fall away // joshler

tyler

i disguise and i will lie

my head weighs heavy on my palms, my chin digging into the clammy flesh as i try to hold the weight of the thoughts caged inside my head, waiting for a release—be it tears, words, screams or blood.

i flinch slightly as the wooly jumper sticks to my arms, knotting with the dried blood and pulling harshly as if it wants answers for what i've done, and i just furrow my eyebrows and press the jumper further into the torn skin to avoid bleeding.

maybe blood isn't the best option.

the crisp page of my new journal is seething at me, almost as if it would hate to be the only one to witness my chaotic thoughts and i laugh at the thought somewhat bitterly, grabbing the ink pen and pressing the tip against the smooth paper for the first time.

the ink pools quickly, creating a single black dot on the white page and i remove it hurriedly before i can stain yet another thing, scratching the back of my head as i contemplate what i could write.

there are a lot of things actually, ranging from the actual mediocrity of my life to how ungrateful i am by constantly believing that i can't be fine.

the feeling is kind of strange actually, especially when i don't have anything to blame other than myself. i don't have a problematic family—actually scratch that— it's not perfect but it's not to the point where i don't want to come back home either.

the feeling though, is still strange, it is like a commitment towards a person who isn't you.

it's a person who holds you back from doing everything you want, the person who releases a swarm of angry butterflies into your gut whenever you try make something better. it's the person who forces you to overthink about simple things and a person who ties your hands behind your back not letting you eat.

it's not about your appearance, the way you speak or how much you eat, it's him. and no matter how hard you try, you can't get rid of him because he simply, is a part of you.

and that brings me to another version of myself which is not me—the one where i smile so wide that my cheeks ache, the one where i laugh so hard that the sound is almost overpowering everyone else's, the one where i answer questions in class and talk about my day and try and watch a movie with my parents.

but i'm not him.

and that's strange too because i don't even know who i am. i could be either of the two, and both of them are people that i don't like, but who am i really?

the question stays still, printed in bold dark colours on the front page of the magazine that's my mind, inside it are the perspectives of the two people that i'm not.

and with that i let the scratchy tip of my pen glide against the soft paper, wanting to imprint the complex root of all my contradicting thoughts into a few words.

reasons to die

the lump in my throat that bubbles angrily at the base of my throat wants me to scribble the words and write something better, to paint a better picture than what my mind actually is, but i refuse to lie to the only thing that i can tell the truth to.

and so, through the sudden blurriness behind my eyes, i press the tip to the surface again before scribbling the words that are forcing me to stop intaking each and every breath.

i'm a pretentious piece of shit and i don't know who i am. what is even the point of living when i don't know myself ?

--

hiiiii how do you like this so far ?? joshler isn't really my forté so i won't be surprised if it's bad smh