#poetry by blyn

[blynbleedswords-blog]

i don’t want to die

I don’t want to die. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like my choice. Intrusive thoughts scuttle around my brain like a clutter of spiders. And how do I forget the impulse that eats at me? And how do I ignore the phantom blade on my skin when nothing else seems to quiet me? I’ve forgotten how to cope. I don’t want to die. How many hospital visits will it take, For me to believe it? For it to be a truth ingrained in me, Like the love I have for everyone but myself. I may not want to die, But I would for you and you and you and you and you. I try not to think that maybe I should. Because I know that I shouldn’t. Because I know that I don’t want to die. I’m trying And fighting To stay alive. Because I want to live. Even though I can hardly breathe. Even though the thoughts think I shouldn’t. Even though living is hard And a bit too much sometimes. I love A lot. And loving, Means living.

[blynbleedswords-blog]

after

After I fell– I mean the curtain fell, It was dark and lonely. The doors all locked, And the lights cooled. It was still, And sad, And haunted.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

Doubt

I try to write about the things that torture me. I try to trap them on the page, tear them apart, and examine them from every angle. So that when they inevitably return, I am familiar with the monster beneath my bed.

But what happens when my my monster is family? When it grows up with me—like an imaginary friend. And like an imaginary friend, I am made to believe that it does not exist. It was an apparition, something I’ve conjured in my mind and is not real.

Surely you know nothing of it in truth. You claim a monster which has haunted others, not you. You are but a boy who cries wolf. A girl who cries abuse.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

-bullets- 008

Give me your black and white, I’ll shed my light, And give you a rainbow.

Even art looks empty in the dark.

[blynbleedswords-blog]

-bullets- 012

There is a moment, At the end of a rainstorm, When the smell of life lingers in the air, And the sun shines through the lining of the clouds, And you don’t need a rainbow, To know that everything is going to be alright.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

New

I’m thinking myself in circles. Again. There is a slowly growing mountain of Untitled Documents shoved in the corner of my Google Drive. A few abandoned paragraphs, an odd sentence, nearly random couplings occupy their blank universes. Line them up one by one and you have the paths of thought spirals. Take “path” with a spoonful of salt. Because a path to me is an impossible chalk drawn hopscotch left behind by tortured toddlers, being washed away in the rain. It makes about as much sense as that does.

I constantly flip from lead to lead, jot a few words, and leave them behind. Either because they’ve run dry, or because I’ve had to change the song. Things get more muddled. Words are eaten by a tyrannical backspace button. I turn up the volume. Confessions push from behind my fingertips, but fail to make more progress than a worm retreating after rain. I slam the screen against the keys. Push the headphones in deeper into my ears. Remember some childhood trauma. Turn the music up. Try to force it away. Hug my knees to my chest. It persists. Bop to a driving beat. Aggressively lip sing along. Fuck it.

New → Google Docs.

And here I am again. There are a million stories I want to tell. Maybe if I can find a way to write about them, I’ll finally be able to talk about them. In the meantime, I’ll keep trying–take a new Untitled Document as a new Step.

I’ll write until I can breathe again.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

I wade through brambles, Thorns and branches slice and scratch, I can feel the sweat and blood, As they mix with tears and trickle down.

The night grows darker, Time crawls along behind me, Slower than the memories creeping up, Farther than the thicket pressing in.

I push and press forward, Crying, screaming for reprieve, This chase will never end, And I begin to slow, little by lit,

Until I see you. Waiting with open arms, On the other side, Hope, shining in the night,

Such a small flower, But brilliant, And forever in bloom.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

Strings Attatched

I am a puppet.

Arms, Legs, Wrists, Fingers, Tears,

Guided by strings.

I jerk, Dance, Crumble, Cry, Cut,

Pulled by threads, Tied tighter than shackles, A noose for every limb.

Here I float,

Between death and destiny, Waiting for the final tug; A puppeteerian slip,

An end to this show.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

A Girl in Three Stanzas

I was an actor in high school, Fancied myself a bit of a thespian. Today I star in a one woman show. Each night, Each hour,  Each moment, I am a new character.

For you I play steadfast and wise, For you, caring and attentive, I paste on a smile every day for you, Paper thin and just as delicate. For three acts, I pretend to know exactly what I’m doing. Each scene padded with detail and lies. I pretend for you, For me. Because if you knew What I don’t, I could lose everything. If you knew How I feel, You would see that You don’t really know me.

[blynbleedswords-blog]

Hope

Hope is a beast with fangs. Dipped and dripping in poison.

Hope has a button nose, And blue eyes.

Hope lives in Supreme Court rulings, Smiles from strangers, Parts in the clouds.

Lures you in,

Baits with love, Trust, Promises.

Hunts with chances, Changes, Introductions.

Kills with lies,  Knives, And truth.

Hope is a beast with fangs.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

-bullets- 017

Loving you is reading between the lines. Paper cuts, Are a lot like broken hearts.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

Falling For You

Falling for you, Is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do. And oh how I’ve tried.

I’ve tripped and stumbled, But always seem to catch myself.

I’ve eaten bowls of butterflies, But they’ve all fallen dead at the pit of my stomach.

I’ve tried doodling your name on everything I own, But the ink never seems to flow.

I tell myself to gaze a little longer, To try and find the sparkle, Something to set you apart, As deserving of a pedestal.

But I cannot help to shy away, And turn the mirror the other way.

[blynbleedswords-blog]

A Hopeless Home

Depression is like a cave. It is dark and cold, and as empty as a pair of lungs after a heartbreak. It is at once the tightest of holes, and as vast as space itself.

Depression is a physical space. I visit often, like an old friend, or a daughter bound by blood. It is at once foreign and familiar.

I have grown comfortable here. I may slip into my bed of blankets and memories, reliving every moment, and staring into empty air, vacant.

I know how to live here, but perhaps not how to stay alive here. It is at once as enduring as the ruins of the past, and as ephemeral as a rolling teardrop.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

fuck you, i love you.

Fuck your perfection. Fuck your affection. Endearing and distant in the same instant.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

She treasures the stars because she knows, In the stillness of night, They belong to her.

They shine to tell her she is right,  From the sky to her they whisper, They promise she can shine as bright.

Tuck her into bed, Tell her stories, Fill her head.

(blyn.)

[blynbleedswords-blog]

I'll write until I can breathe again.

(blyn.)