the conundrum
in having people
believe in you
when the voices
inside of you
have a polar opposite
opinion and trying
to rectify the two
while exposing
your pain in bright
bile flecked streaks
across the skies
wanting your words
to be read while
leaving yourself
comfortably buried
in the background
rattles the chains
on my ribcage as
a panicked acceptance
in terrified exceptions
bleeds across the page

i can’t stop to
consider the last line
when i am already
five poems deep into
the latest breakdown
and the fool that
scirbbled those words
that echoed your pain
has already succumb
only to rise once more
in an inferno of
confused anxieties

i kill myself daily
only to sprout new heads
a depressive hydra
cursed to an eternity
of bellowing into
the void between heartbeats
knowing i am nothing
more than a roadside stand
selling tchotchkes
to commemorate when
you dipped your lovely
toes into the bipolar current
of phantasmagorical hands
trying to pull us both
into the nothingness
where beauty bleeds out
in an abandoned storehouse
of misplaced confidences
in the abilities of a
flailing idiot trying to
tightrope walk his way
into your perfect soul


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