- girl talk -

My sister’s broke, she wants to be unbroken. 

I wanna help her but I’m dying from words unspoken. My sister’s hurt, she don’t wanna be hurting. Her life makes me look at god and wonder if he’s working. 

My life makes me look at happiness and start to feel uncertain. Certainly certain I’m not meant to have kids. Life’s always hard, that's jus how it is. 

Life, most days, jus doesn’t feel real. Life, some days, jus doesn’t appeal. If life is looking for a pair lunges to steal, take mine out my chest and put me to rest. If life is a test, if this is my best, what’s the point of me walking this quest. 

Maybe I lost track of my plan of attack. 

It’s not thoughts that I lack, it’s the will to stop and chill. 

Stop and enjoy the thrill. Absorb every detail after I swallow the pill. Sit alone on the edge of the window sill. 

Sit alone all night looking up at the stars. Feel the bump on my wrist of the line of my scar. Inhale deep, exhale in a jar. Income’s steep, joy is out far. 

I can’t stop picturing what it’d be like to be okay. I picture I’ll turn around after a couple big pays. I picture I’ll be fine after a couple of days. But for me it never works out that way. I know it’s all rooted in what my thoughts say. 

How terrifying. How paralyzing. 

I almost hate when people say my thoughts are amazing. Like my worst fear is my best feature; how degrading. 

There I go rejecting more love. Heart’s still attached to the ones up above. 

Past is still here and wants to be present. Sad turns to guilt which makes me resent. A dark part of me never repents. Taking advantage of the life I was lent. Wondering why I was ever sent. 

No home, I’m a nomad pitching a tent. No home means no smiles, that fucks with my head. No smile, some say you’d be better off dead. Like I haven’t had the feelings felt by the dead. I think those thoughts right before bed. Wake up and they’re still in my head. Go through my day with feelings of dread. Repeat the cycle, I think I’d be better off dead. 

I could keep on going about what this voice does. I gave up liquor but always dream of the buzz. Trying to convince myself that that’s not me that’s jus who I was. Like I wouldn’t fucking kill to get lost in its floods. Feel it pump through my veins and take over my blood. 

Fuck, I miss that shit so much. 

Miss that hand that I used to clutch. Miss that bottle I used to use as a crutch. Now I’m doing anything jus to avoid its touch. 

Maybe I should get loose before my thoughts start to bunch. Drink more calories than the nothing I ate for lunch. Mimosa the only thing I eat for brunch. 

But the next day it always leaves me in a funk. Wake up floating and realize my body ain’t sunk. Regretting every single movement I made when I was drunk. 

My head jus exploded all over this page. I haven’t even gotten to the roots of my rage. I’ll keep that for later, keep it locked in its cage.

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