My Collection of Poems

Curled up with a blanket and pillow
Broken pieces wrapped in a bundle
Scars which no one dares to see
Laying in a mess of my own design
This design that threads through my skin
Leaving marks which I dare to ignore
I shiver screaming out, my throat hurts
Choking on words that will dig the grave deeper
Laying in a mess of my own design
Visualize scenarios of my multiple deaths
Each one filling myself with a sense of chill and peace
I shiver screaming out, my throat hurts
My throat is raw and bleeding
My eyes dare to shed tears that no one will see
The heart is too big and the body too small
So small, being trampled by heavy footfalls
Beating me further into the ground
The quiet ground that welcomes those words
Words I choke on that I wish to hear aloud
I'm sick of my own cruel design
I should make myself better
I'm not better, fixed, and whole
I do what I'm told, I say what I'm told
The rules are lying and they aren't right
The words lie and I tremble
Shaking and screaming out, my throat hurts
I'm sick, but no one dares to understand
I try to understand, but the reasons are not reachable
I'm sick, but I don't know why
I curl up in a pillow and blanket
My broken body lies in a bundle
Making it easier to gather into the ground
This design of mine is too complex
I can't solve this mess I've made
I'm sick and I don't know how to heal

Author's Note: As I post this one, I am actually sick. The irony.