Lysalei

I love books, music, and all things involving escaping reality. My writings are usually depressing and sometimes violent. You have been warned…

302

Writings

Followers

Following

Lysalei

I love books, music, and all things involving escaping reality. My writings are usually depressing and sometimes violent. You have been warned…

302

Writings

Followers

Following

(Free) Falling

Lysalei

1 min read

Falling feels like flying

Until the moment you land.

And I’m certainly flying.

I’m _free_.

And maybe I’m free falling,

But…

Does it really matter?

So what if I’ll hit the ground?

Isn’t flying worth it?

Does it matter if I crash,

As long as I touch the clouds before I fall?

For once,

I really don’t care....

Poetry

Breathe

Lysalei

1 min read

Breathe.

Breathe breathe breathe.

_Breathe dammit, what the hell is wrong with you breathe why can’t I breathe someone help me I can’t breathe-_

I’m going to claw my skin off. That will fix everything, I think.

Breathe. Please.

_Please, I’m begging you, expand your lungs and take in air, you need oxygen, oxygen just breathe oxygen just-_

There’s something on my chest.

_I’m pinned to the couch, ...

Poetry

Confusing Girls

Lysalei

1 min read

I’m surrounded by all these confusing girls.

I don’t understand them,

Don’t understand myself around them.

One moment we’re laughing and I really, really like you I might even love you if that’s even possible because I think it might be and I’m just so _happy_ around you-

And the next moment I’m not sure you realize I’m even here, hovering right next to you.

I should leave, shouldn’t I?

One mom...

Poetry

Because I Am.

Lysalei

1 min read

“Why am I like this?”

Because I will never be enough.

Because my best will never be enough.

Because Call Me Karizma and Penelope Scott and Cavetown will never heal what’s broken.

Because the dark isn’t as scary as it should be.

Because there’s something fucked up deep inside me,

Where the light can’t reach.

Because I am broken,

broken,

b r o k e n

And nothing could ...

Poetry

Dizzy

Lysalei

1 min read

Things move on their own.

My math homework jumps from my backpack to the table and I don’t remember carrying it.

I blink and switch rooms,

Open my eyes somewhere else.

Items appear in my hands without me realizing.

The numbers sing a lullaby and the words scratch my skin,

My headphones choke the air from my lungs and my clothes hurt my ears,

Voices blur my vision and I feel

so…

...

Poetry

Red

Lysalei

1 min read

Pure. Fucking. Red.

Something needs to burn.

Something needs to die.

Something needs to bleed,

To tear,

To shatter.

_(Preferably me)_

What if I grabbed a steak knife and painted my arms and legs and stomach in red?

What if I struck a match and watched my skin boil, watched the stars disappear to smoke?

What if I screamed until my lungs gave out, peeled my skin off, smashed my fists and feet thro...

Poetry

Why?

Lysalei

1 min read

I didn’t have my heart broken.

No one died.

I have a safe home, food.

A loving family, friends.

So why?

What went wrong?

What led me to this?...

Poetry

Coward

Lysalei

1 min read

I don’t know what to do anymore.

It’s not that I’m overwhelmed.

It’s not that I’m burnt out.

I’m just empty.

Hollow.

I don’t even remember why I care so much.

What does it matter if I get a bad grade?

What does it matter if I let them all down?

What does it matter if I just quit?

Who would even notice?

Anyone who did would learn to live without me.

I could be washed away into a warning:

This is ...

Poetry

February 14

Lysalei

1 min read

It’s a Cavetown song.

Not my favorite, but a good one.

It’s a day I ask my cat to be my valentine.

She climbed on my back, so I think I scored.

And two years ago,

It was one of the best days of my life.

I told him I liked him in the most stupid,

Roundabout way anyone could.

So for half the day he was following me around,

Asking “What did you mean by that?”

I was pretty sure I was going to eithe...

Poetry

Safe Little Bubble

Lysalei

1 min read

I spend most of my time in some sort of bubble.

Sometimes it’s a lonely bubble,

When everyone has someone and I’m simply no one.

Sometimes I stare out at all the people who are just so _alive_.

They’re not drowning,

Staring up at the light as they run out of oxygen.

Sometimes my bubble is a cage,

A prison I designed myself.

Sometimes my bubble is safety.

With headphones over my ears and my nose i...

Poetry