wrong

Things are going right.

I’m smiling every day.

Smiling more than I have in such a long time.

Feeling so genuinely at ease.

But it doesn’t stay that way.

I excel at overthinking.

I’m amazing at overanalyzing a situation.

Too great at ruining every figment, every image.

I like to self-destruct.

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Puncture

Sudden loss of air.

Sudden struggle to breathe.

Anxiety settling into it’s home.

The home it’s found—it’s me.

Creaking into my aching bones;

Trickling down every capillary.

Shaking my finger, my hands, my legs.

Making my entire body quake.

But you look, and you seem to see me frozen.

You don’t seem to notice me breaking down inside, before your eyes.

Like I’m putting on a grand show for you, but I’m the only one they gave the tickets to.

Your mood shifts into mine, and I see how wrong I’ve gone.

I see the change in air.

Puncture wounds just aren’t fair, without care.

Vodka Pizza

We used to get drunk around town.

Take what we could from our parents, put it in a water bottle.

Sometimes multiple waterbottles;

There were 3 of us, after all.

We would down them, while laughing off pain from the week.

Being talked down to by everyone around us, just for being ourselves;

Just for trying to be happy with ourselves.

We would pass the bottles around, each making silly faces at how harsh some swigs could be.

One night in particular, I remember we had vodka.

A few different ones, but each one just as harsh as the next.

We went for pizza after a while, realizing none of us had eaten that day.

Why? Because we all hated ourselves.

We didn’t let ourselves have food often.

We didn’t think we deserved it.
We went, we sat down.

We talked about life and more pain.

And we cried, for we realized how similar we all were that night.
We all were constantly fighting off monsters.

Real, and in our head.

Some in the mirror, some in our ears;

Telling us we were never good enough..

Telling us to kill ourselves.