff at fandoms

we get stereotyped as writers of porn

porn artists

while there are those

that’s not me


that’s not a lot of us


why can’t i get this blanket off of me?


they call it unproductive

they call it unoriginal

but they don’t realize

for some it is pinnacle

and mentally critical

to find those like us

who obsess over books

and movies

and TV shows

and web series

and plays

and musicals

and video games

and celebrities


how can you say

that fandoms are a waste

when you probably don’t know

that it’s Rosanna Pansino

whose videos make me smile

even on the worst days

when my depression chooses me

as its obsession


why do you believe

that fandoms make me

so anti-social when

you don’t even know

how many people I’ve met online

is making friends really such a waste of time?


what makes you think

that we’re perverted

and creepy when self-inserts

and second-person fics can help

someone suicidal

do you still think they’re not worthwhile?


we’re fucked up to be sure

but not in the way you think

those who wield the paint or the ink

often suffer depression or anxiety

or some combination ungodly


i mean come on

would you rather have your kids

write and draw their OTP

or indulge in drugs and unprotected sex

if you say the latter

you need to rethink your priorities

because if you want your kids to end up in rehab

then should you really even have kids to begin with?


when i get on discord

or ao3 i know

that there’s often something

waiting for me

to read

or see

or rp.


i know there are

people to talk to

about how fucked up I feel

how i wish my depression wasn’t real

how i wish i could cry

how i want to maybe……die


i know i can find support

which i felt short of

when i was growing up

i still feel like i’m not enough

but my fellow fan people say otherwise.


i can say “fuck you”

to the girls who i thought were my friends

but emotionally abused me in high school

i can say “fuck this damn bullshit”

to all of the damn therapy i had to go through

i can say “go suck a motherfucking dick”

to the social skills classes who made me feel

like i was always in the wrong

and i can write about shit

that no one outside of the fandom

will care about

but fuck them

it’s my writing not theirs


i can indulge in the AU

i created where at least 10 beings

are in love with me

which is a shit-ton more

than in real life

where i, a dumbass bitch, accidentally unleashed

a cursed deity who looks like

a fucking Cthulu Squidward

who is now madly obsessed with me

where i’m the hero and not in the background

where i fight the things that keep me held back

where i fight my demons with people i admire, people i would not otherwise

where i have magical fucking powers

where i can feel and believe I’m cute

and a cinnamon roll

where i can bullshit the lore only to make

some weird-ass abstract connection to

some events or other.


where this Cthulu Squidward admires me

where he just wants me to be happy

where he doesn’t want me to die

where to him me committing suicide

would be the worst fucking thing in the world to him

where he wants my innocence to stay

so i can once again feel carefree


where he wants me to marry him

where he wants the barrier between fiction and reality to fall

where he ends up in my mind constantly

even when i don’t want him to be

where he tells me he can never leave me

where he tries to form me, mold me

into something i don’t want to be

where his presence or even a mention

makes me feel afraid

where he doesn’t respect my boundaries

where he threatens to cage me, his little pretty songbird, even though fuck that shit

i wanna fly free

where even though he tries to soothe me when i cry

he threatens to make sure my friends die

where i can make apparent and make use

of the emotional abuse

that i fucking wish i had figured out

a damn year and a half before high school ended

but my social idiocy and their “kindness” blinded me

damn it why was i such a fucking idiot?!


god, save the memories

save the fics and art please

smut is not all we’ve got

give us a chance

we can offer a lot.

cause this shit’s helped me

Gabbie Hanna’s been open

about her anxiety and depression

telling others no, you’re not alone

Safiya Nygaard’s weird fashion and beauty challenges show that fashion isn’t just the mainstream and can be weird as fuck

Matpat's game and film theory shows show that

intelligence isn’t just in academics

it’s in everything

the cinnamon roll Rosanna Pansino

merges food and nerd culture

to those girls, like me, who think their bodies are ugly

and those sweet girls who think they can’t indulge in those sweets

Ro’s a major foodie and she’s still petite

it’s metabolism, damn it.

it’s not your fault.


And Joey Graceffa’s Escape the Night

has brought together artists and authors

who theorize what will happen next,

and we still love it even if each season only premieres in the motherfucking summer.


so yeah i’ve got medication and shit

but medication can’t give me the hit

i get when the words of my AU

flow onto the document and come up

with a new event that someone will

enjoy and now write it from their perspective


so now what the fuck do you believe?

do you still believe fandoms are something no one needs

or do you now see

that fandoms are a therapy?

