“Home is where the heart is,” they say, but
I can’t find my heart. No wonder I never feel
at home. I get caught in bed sheets and bad
dreams about the past, pictures and memories
slap me in the face even when I’m asleep.
There’s no escape really, I use to drown in
my tears at midnight and wake up alive. Now
I realize I’m in over my head, slowly suffocating
myself with unsaid words and crowded thoughts.
Things I cannot, will not, don’t even know how to
actually say, are what bug me every single day of
every week. Leaving the house doesn’t even help
anymore, because I just want to fall back into the
waves I call covers and sleep just to forget, but
really to remember, what I’m running from.
You know, you live in a house with family, but really
what is family? I don’t remember anymore, because
it’s more like strangers you know really well, just
not enough to tell them you’re slowly dying inside
your mind. I’ve had longer conversations with
sleeping pills and the walls of my bedroom. At
least their silence doesn’t make you feel like
you’re fucking insane.
“I’m fine,” has just become the default of, “I wish
you’d stop asking, you don’t really care.”
Or maybe it’s because I’m too tired to explain what’s
wrong, or how I feel, because I live it every waking
moment. Maybe it’s the thought they would know by
looking into my lifeless eyes, there’s nothing there.
Maybe it’s the urge to tell my mother the
first time my skin was kissed, it was by the razor,
then realizing how pathetic I really am. Or maybe it’s
just the sadness talking, I don’t really know anymore.
““Home is where the heart is,” they say, but I can’t find my heart. No wonder I never feel at home. I get caught in bed sheets and bad dre...”
“I say, “I’m seventeen and insane. Seventeen and angry at the world, seventeen and sad beyond belief.” As I look at my own reflection I see ...”
“There was a boy, who lost pieces of himself in the lines of books, he made a home in the comfort of words. He found himself slowly wishin...”
“I know deep inside, I am not the child my parents wanted. I can tell by the way they look into my eyes, because theirs glaze over, and by th...”
“I know I’m recovering, but there are still times my skin itches to be ripped apart. There are times I think about killing myself. I mean, I ...”
“I don’t know when it happened, or why it happened. You just stopped. There were no more phone calls in the middle of the night when you c...”
“The first person I ever loved was not myself, but him, and maybe that was my biggest mistake. I learned to love the dimples on his cheeks, a...”
“I have this hope that maybe I could find my escape by cutting open my skin, and bleeding out this sadness within.”
“My hips hit the counter again. I can’t stop running into edges and finding some kind of satisfaction from it. Almost every time I cook, ...”
“i. I think the gloomy clouds and rain are more beautiful than the shining sun. I think that the sound of the sky’s tears hitting the ground ...”
“When he screamed in my face and pushed me against his car that night, he told me I was worthless but I was the one to say sorry. Over and ov...”