I Dare You To Write, Chickenshit

I wear matching underwear
which you will never see.
I used to shave, to be free from shame
but your hairs caught in my teeth.
From virgin swaddling cloth
to proud naked ape, walking tall
as gravity displays it’s rude power.

This lump in my throat
refuses to dislodge, so
I wear it like a velvet choker,

anxiety is the new black.

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Diary Entry 2/2

How did you get footprints on the walls?
Was it while I was sleeping?
Did gravity turn like a rubix cube, leaving me behind?
No one must ever find out. The awfulness within.
If only we could shed our skin.
Hardened bitter scales traded in for vulnerable soft new beginnings.
I’m scared.
I’m separate.
I’m alone.
Paranoia sticks it’s foot in the door. Something wants me to give up.
Dizzy with mental torture.

I wish I could cry.

Nothing Left But This

I make coffee
to kill the boredom
fill the empty mind
jumpstart the heart

I take pills
to escape time
quiet the mind
deaden the heart

I smoke
to avoid time
ponder poisonous thoughts
tighten the heart

I shower
to cleanse the sins
festering in the mind
soothe the burning heart
rinse the blood
from my hands
by my hands

I go to bed
to summon filth
from the mind
make the heart race
and the body ache

So I can sleep.

Existence Is Too Loud

I can’t stand this sensation.

Every hair a needle, bugs crawling,
zapping me all over.
Pain in my head like brain freeze, zero to suicide every hour.
Graphic images flashing through my head,
urges that scare me with shocks shooting though my heart.
Jaw aching from biting back anger and tears. Lump in my throat choking me,
a bitter taste burning my mouth.
Pain racing through my hands and feet.
The constant holding back of hateful outbursts
and panic attacks. Disgusted with myself,
the feel of my hair across my face, the clothes against my skin,
repulses me. A desperate cold in my chest.
Flushes of heat have me tearing at my clothes, convinced I am being burnt
or fearing I will pass out. The fear is back, the guilt, the self-loathing.
Faces loom over me, distorted judging stares, whispers behind hands,
people on the wrong end of the binoculars.
Acid trickles down my back
as shadows creep up behind me, frightening forms in the dark.