I didn’t have time to test the waters before I jumped in way too deep.
I’ve gotten a taste, but now my tongue is used to the sweet.
I’ve gotten used to being held, and now I can’t sleep.
I’ve gotten so cold because I need the heat.

So let me ramble as the knot in my chest ties itself around and around into a Hangman’s noose and let me vent my feelings through words to make this knot a little loose and let me be inspired once again by negativity and overthinking and the potential to lose and please just let me get this out before I (continue to) drive myself crazy.

It’s conflicting getting inspiration out of opposites.
It isn’t easy to move on once you’ve got a hypothesis.
I’m realizing my brain is making “too good to be true” into this.
It doesn’t make sense that I’m putting myself in some stupid abyss.

So let me ramble because my emotions are out of control and my brain is playing tricks on me and my thoughts are taking their toll and let me hold on tight to my faithful words and this faithful pen to fill this hole and please excuse me while my ideas teeter-totter and flip around because I’m going crazy.

Because I don’t know who or what to blame when I fall into this slump.
Because I thought I fought it away and got over that hump.
Because all that smoothed is again starting to clump.
Because that smooth road is getting a bump.

So let me ramble because stanzas aren’t helping and my brain is melting and rhyming seems like a hell thing because I can’t tell what the hell kind of fucked up things my brain rings and let me cry because I haven’t in so long and let me break because I’ve found a wrong and let me listen to only sad songs because I guess sometimes that makes me less crazy.

I can’t write well because my brain is shit.
I can’t write my feelings because I’m censoring it.
I can’t vent what I want because I feel so desperate.
I can’t, fuck it. 

Hopeless romantic;
If knowledge doesn’t kill me,
Love will be the gun.

Reaching past the haggard tangled thorns of unmanageable weeds, leaves, stickers
To reach what is sweet; these blackberries, succulent tastes of tiny victories.
The scratches on my hands lessen with what I have achieved.
Blackberries, victories, metaphorical sweets. 

You can’t see the bottom of an ocean,
Only the surface that twinkles in the sun.
You can’t anticipate the commotion,
The sighs, the tides, the waves have only begun.

You make me feel like I can’t drown,
Like the depths are but adventures we’ll travel.
You are the anchor that will hold me down,
I am the tangles I want you to unravel.

The rivers run high, the rivers run low,
But the tide in my heart stays strong.
You are the flow that to which I owe,
Whose side by which I belong.

So please don’t let go of my hand tonight
As I dive headfirst into sea.
When this dark abyss is only lit by moonlight,
I’ll guide you if you guide me. 

You try to produce something beautiful, but all that comes out is sadness.
You try to regain your sanity, but you’re being choked by your madness.

Wind tangles your hair in a nest of unmanageable fury.
The leaves that are swirling intermingle with your worry.
So shut your pretty little eyes to the world you’re hiding from.
Pretty little darling, your thoughts are a smoking gun.

Your thoughts are a smoking gun and it’s aiming at your head.
If emotions are your trigger, then you’re already dead.
Your worst enemy is always only going to be yourself.
You wander through your thoughts realizing you’re already in hell.
The person that’ll kill you is only going to be you.
Other people can’t touch you the way that you do.
Other people can’t bruise you the way that you do.
They can’t make you bleed like your precious scars prove.

You can’t run away from someone if they share your own soul.
You can only smile about one part until your remember the whole
Part of you is crumbling slowly while simultaneously getting mended.
When the depths inside of you are losing, some parts are getting defended.

This rumination is going to be the end of you if you make it,
But your genetic makeup with your biological depression isn’t a curse, so fake it.

And you know firsthand that it’s so easy to blame everyone else.
But your worst enemy is still only going to be yourself.
It’s so easy, sunshine, to claim others as the Satan of your Hell.
And you know, you know, you fucking know that you’re not well.

You can blame the man you love who treats you like shit,
You can blame your mother’s depression saying you inherited it,
You can blame the acts of roommates, or professors, or acquaintances,
You can blame the guys you sleep with or the girls you make out with.
You can blame all these external forces, but your suicide is internal.
Your mind’s fucked up, sunshine, but remember your soul is eternal.

So while the wind tangles your thoughts in an unmanageable fury,
And the leaves that are swirling intermingle with your worry,
Just open your pretty little eyes to the world you’re hiding from.
Pretty little darling, the wind brings the storm, but can also reveal the sun.