Young Writers Society

exhaustion is a little warm,
like topaz all things considered it makes
you feel like a yellowish streamer coddled
in a black-brown abyss of nothing and no
expectations (all the pressure leaving me
secure and protected this is quality of life)
but exhaustion likes to remind you
in it's lethargic warmth that you
are neither secured or protected
(and you have no quality of life)
and the abyss does not yet coddle you
and as someone trying to make a nest
out of my own feathers i fear that
is highly unfortunate (which stone
causes unbalance and woe; I may need to
toss it into a river bank)

i'm biting at the bit
blood covered incorrigible
my teeth snap together

this is healthy
you look better this way
thank you i reply for all of your aid

my voice is broken
my laugh is lilty
my eyes are empty

you took my emotions
you ate them

there is something gnawing at my carpet
i have been so worrisome of late
everyone hopes i'm alive and well
or almost everyone anyway
everything is elusive when you have time for something
i got time to catch my breath but
it's so windy in my room now
that every little chill tickles my bones
and as much as i tug my covers closer
i can't be warmed i just shiver it out
a forever ragged exhale

when i was drawing earlier
my brain was screaming about
attention seeking behaviours and seething
'i live for the applause-plause
live for the applause-plause'
Lady Gaga reminds me of why i don't get
paid for my work 'i'm a free bitch baby'
i almost feel entirely plagiarized
since i'm just a different type of Judas
sometimes i wonder if i could
kiss Jesus and give him away as well
the betrayer hurts everyone involved
including himself; myself
i really can't help it afterall
if 'i was born this way'

sometimes i think i was made into this
but what is a crime of influence
i can't legally pin that on anything
i've begun searching for something
to ground myself with a crystal perhaps
but the only stones in this tale
are the ones being thrown at me
glancing off the roof of my glass house
you see I would like to believe that
i'm not so fragile 'i want your love
and i want your revenge' i'm a sinner
cloaked in black and this is how it ends
i can catch your stones
'i don't want to be friends'
you crash through my glass house
and i'll make a fort out of pens

disassociation is a time machine
i always did skip terms and conditions this is what we call educational; this
scene where i'm bloodying the windows
with slamming fists; the sound goes to
static as it exits my screaming lips

i'm sorry for the first impression i'm
contractually obligated to say
i'm having a good time and
on my way to a brighter tomorrow
the camera pans and a logo zooms up
triumphantly the brand uses me
as a before image the after of course
has a plastic smile on its face

a disembodied voice bite,
my voice, says
'i'm happy with my future'
the more i listen the further it warps
'i'm satisfied with the emptiness'
'i'm starting to miss my friends'
'i'm wondering if this ends'

in this time machine time is meaningless
there is no place just the destination
there is no rewind you can only choose
places to wind up in the future dizzy
confused covered in bruises
the crows are omens here
and many sit beside you

the doors never open
when you want to get out
the lawyers look at you as if you are some protagonist and whisper 'not yet'
'you aren't done' until you could scream

they say events repeat
disassociation is a time machine