To the future me


You’ve fought wars and shed blood
Covered in scars that only a few can see
You’ve become a becon of hope
To those fighting monsters in their minds
You’ve saved lives
Yet you still look at your scars when days where so bad that death seemed to be the answer
Sometimes your demons get courage to challange you
And often you want to give in
And throw your sword down
To let them cut you down
To enjoy that last breath of relief
But God gives you strength to fight another day
I know you still carry peoples burdens
You live for them
Something to get you out of bed
Even if it means dragging your feet through the day
I am proud of you

I am not suicidal #1.

No I do not want to take my own life,

But I do think of killing myself.

I hate the fact that I only exist and have nothing to live for.

All my passions are temporally and fade like smoke.

I fight to get out of bed

Wishing I didn’t have to wake up.

I end up wishing that death took me to what I presume

a better place than here.

I imagine hanging from the ceiling,

(I laugh about it and call it levitating).

I think of Jumping onto a moving track on the highway,

Or maybe jumping off a building.

But I cannot because thinking of the devastation

I will leave behind depresses me.

So when it gets really bad,

I wear the best smile I can and push myself to not let it show.

But I feel the breaking point coming.

Scars and masks


It feels like you are drowning,

the point when you no longer have strength to fight for life.

Your body, mind and soul are exhausted,

But somehow you have strength to survive the day.

The worst is when memories of when

you fought with your loved ones fill your mind,

when you embarrassed yourself,

the ugly words you threw at someone,

the words they uttered when you got on their nerve,

unintentionally off course.

You want what’s best for people but personally you prefer to suffer.

You have no will to live, nothing to lose;

for whatever happens you deserve it.

It takes all your mental strength just to stay sane.

You eventually feel entitled to do anything for some peace,

for some relief.

You learn to cut.

Perhaps cigarette.

You become a glut.

Maybe a rebel.

You learn to wear masks losing your true-self,

wondering if it will ever get better.




I hear its thunderous battle cries,

Already proclaiming victory over me.

I wonder whether I am calm or scared;

It seems I have forgotten how to fight back.

Let it in

Feel it

Then let it go,

whispers the air around me.

But what if I enjoy it too much?

What if I don’t want to let go?

That beautiful feel of loneliness,

battling to get out of bed.

Dreading being around people;

Wanting to be alone always.

Demons screaming in my head.

The joy from the cutting and intoxicating of myself.

The excitement of heights and learning to fly, once.

The calling out of my dark poetic self with a twisted mind.

What if I feed on the pain just way to much?

I am terrified of going back.

But what will I do when the voices take over,

and my powerless self fails to hold it back?

Once upon a birthday…


He smiled as he watched her dance.
Her childish nature completed his and he loved it.
She was going to be as old as he was and that excited her.
He waited for her moment to pass and walked towards her.
He wished her a happy birthday then sung for her and she loved it.
He kissed her forehead and held her tightly.
In that moment their silence spoke volumes.
As he held her tight
Her body drew itself closer to his
Their hearts beat in harmony and you could tell, that their young uncharted love was one people desired and wished for.

Defeat is poetic


It stings the heart and leaves you hopeless

It wounds you physically

And breaks you mentally

It leaves scars on your heart

That no one can see

It steals your smile

And turns your laughter into mourns

Some will cry it out

And people like me with no tears to shade

Hold onto the pain

Eventually we bury it deep inside

And try to forget about it

But pain has a bad habit of sipping through

And making you watch your heart bleed

All over again


Enchanting demise…


She is dark yet beautiful,

Seductive and full of life.

She creeps in and knows exactly where to hold me.

She knows the exact amount of pain to inflict.

She knows the right words to say,

Filing my head with what if’s and whys.

Her pheromone makes everyone oblivious to my pain;

My aching and tormented soul.

Like a Voodoo doll,

She bends me to her will.

Dressing me with masks of different charm and character,

A beautiful lie of a man she has made me.

They is only one escape from her beautiful wrath

Beautiful death…..

Before I fail


I forgot about my motto.
I forgot about why I fear being happy,
Until the war drums played.
Trembling in fear,
For I knew what was coming and I had no way to protect myself.
It caught me off guard and I watched how weak I had become,
A lone wolf trying to fit in.
I felt its rage and sadistic intent on me.
I felt like hanging of the ceiling to rescue myself.
Where did I go wrong?
Why now? Is it wrong being happy?
“This never gets better, does it?”
I become soft because I gave a part of me to others.
And now I am paying for it.
I will be beaten and defeated.
And then rise from the ground with more scars than I had.
Trying to figure out who I am going to be and where I am going to stand.