If I was never aiming to accomplish anything, then by definition I couldn’t fail, right? I guess logic isn’t one of my strong suits.

I’ve been here before;

That point where my wrist twists at the touch of pen to paper.

My body yearns for a release into words,

For that is the only time I’ve ever felt..whole.

Yet, once before, this very same stutter did occur.

I was falling, drowning, every other analogy for dead on my feet.

I was in a room that never made a noise,

Yet the blood in my ears was always a deafening roar.

I sat, hands clutched in some sort of death grip,

As if the air between my palms was the last bit of oxygen on Earth

And I wanted to save that last breath

For that time when my words would find me again.

Still, those words would be wasted on blank space,

Open fields, dusty corners of forgotten hell-holes,

For they would never find the right ears to listen.

So, the age old question came to mind;

If my screams to the ceiling are made on nothing but

These pages in black and white, with no one here

To hear what it is I’m trying to say, well,

Did I ever really say anything at all?…

I’ve been here before;

Blood covering my sheets from a lack of common sense.

Arms that are sore from cuts that are far too deep.

Legs that itch from the scratches they are unaccustomed to.

A mind so sick of being stuck in my head that it rips and tears at every thought I have, turning them fragile and me timid and scared and so angry at my lungs for continuing to work and giving my brain the oxygen it needs to turn every blink into a flurry of memories, poisoned and turned into tools that beg me to pull the trigger…

My words are failing me again, because they are at that point once again..that point where my mind has shut off every thought aside from failure, aside from pain. Once again I’m at a breaking point. Only this time I have much less of a chance of getting out alive. I made it last time by sheer luck; perfect timing of distractions. Now what do I have left? Nothing to distract my mind from what I realized 5…no, 20 years ago…I don’t think I should be happy, should be alive…I’ve only proven that more and more…so why am I still here?


  1. “If my screams to the ceiling are made on nothing but
    These pages in black and white, with no one here
    To hear what it is I’m trying to say, well,
    Did I ever really say anything at all?”

    Yes. I heard you through the canopy of words.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you! Before starting this blog I had no idea if my writing style would be something people would enjoy, or would even make sense. But hearing that people feel some kind of power in my words makes me feel more confident in what I write, so I’m going to write even more.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Good for you. There are some excellent free writing courses on-line if you want to further develop your style and get feedback from others. It’s also worth reading others’ work with a critical eye to pick up tips and cues.


    • Getting things written out, where I can see it all, makes it easier to deal with…I think! It’s how I’ve gotten this far. And now, with a place to share that openly, it gives me less fear of whats coming out of my head.


  2. Way to share your heart and the struggle… You’re a good writer… Depths of pain and suffering enhances creativity… You’re worth so much, worth being here, and to continue to live for certain… Praying for you!! Here for you if ever in need… and of course, keep on writing…


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