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Battle against the attack

  I sit in front of my computer, while anxiety is roaming inside of me. It has filled me up and burns like a crematorium fire. I sit in front of my computer, in such an agony, it feels like there's glass shards inside of me, ripping and cutting, making way for the fire. I hold my phone and look all of my contacts, all my social media friends, all of my chats, groups and internet communities. I hold my phone, and fight with all my willpower to not to get the knife and start cutting myself, although it feels the only way to let the anxiety out. I hold my phone and realize that I cannot bother anyone I know. They all have already too much to handle. I hold my phone and I start typing to a mental health group. My anxiety releases all hell loose inside of me, I'm exposing my soul at my last resort to get some help with to the battle against the anxiety I hold my phone, I hold my phone, I hold my phone. I hold my phone, a week later there isn't an answer, not even a reaction to m...
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Getting Better?

  You sit at the table with your friends You breathe the rigid air as those around you chuckle at inside jokes. You feel content with life. You smile as one dawns a question upon you. How have you been doing? You speak words you never thought you’d be able to say. Better. You think of many things. The dark thoughts that once ran throughout your mind. Those late nights where you didn’t know if you’d make it till morning. But then you think about that night. The night you finally decided to do it. The plan you internalized in your mind. The idea of your mother finding your body. The question of what kids at school would think. The idea of what anyone would think. The thoughts leaving your mind as you realized you’ll be dead anyways. The cold tile floor of your bathroom, as you kneel down and grab a razor blade. You sit down, leaning against the sink. You hesitate. You wanna cry. You say fuck it. The burning as you quickly dig the razor down into your soft pale skin, and drag. The cri...
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SLOW POISON

  He is a man whose blood just keeps draining. Blood clots in his veins, his eyes- HIS INSIDE. He stumbles as the blood rushes- spawns - and hurdles over and around the clots - those fluids just keep draining- All of it, internal-– Only for the insiders to feel. Too sacredly private, his little big secret. And maybe, when his whole body turns pale from the draining, MAYBE THEN- will they see him as what he has always been. DEAD.
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