THC Meets Poetry

The Dark Room

I ventured into the shallower parts of my mind and waltzed into the darkest room. I mentally promise myself that I will clean up the mess soon, but when I glance at the clock I realize that it's already late in the afternoon, and I've just been sitting here completely vacant. Awaiting my inevitable doom.

My nerves are dancing under my skin and it's getting painful.  I wish to break open these scars and let the blood freely drip, but I know that will only leave me feeling guilty and shameful. Lord in heaven, I require your assistance in providing me with a word of advice from a guardian angel.

I'm shooting up caffeine just to come down with grass. Packing one bowl, two bowls. However many it takes to escape my past. I wish to find a love that I'd bleed for but, I still fear that when I finally obtain it...it won't last. I feel that my good karma is limited, and soon my restraint will shatter.  I'll be getting smashed with dubstep blaring at full blast. Feeling that bass booming in my head while my arms are getting slashed. Throwing all this recovery I worked so hard for right in fucking the trash.

Twitching and tensing. my arms instinctively extending. I feel the sudden chill of the phantom blade pressing. These wounds will be the suicide note that I will be sending. This is my truth, so you better read it from the beginning, right down to the very ending. At the bottom is an invite to my funeral, will you be attending? Don't worry, you'll have time to get dressed because my friend request to death is still fucking pending. I'm sick of fronting happiness, sick of always fucking pretending. I know mental illness is something that most people have a hard time comprehending, but I swear it's real! Please listen to what I'm telling you.

Why are you invalidating me? Provoking me to start yelling at you? do I have to dumb it down for you? Want me
to spell it out for you? Then I guess this abbreviation will have to do. P. T. S.D.

Are you getting it now? Have I made it clear enough for you to see? There are monsters burning me alive and raping me in my dreams. My life is coming undone at the very seams, but I still won't ask for help because I was never taught how to let somebody cater to my needs.

I'm getting down on my knees and begging you to hear me. I want you to notice the places I have been. I've got a passport to hell because I just couldn't fucking turn over my life of sin. God, why have you forsaken me? I can't feel your love anymore and it's fucking breaking me. I was told that if I had you in my spirit that I wouldn't feel this pain, but your love letter was sadly mistaken.

Because the Bible was written by many different men, some too selfish to share the fucking pen! And you expect me to just sit here and believe they knew the things that God supposedly said? Yeah I'd honestly be better off dead.

I've only known men to be narcissistic and selfish. Beating me till I'm crying and helpless. Bending me over and fucking me till I'm emotionless, but it was my fault right? Because I chose to lay there motionless. I never said "no" so I must be the one responsible for my brokenness. 

It has to be my fault because apparently cis men can do no wrong. They can rape, cheat, and steal till the breaking of dawn.

Fuck, am I losing your attention? I'm real fucking sorry I had to make this poem so long, but how else am I going to tell you that I'm a walking corpse that is so empty and withdrawn? Is my character boring you? Then let me to eat a bullet and re-spawn. I'll come back as somebody that won't make you yawn.

Now I've started teasing men till they're begging me for a free preview. I'm using men the same way they used me, well what do you ya know? Your boy finally fucking grew. After all this time I have finally made a breakthrough. You've gotta give them the whirl around till they're willing to pay you just to screw. Because men only fuck to cum, you can't seriously be telling me that you never knew.

What's the matter? Can't handle my honesty? Is my pain too graphic and lacking in modesty? Honestly, y'all need to shake off the snowflakes and accept that life isn't a fucking comedy. You can't sugar coat anxiety, or the fact that it's making us too sick to eat. Walking around with these dark circles around our eyes from the lack of sleep. Getting fucked up because the BPD fed us a big spoonful of defeat. But for the sake of your fragile mind I will bid you farewell here, leaving the rest of this page blank and incomplete.