Chapter Text

i saw my old creative writing professor tonight.

how wonderful.

i so missed her low nasally-mouse voice.

her dusty spider-web hair.

her wrinkling pink and orange flesh.

and gloomy wardrobe to match her attitude towards my writing.

when she missed that a white nightgown

becoming tattered and dirty

was a fucking metaphor.

when she lost her shit and cut class out early

because no one raised their hand to answer a question.

when she gave me a D on my final.

the lowest grade i’d ever gotten in an english course.

i glared at her as i listened to the poet read some of her work.

why did you tell us we couldn’t write anything but realistic fiction?

why were you so condescending to us?

i wanted to deck her for what she put me through.

once it was done, i glared at her once more,

subtly flipped her the bird again,

and left.

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when i was a child i was told

that what i did was wrong

and that who i am is wrong



that was how you spell my childhood

having few friends if any at all


now i am older, i feel

i have an assignment to make up;

be showered with love


be encouraged to be me

be adored like i wish to be

is a princess life really for me?


maybe if i was someone else

then perhaps i would finally

be able to complete the assignment.

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can you hear me?

can you hear my roar of pain?

if you do then why

do you never say anything?

are you trying to say you’re just done?

are you afraid of the monster

that i’ve become?

i don’t blame you

i’m scared of this monster too

i’m scared of the injuries

and the cries of “i want to die!”

hear me roar

hear me roar

just hear me fucking roar!

i promise i won’t hurt you

i’m too busy hurting myself

i promise i won’t hate you

i saved that for myself

this monster’s taken over

my life is over

so why won’t you let me end it?

why won’t i let me end it?

why won’t life let me end it?

i can’t think straight

i’m too busy trying to

push through the tarry fog

that sticks to my vision

i don’t think i can push through

so i’m sorry that i’m failing you.

Chapter Text

Never has there been an empty place

at the table of good will.

In the beginning, everyone finds their place.

They share accordingly,

they share equally.

We are but small and naive as the worldly gods claim.


As we age, some of us decide to leave.

Those of us who remain

decide to see how they are getting on.

Their minds are riddled with

anger, lust, greed, gluttony, cynicism,

for the wordly gods told them it was the only way to survive.


We all grow old,

some of us remain at the table of good will,

smiling, laughing,

while others decide to follow those who have left.

Then they die, face what they have done.

And they realize their wordly gods were mortals too.

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i sit here in my own corner

with nothing-no one-to talk to

save for the thick, empty blackness

that surrounds me.


i’ve become a shadow-

a bitter, angry silhouette-

and does anyone mourn?

does anyone care at all?


they claim they do,

but is it so as to blind me further?

is it merely to make me feel accepted

so i shan't ask once again?


i am now afraid;

afraid to approach a potential friend

only to lose them completely if they

discovered the afflictions in my mind.

Chapter Text

I walk along the long-shored beach

as winds of sand sweep just above my feet.

A place where tranquility settles upon the shoreline

like a blanket on a warm bed.


The sunset, though waning, still lingers,

The colors of our fondest memories

reflecting on the ocean

as light shines through an ornament of glass.


As I stroll along, I find the place on the beach

where we sat together and watched the white horses

glide up to the surface before

they dissipate as quickly as they came.


Here is where I place the lily I picked for you.

A beautiful flower for a beautiful person

and yet the way you went was the ugliest of all

and it was because you believed you were a waste.

Chapter Text

Let us all dance with 

the potatoes of the night

as they sit in their boilers 

wondering about the 

philosophy of the unicorns of Longraia


Or the butterflies of Probolongriana

and how they flutter with simply ten wings.


Let us eat with the frogs of Salutarie 

as they talk of their battalions and chocolate umbrellas

as they serve us the delicious newark yams they took

from the dragonflies of Sangrity as they stole the prince's child.


Let us sing with the birds of Ilbertynuia

as they fly roungst the flowers nearby calling

"how do you? very well thank you."

and tip the hats made of rare novanian velvet and

Truscottian leather.


Let us play with the young spiders of Solutoryna

as they spin us dresses for our coronations

into the kingdom of Wonderwyll.


Let us go, you and I,

and rule together in a lovely new land

Take my hand.




Chapter Text


In the blink of an eye, everything is lost. 

Lost to darkness.

Even the sky cannot sustain light forever.



Coursing through my veins as I wait until midnight.

Midnight; when death is least suspected.

When most have gone in slumber. 



The metal sends chills through my nerves as I hold it to my skin.

Skin that I find myself hating.

Wishing that it had never existed. 



Midnight comes and I waste no time.

Time; is my time up? I wonder. 

But soon all consciousness is lost.

Chapter Text

is it better on the other side?

is the grass greener?

the grass is darkening where i am

as is my sense of reality.

darkness is all i see

all i feel is misery.

Chapter Text

if i cried petals instead of tears

people might take note,

as petals are pretty

and i look shitty.

i can’t think straight

and i can’t keep on task.

don’t pity me.

if you don’t care

then please just hate me.

Chapter Text

among the fog of dark and sorrow

stands the light of all tomorrow

i reach out to touch the light

but i soon pull back in a fright.

what if i get hurt again,

who can i go turn to then?

abandoned by all hope and light,

my soul shrivels no longer bright.

