How Are You Supposed To Just Get Up And Go To School And Go To Work And Come Home And Make Dinner And

Pretty like tired nights

Pretty like dying leaves

Pretty like broken glass

Pretty like bleach stains on a black shirt

Pretty and fragile

Pretty and gone

I don't need someone to talk to. I need someone to kill me.

forced to say “it’s okay!” Instead of throwing a fucking chair at their head

So I've been on and off adhd meds for a bit

And I've noticed sonthing

On them its quiet. Quiet in the way where I want to sink into it. I lay in my bed and just dissociate. Quiet in the way my thoughts try to fill the silence. At least i can focus better. When the silence isn't filling me with anxiety and thoughts of my own death.

But off them

It's loud. I can be happy and energetic. And quiet and disengaged. There's so many things running through my head constantly. I have more motivation. Can I focus? No. But that way I cant focus on my own demise either.

Idk what to do. In school, being on them is worth it cuz I cant pass my classes without them. But otherwise its just

Let me sleep lol

If anyone has any advice for finding adhd meds that work and dont wanna make me kms and give me crippling anxiety-- please lmk

Yeah why im in so much pain i feel like im dying why not just be dying

Why isnt the suffocation from depression enough to kill me?

Might fuck around shoot myself in the head

Now wouldn't that be funny

Wilted Flowers

They’re pretty, but I’m afraid to touch them— I know they’ll crumble the moment I do.

I think they’re beautiful. Beautiful because they don’t last. Beautiful because they’re broken.

And I like shattered glass: the way it reflects anything you shine on it, the way I can see myself in the pieces— not whole, but fragmented.

I know I’ll bleed when I reach to touch it, drip the contents of my heart across smooth faces and edges that seldom forget.

And I like coffee. I drink it with cream to soften the bitterness. But I never add sugar— too much sweetness makes me sick.

It keeps me up when I should be asleep, telling secrets I should’ve kept, dreading the grinds at the bottom of the cup.

But I guess some things aren’t meant to be held for long— they bruise, or cut, or run out the moment you reach out to hold them.

I don’t mind so much.

Because wilted flowers aren’t soft... but they are pretty.

i just wanna fucking slice my wrists till i bleed to death