Okay So I Wrote Something While My Last Mental Breakdown And I Wanted To Show You. So Here It Is And

Okay so I wrote something while my last mental breakdown and I wanted to show you. So here it is and take care!

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I know you dont want to loose youre little sister.

All these night appart,

the number grew more and more.

Like my desire to evermore,

Se your smile and stop the frown.

Even though sometimes I feel like a clown.

Until I go to slumber,

Where I fulfil my desire.

Where I stopped feeling

The strange emotions that I can’t deceiver

Where I stopped hurting

By the reality that bring me to oblivion

Where I feel liberated

From the rotten world we created

When I wake up the numbness comes back.

Like a mountain on my back.

But don’t worry,

For I am inspired by your audacity.

Your strong head is something that I admire.

For I can’t start my fire.

My anxiety causes a war in me.

Where my army has be

And is no more.

For my demons heretofore,

We’re just pixie dust from tinker bell.

However now, they are an alarm bell.

Forgive me sister,

For I know I’m a bother

With my self destructive ways

And my long silences.

Dear sister you need to know

I’m just not myself.

But I don’t know who myself is anymore.

🌧🌧🌧

If I'm going to feel this way for the rest of my live I'd rather not live at all.

Psychiatrist appointment

He walks languid and slow

Like he had all the time in the world

Chest out, head tall, shoulders back

His heels clack click down the corridor

Reverence in his wake

As he carries with him an air of forced calm

That beats even the most nervous into submission

He doesn't greet me with a smile

He calls my name and I stand

Expected to follow behind

Hands clasped to elbows in front of me

A lousy protection against his pacifying aura

I know what I'm here to do, to say,

I won't be swayed into some easy tranquil atraxia

He holds the door open

And I follow him through

Taking a seat in front of his desk

My eyes trail their usual loop,

From the certificate, to the desk,

to the window behind him

Always speaking to the room,

Not to him.

My eyes refuse to meet his face

Refuse to even try

And I reach for an open wound,

My thumb digging into the flesh beneath

For some relief from the

static dead silence that follows our interactions

The door is closed,

the meeting private

Until next week