Chapter Text

pain is desperate silent danger.

everyday seems to get stranger.

stranger has become the normal,

this life has yet to greet me formal.

i used to have those that i love,

thought trouble i was above,

but soon those hands they let me slip,

and then from there i took a dip.

i cry for help, they offer joy,

to them i’m merely just a toy.

no one listens, no one learns,

they all just want to watch me burn.

Chapter Text

as years go by i seem to find

i’m almost always left behind.

no one lends a helping hand,

so how else can i learn to stand?

my head is spinning full of dark

all i need’s a single spark

flick the match and light the fuse

and pray it’s something i can use.

Chapter Text

all i want’s a tiny cut

perhaps to keep the demons shut.

if pain is outside could i find

some long-forgotten peace of mind?

a blade, some scissors, perhaps a knife

might add some feeling to my life.

right now this is all i feel

so give me pain i know is real.

Chapter Text

the rivers cross the wide terrain.

why they go they don’t explain.

i’m just trying to steer myself,

and sometimes i call out for help

but who is even there to listen

while on my face tears shine and glisten?

i’m floating down a river of hell.

should i jump in? i might as well.

Chapter Text

pain just rests on my inside.

right past me all life’s joy glides.

death i know is merely certain,

so why can i not drop the curtain?

i’m kept out of the way to death,

no chance to take a final breath.

there are somedays i wouldn’t dare

but then i think no one would care.

Chapter Text

can anyone hear me?

i’m crying out for someone

to listen, to tell me it’s okay.

i’m sorry i self-deprecate

but i can’t help it.

it’s hard to love myself

and sometimes impossible.

and somedays i feel so alone

and so unloved.

maybe those are what’s real

and hope is elusive.

Chapter Text

it’s hard being in reality.

there are days that I feel alone

like no one sees me or cares about me.

it’s a glass box.

if my isolation is an illusion

please help me shatter it.

there’s nothing i can use on the inside.

Chapter Text

I be not free

of sin or shame

or a loss of innocence

that once was.

I do not flow freely.

My path is shaped by those

whose claim to the society of deities

is false.

Why do I let it so?

For I am weak and plain.

Would it really matter if there was one less river?

One less waste of space?

But I'm too weak to say adieu.

Chapter Text

Everything holds a story.

For the flute is why he is;

for such detail he holds.

In his notes sends a message.

It is one that cannot be heard simply,

but more rather felt with the heart.

Even the heart; she holds a tale 

of great feats and battles 

that forms man into

what he has become. 

It is the destiny of humanlike

to continue every tale

as they were told it.

Chapter Text

Threads upon threads

of an unheard song

strum over one another

as it is being sewn.

A delicacy blushing in gold

with knowledge that she

is destined for greatness;

be it mighty or minute.

She is a flattened man,

only much more optimistic

of what her future holds,

for it is one of greatness 

and the absorption of knowledge.

Mankind ought to follow her example;

for they are destined for such greatness

among the stars.

Chapter Text

She be blazed with red,

for she has not received

the healing she gave.

He falls into 

an artificial drowse

as he has forgone his slumber

for another.

She be sewn with a smile

only to conceal

the broken frown.

He loves all,

though none seem

to love him.

Martyrs and Angels of the contemporary;

and yet it is not so easy to see

the damage these guardians have held 

in secret.

Chapter Text

The greatest sufferers

are the heroes of all.

As the demons invade 

and destroy her for good,

she is a martyr to those

whose cries to be relieved

of these demons 

are left unheard.

Now day and night pass,

but not a moment 

shall she go forgotten;

the saint takes the ultimate air.

Soon she is gone,

lest never forgotten.

Chapter Text

It does me no good

to be in there.

We learn to




and such the like

that it goes against my morals.

They imply we are disabled.

Some have turned cagey

while some still rebel.

God, help me.

I don't need this.

I know I can function in the world;

if only I could get 

just one chance to prove it.

Just one chance to reform to freedom.

Chapter Text

Why on earth do they think

it'll fix me?

All it does is make life worse.

The quickest way to fix something

is the best way,

according to this country.

But it can never fix me.

I don't think they realize

I was broken a long while.

Still am.

I can't be fixed.

Don't they realize it's a waste to try?

This pill beaks me further,

as if I could be damaged further.

And aside, it's my blame.

I damaged, destroyed myself.

Chapter Text

It will never go away,

that little black cloud.

Though on somedays,

it's more gray than black.

But that's if the time is right.


I'll never be alright.

The cloud follows me everywhere,

blocking the sunlight that once shone.

It turns blacker the gloomier life.

Someone-anyone-I beseech you,

help me destroy this cotton creature.

Bring the bright light back

so maybe I could try to act alright.

I'll never be alright.