I’m Not Suicidal, But…

It’s no longer a blackness, it’s now a fire
My belly feels like an unending pit
I’m not sure if it’s anger, frustration or the depression
Last night I went to bed but couldn’t go to sleep
When my eyes finally shut, I hoped they wouldn’t open again
This is not poetry, it’s emotions
Maybe I’ve perfected the art of hiding this off
Maybe you wouldn’t believe some days I wake up and want to die
Would you believe me if I told you last night, I stopped just in front of a speeding car but somehow the driver hit the breaks before he hit me?
Would you believe me if I told you I had my bath with scalding water this morning but my skin wouldn’t fall off?
I have become an empty doll despite my supposed happiness
I’m in pharmacology class and the topic is something about antidepressants
Maybe those would cheer me up
I really think my only refuge would be going to sleep and not waking up
Everyday I pour my heart down on scripts
And lie that its poetry
And you call me cute, and think I’m good
This is not poetry, it’s emotions
I’m really screaming out
I really need help

Once And For All

I remember the time before the depression came
How I always thought people who were depressed were “cool”
And happiness was overrated and not “hip” enough
Till the first day I felt like no longer being alive
And wished I was never born
Then I understood what this really was
It wasn’t just something everybody had
It was what everybody that had had, didn’t want
I don’t get depressed as often these days
I’ve found a coping mechanism, I block out the emotions till they fade out with the weather
It doesn’t always work
Just like today, like now
When the darkness builds up like an erection
When the fire burns behind my chest
I can feel my soul blacken
My mind gets numbed up and nothing seems real anymore
All I want to do is lay on my bed and never have to leave
I wish I never wished for this
Why is it raining on my laps even though my windows are shut?
When can I find a permanent solution to this hell?
Maybe my wrists would give me an answer if I make them bleed enough
Maybe I should let the darkness swallow me forever

Spices and Doughnuts

Last night I laid down on my bed listening to music, and my music player kept looping around love songs
The type of songs that make you miss the lover that you don’t have yet
And as the lyrics moon walked through the corners of my unbecoming mind
Your name, like a wall in a new path of a blind man, popped into my head
You see, I never planned to fall in love with someone so imperfect
Someone so faultless
On some days, I feel like you’re a typo in my life
The type that I never want to correct
You’re a typo that makes sense in this sentence
Your name in my mouth gives me tongue-tie
I called you ineffable, you chuckled and called me funny
If only you knew how serious I was
I never figured anybody could ever make a poet speechless
You make me open corny instagram love pages and smile like a kid given his favourite candy bar
You’re beautiful, in all ramifications of the meaning of the word
It’s the idea of the aesthetic of rainfalls
How every drop seems infinitesimal, but with consecutive drops it becomes a downpour
Your face is like ancient Egyptian calligraphy scribbled in Braille
It’s like the last note of a modern Handel translation on the canvas of the of the painting of Madonna of Carnation
When God made you, he cussed for the first time
He turned to an angel, gave him a high-five and said “Goddamn I’m good!”
You are that beautiful
You make me lose my train of thought every time I think of you
I’ve never loved a darker shade of green, the definition of jealousy
Your lips, they taste like cinnamon, like angel tears
How can I love someone so much even when I hate them?
There I go again, losing my thought line
My wallpaper on my phone used to be your face
I changed it to a picture reading “Love makes you stupid”
I hoped that would be enough warning for me to keep off falling in love with you
But you see, love is exactly like death, it takes you unawares
Nobody ever wants it, but when it happens, nobody wants out
When I listen to Rudy Francisco talk about the love of his life
I imagine he’s me, and it’s you I’m talking about
Because I could never find the correct words to describe you with
I don’t know when I would get married or who my future wife is
But when I try to describe her, she sounds exactly like you
I could never finish a poem about you, because I want to keep writing about you everyday we’re together
I love you
Even now, that I don’t really like you
I love you, like I love Doughnuts and Spices