The Needle and The Thread

The torture we inflict on ourselves with our daydreams.

The lives we wish we had.

The feelings we wish we felt.

The human need to feel.

How foolish must we sound to the stones.




Wounds cut so deep, that will make an opening on the other side.

Stitch through the pain. 

Stitch through the dreams.

Stitch.. Stitch.. Stitch..

The needle and the thread.

Of whats to come and whats gone.

Stitch through the heartache.

Stitch through the memories.


Till you can no longer remember their faces.

Their smiles.

Your name.


Till you run out of daydreams.

Of memories.

Of breath.


For the life of you.

For the life of your mother.

Leave the dreams to those who still have hope.

Leave the hope to those who still have faith.

Leave the faith to those who still believe.

Your only truth is behind a needle and a thread.

So, stitch like its your only religion. 

Like its the only thing you ever knew.


On all those nights you left.

I have felt.
I have wept.

I have slept.

And I have dreamt.

Of the day that I was swept.

Into your warmth once more.

But I was taught at the age of 9.

That the world doesn’t always shine.

I was taught at the age of 10.

To wrap my arms around myself and pretend.

I was taught at the age of 11.

That you are really gone, but not forgotten.

And Im just now learning at the age of 26.

That this hole you left in me, can’t be fixed.

No matter how hard I try to burn my lungs with smokes and screams.

They remain empty of life and full of your genes.

Yes, you left me with a monster.

But I taught myself how to breathe underwater.

At the age of 18.

Is when I finally saw the different shades of darkness, and on them I started to lean.

This world is vast.

And the time is running fast.

But I am standing here haunted by your past.

I am standing still.

But I know the drill.

Keep yourself busy and feel the thrill.

Feel the blood rushing through your veins.

Feel the skies pouring life when it rains.

The life you took away from me.

The day my heart started beating faintly. 

I curse that day.

But I am thankful for it anyway.

It made me who I am, in its own fucked up way.


In my mind, I paint these walls red.
In my mind, I give in.

In my vivid imaginations is where I succumb to my demons.

Take me as I am.

Who’s gonna save me if theres no ‘me’ worth saving?

Not my mother.

Not my father.

Not my sister, and brothers.

Not my lover.

In my mind is where I am at peace inside those red colored walls.

In my mind is where I’m controlled by the gun.

The bullets, the paintbrush, painting these walls.

With my red.

My head.

And all that i’ve shed.

I can sense it in the air.

I can feel it in my limbs.

Death is near.

And I welcome it with open arms.

Like a lost friend that I have been looking for all my life.

The ending is soon approaching.

And I’m surrendering in all my fights.

Like a wave drifting me away. 

To the coast of nothingness. 


I call Wednesdays, relapse day.
I started naming them that way once it became a pattern.

But I guess its better than it consuming you on a daily basis, no ?

Once a week is considered an upgrade. 

But that “once” lasts for 4 days sometimes. 

The green, white, and pink don’t help much at this point. 

The triggers creep up on you in the most innocent of forms. 

Things you think you’ll get lost in.

But end up losing it. 

I haven’t heard the voices for a month now.

This is the first time admitting that they exist. 

Once you say something out loud, once you write them down, they become concrete.

And thats what scared me.

I don’t want this to be real. 

Which led to my breakdown. 

What is real ?

What is there ?

What was said last night ?

Was it a dream or reality ?

Is this my endless nightmare ?

Wake up.

Pinch me.

I’m trying to keep the brave face. 

I promise.

I know you always want me to be the strong kid you always remember.

But it gets heavy sometimes.

And I’m sorry for that, mom.

I’m sorry I’m not as strong as I used to be.

I’m trying to kill the voices before they kill me.

I’m trying to wake up from this deep stupor my mind put me in.

I’m so scared.

I’m scared and I feel so alone.

But on relapse day, I give up.

My head will be the death of me.

The Truth About Depression

Trying to explain to some one what depression is, is like trying to explain how the earth was created.

The truth is .. I would trade a limb in my body just to get rid of that cloud over my head that comes unannounced, and takes with it pieces of me when it leaves.

The truth is .. I would trade anything for the people I lost from this disease. To feel a sense of belonging somewhere, to never feel this lonesome that haunts me every day. 


How can you help some one when you cant even pick yourself up from the floor ? 

I have never felt how strong the earth’s gravity was before this. 

Sucking you into a deadly abyss with darkness all around you.

How do you come back from that ? 

How do you start a conversation after that ?

I feel at a loss for words, when my head is filled with novels that keep me up at night. 

When you finally smile or laugh and start enjoying your time, when this skin, these flesh and bones finally feel like they belong to you, your brain zaps and tells you wait.. 

You’re not supposed to be happy.

You’re not supposed to be having fun.

You’re supposed to be sad and drowning in anxiety.

You’re supposed to be broken.

You are broken.

Our mind is our worst enemy.

The truth is .. It scares me.

I don’t know when the next attack is gonna happen.



You wanna scream but nothing comes out.

You open your mouth.. Silence.



You cant stop your heart from racing.

It feels like your chest is about to explode.



Why cant I just scream.

Nothing comes out.




The truth is .. I would rather explain how the earth was created than try and explain this disease.