Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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I’m nothing in relation to me
A white picket fence dripping in sobriety
Painted four months clean
With two eyes too blind to see

A body dead inside the living
A soul that’s nothing more than giving
Is breathing considered sinning?
I’m bleeding but I’m still grinning

So empty I can’t cry for myself
My tainted heart upon a broken shelf
Sitting silent and all alone
One-of-a-kind and it can’t be cloned

A perfect pair of listening ears
Yet all I hear are internalised fears
A childhood filled with parental abandon
What trauma creates is far from canon

Scared to speak the thoughts I hold within
My mind’s a burden considered too maudlin
Tortured by all that I contain
When I die will my life still remain?

Biting my nails is far from my worst habit
The one I need to break is that which turns me rabid
Drinking of myself to see what has been seen
Eating my own flesh to stimulate self-healing

Holes in my skin become scars that are indenting
Bug bites are wounds with scabs that are impending
Performing minor surgeries with tweezers and a scalpel
But not everyone considers such masochism to be palatable

I hurt myself and I like the pain it takes
It reminds me of reality when I disassociate
Shamed for enjoying that which causes harm
Is infection reason for all my future alarm?

Bandages cover my legs and sleeves disguise my arms
I find I must admit that self-abuse has its charms
The taste of iron oxide pouring from my mouth
Skinning my lips in chunks for I am devout

Seeking alternative pleasure often bloody and obscene
Picking apart the pieces of me; an addiction most unhealthy
Drawn in by the desperate need to control what’s even real
Not noticing I’m a contributing factor to why I’m yet to heal

The desire to stop means nothing without commitment
Upon many things is ending dependency contingent
For relapse is not a single part of recovery
One cut or burn is a moment I’ve stopped loving me

Drowning in the epitome of my own insanity
Unable to tell the difference between what’s false and what’s me
Scared the lies I tell myself are those that I’m becoming
I look into the mirror and wonder if I’m coming or if I’m running

Tripped up by the love that’s in my shattered heart
Aiming to be passionate from an unexpected start
Never questioning these feelings that I was meant to have
Yet trembling at the thought of what could possibly go bad

What if giving all I’ve got doesn’t ever make it enough?
What if light is the darkness of which we’re meant to snuff?
What if God is, He who leads us to the Devil?
What if a converted spirit doesn’t put you on a saintly level?

What if screaming for help doesn’t mean that you’ll be heard?
What if preaching religious scripture doesn’t make it the lord’s word?
What if miracles and blessings aren’t necessarily holy?
What if my heart hurts because it’s limited by “If only”?

Scrounging for emotion; I’m pissed, numb, and on the verge of tears
Three days I’ve wanted to smoke and I’m not yet in the clear
Trying to suppress all recent addictive desire
Fighting my mind often leaves me drained and quite tired

Spending my nights and days tossing and turning my life away
Biding hours of my time just to regain what energies are rightfully mine
Sundown arises and I find strength to put on my human suit
Covering depression in various fabrics so no one has the slightest clue

A breakdown is coming; I can feel it in my eyes
The devil is inside me; my body is his disguise
Drowning the world in tears; I fall and then I rise


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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I wrote this thing
Does it mean a thing?
Everything silent
Endless quiet
I find this much too violent
How do I write with nothing inside
Not a thought
Not a voice
Nothing but me
Where have they gone
My friends have left me
No reason why
How do I unfold
My life is untold
Why can't I cry
Nothing left but to die
Toxicity rings everclear
This silence is killing me
To have no thought worth thinking
To have no life worth living
Is sobriety the mind's worst enemy
Will I ever return to the previous me
These faces I see
What is there relativity
If this is my moment whatever will it be
Is it even for the likes of me
What can be sought if there's nothing left of me
Is this the last of me
To seek but never see
To live but never be
How does one color without blue or green
This fight is for the life of me
It's like my thoughts think less of me
They ran from me
Scared to be
In my mind with me
There's so much left to say
No words left to describe
All that's left is grey
I'm alone
Not a sigh
Not a groan
Just silence
All alone
No one's home
I rang the bell then fell asleep
How long should I bide my time
I only sleep to see what's left of me
If sanity is pollution it's taken over the sea of me
Invading my bloodstream
Silence
No commotion
All results in slow motion
I've lost my heart and soul
My brain will be the death of me
If I couldn't walk I'd be only half of me
Nothing but my mind
And still I wouldn't cry
My voice has lost its way
Unable to come back to me
I can't find me
Cry me
Die me
With no sound am I even me
Perhaps I've died already
Gone from this existence
Trapped within sanity
So far gone
There is no clarity
Am I gone
Is this greed
To want the words to come to me
This can't be all that's left of me
My mind is all there is of me
Is this the end
This life I've barely lived
I can't think
Can't read
Can't write
There must be something
Something more than the absence of me
Yet what if there's not
What if I exist solely in the mind of me
Maybe that's why within this silence I've all but gone and died
Never to arise
Dead in my heart and mind and soul and eyes
Would this make you cry
I tell you I've tried
But in the end it's all a lie
A false reality
Super-sized
And thus tomorrow only becomes today
And somehow I've faded away
Only to awaken everyday in a state so cold and grey


