SolarumNyx

i can write you an essay on things that i am and things that i am not i can relegate my being onto paper like i am no more than a passing thought through a philosopher's brain on a sunday morning but what i cannot do is stand you making me into someone i am not i will tell you that i am depressed i am not sad and i am not broken and i am not flawed but my brain is tired and the serotonin and dopamine between my synapses gets lost (i don't blame them.) i will tell you that i am depressed and i will hear be happy be happy be happy hundreds upon thousands of times like the drilling of a woodpecker into the oaken shell of my skull and i will

and i am air; i will be the last breath you inhale but never quite force out, i will make your decaying ribs my home and run through your lungs as if i could give all the torn-out breaths at your hands back to myself. and i am fire; i am (self)destruction and passion and anger all embroiled in one core, and i am nothing but a force of nature developed of the immolation that threatens to devour me whole. i am air and fire and i will burn myself up until nothing remains.

i am not pretty; the only thing that juts out from my jaundiced skin is prose - half-baked and mediocre. the same combination of words, draped loosely over my too-heavy bones like a twisted Atlas carrying the weight of my diction upon his shattered shoulders i am not pretty; there are no oceans in my eyes nor emotions in my gaze there is no more in my irises than a bundle of nerves and sensors above a thin undercurrent of pain, perhaps not all undeserved. i am not pretty; it is a letter away from petty and pretty is such an ugly word

i.   i can see the stars in your eyes, the polymerization of nebulae within; and though the sun has yet to rise and the wishes yet to fall the planets in your eyes never cease their spin ii. do you suppose the planets above are in love with the stars? that love is something the heavens are barren of seems improbable to me thus far iii. i can't break out of my orbit around you you are truly the center of my world; ((if they could, then would the planets feel this too?)) iv. i wonder if galileo had ever felt this did his heart beat fast as he gazed at the skies? because this feeling seems like too much to miss- and there is no more room

we're taught to drown our sorrows in guilt and despair to make ourselves feel like no one out there really cares till we resurface, gasping, struggling for air we're taught that depression's a sign of being weak and when people self harm, it's just attention that they seek and that when she's dead and gone and buried in the ground that oh, they should've saw it coming and they tell you, blame yourself for everything that you've done you messed up, so get up, your life's only begun and when we keep blaming ourselves and the tears just still run they look on like they're bored, like we're just old reruns playing on the tv's for their enter

chlorine burns in her mechanical lungs rust - iron oxide and mars roman god of war launching javelins straight to her bare ly - beat ing heart marching to the fa   ding        sounds               of a                      cav                           alry drum salty whispers fade on her skin, her screams drowned out by the burn of despair and im   possible expectations she sinks d e e p e r into the illusion of s a n i t y screaming broken pleas of save me save me saveme saveme savemesavemesa- she was never good at swimming--