Careless

I talk like I always do

And pretend I’m okay.

Performing in a show,

Wearing a disguise,

Is something I do every day.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t eat.

I can’t think.

It’s amazing,

How gullible everyone can be,

How I can put on an act

And everyone believes it to be true.

Sometimes I feel so

Alone.

I know that all I have to do

Is talk to someone,

And the solitude disappears.

But sometimes it doesn’t work like that.

Sometimes it’s not that simple.

Right then and there,

I immediately thought of a gun.

Scary, isn’t it?

How the first thing that came into my mind

To solve my problems

Was a gun.

Then I realized I don’t have one,

So I thought of a knife.

I pictured myself in my mind

In the kitchen

Sliding the knife “across the bridge”

With surprising effortlessness

And carelessness.

Yet I preferred the gun.

School ended,

And with it the stress.

It made it better,

There’s no denying that.

Yet here I am,

Half a year later,

With school going on again,

And I’m almost more comfortable

With the thought of killing myself now

Than I was then.

It seems easier.

There are moments when I realize

How stupid it is for me to think this.

I know that I will see this after I’ve written it

And know how horrible it is.

But those other moments,

Like now…

I just don’t care.

I wanted to punch the wall again.

I figured that

“If death was too much,

Why don’t I just beat myself to a pulp?

There must be some satisfaction from that.

I’d probably feel terrible afterwards.

But that’s later.

This is now."

I was crying while I thought of this,

Whether out of fear or rage or something else entirely,

I don’t know.

I started to fling my fists through the air

And stopped short of my target,

Resting them against the bed frame.

It’s these times

When I lose control.

It’s gone in a flash.

Sometimes it comes back,

Like when I stop myself from punching,

But it’s never back for too long.

As I sit here,

Crying,

I’m thanking God that I don’t have a real gun

Because I just grabbed the toy one I have,

Stuck it in my mouth,

And pulled the trigger.

I blinked.

Much like that of Moritz,

There was a gasp

And then nothing.

Silence.

No one heard me die.

I’m all alone after all.

I’m scared,

And I’m angry.

I want it to end.

But what’s “it”?

My life?

My pain?

My fear?

All three?

What’s the deal?

What’s wrong with me?

Why do I react like this?

Why do I keep it all bottled up,

Then explode

And take it out on the people I care about?

ANGST

Why is it that I identify myself with characters

That relate to the darker side of me

And never the light?

How much more of this can I take

Before I snap?

So many unanswered questions…

Have you ever wanted to be someone else for a day?

Maybe not even a particular person.

Just not to be you for once.

I know I have.

Have you ever been depressed?

Not just “you’re-feeling-down” sad

Or in an “I-hate-my-life” mood;

I mean the kind where you don’t care

Whether or not you live or die?

I know I have.

Have you ever thought about why you’re here?

When you think up a reason for

Why God created us and put us on this earth,

And all you come up with is lame excuses?

I know I have.

There is so much I wish I hadn’t done.

Dwelling on my regrets and sorrows and hurt

Is one of the things that brings me here,

To this place.

One day,

I might never escape.

I might be stuck here forever.

Now I dream of my funeral,

Of who will attend and

What it’ll look like.

All the older women wear black veils

To cover their faces,

Perhaps out of shame.

The younger women wear all black dresses or skirts.

The men have suits or a coat and tie in black.

They all stand with their hands crossed,

Intertwined with another,

Folded and resting behind their backs.

Tears roll down their cheeks like rain.

Everyone stands around a hole in the ground,

And in the hole of dirt lies a brown casket.

I can't see what I look like,

Lying inside the wooden box,

As I dare not look for myself.

It’s a horrifyingly magical and bizarre experience.

I have so much more to do with my life,

Yet some days I could care less what comes of it.

It’s amazing,

What stress,

Poor choices,

And insomnia

Can do to a person.

Note: Moritz references a character from the Broadway show Spring Awakening.