I am wrapped with self -consciousness
engulfed with anxiety
and peirced with unhappiness
I am marked with frustration
bleeding bitterness from my wounds
the wounds which I have made for myself
yet were not self-inflicted
Every word I speak
is a silent cry for help
only I do not want help
I want my tears to be like ichor
which heals every scar
and puts the fragments of my own existence back together
I want serenity
yet I want the fire within me to stay aflame
to allow my tears to turn into ink
which guides itself along the lines of relief
I want to scream
until my ribcage releases the heart that has been held captive for too long
I want to scream
until my inner demons exorcise themsleves from me
I want to scream
until my anguish withdraws alongside the wavelengths of rage set free
until the message is sent
until you understand that this is not just a 'phase'
that the marks that decorate my body run deeper than the flesh they've been encarved in
that I am not insane
only blessed with the curse of seeing what you think is inane