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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Tell me, am I human?
Of this, I’m not convinced.
I’m shaking, conflicted, torn.
Forgetting what is it is to breathe.
My throat’s dry. I have no voice.
I threw up earlier. I threw up twice.
I’m breaking inside. I’m barely alive.
I want to die but I need more time.


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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Certainly, to Thee:
There’re no apologies
well-written enough
so as to be accepted
nor any truths
well-spoken enough
so as to be believed
but if this be allowed to continue
and the distance between us greatens –
What will we inevitably be?


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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Personality inexplicable
but still your voice is in my ear
and though the words you say are breathless
my neck is fogging up
and I don’t know why you’re here
but I don’t want this to stop


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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Time attached to a line
but the rope is breaking inside
and your definition of gender
increasingly a crime
has left me dead or dying
bleeding from the eye
still too scared to let you see me cry


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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Today is not hopeful, cheery or optimistic. Today is not talkative. Today is exhausted, unmotivated, not worth the effort and just better off dead. Today is waiting for tomorrow. Today is not lazy but drained. Today didn’t sleep until five in the morning. Today would rather read. Today doesn’t want to be touched. Today cannot breathe or smile. Today is depressed. Today only ate three pieces of pizza and a chocolate-chip cookie. Today wants to exercise but cannot find the energy. Today is lethargic. Today has mail. Today doesn’t care. Today is not awake. Today is zoning out. Today finds pleasure in the pain of a nervous picking habit. Today wants to throw up. Today is endless and not fit for consumption. Today’s mouth and tongue and throat are dry. Today cannot feel emotions whilst empty inside. Today is loveless and unenthused. Today is disappointing. Today woke up wanting to die. Today cannot pursue death. Today cannot move. Today is immobile. Today spent ten dollars and is questioning that decision. Today pulled an ingrown hair. Today is not satisfied. Today looks at miscellaneous scar tissue. Today has gone near three years without self-harming. Today is not interested in starting over. Today just wants to feel the blade just to feel something. Today never wanted to leave the house. Today doesn’t care how nice it is outside. Today cannot think. Today knows not what to say. Today’s lips are sealed. Today wants to go home and has decided to leave. Today must wait. Today is not particularly patient. Today is difficult and miserable. Today is inexplicable and therefore incurable. Today is insane, irritated and not in the mood. Today doesn’t know why it has nothing left to give. Today’s not sure what to do. Today only masturbated once. Today wants the dishes out of the bedroom. Today doesn’t want to go downstairs. Today is lifeless. Today’s heart is beating. Today should be grateful. Today is drowning but still not dead. Today should try harder. Today is unlikely. Perhaps tomorrow.


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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Seconds spill into endlessness
as the water melts the flesh from my skin
and I scratch until I’m nothing
but the face of faces prior
peeled back and begging to be born again


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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Out the window. Down the street. Across town. Screaming desperately. Crying echoes into the night. Alongside sirens and alongside fright. Disco terrors. Blood out of sight. What does this mean? What do others write?

Don’t question a wordsmith by his ways. His spoken word goes on for days.

Don’t you see him? What will you say? Why is his life your price to pay? You don’t own him. You don’t even know him. You can’t see his potential let alone to show him. What would you ever owe him? Respect and basic human rights?

The definition of poverty. Fighting for equality. Dehydrated. No money. No appetite. Just hungry. He hasn’t eaten. Not for weeks. His throat is dry. He barely speaks.

Is this what you meant by diversity?


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Contributor: Wyatt Mitchell

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I’m unable to identify what exactly is haunting me.

Is it that I love myself yet struggle to believe anyone else could?

For what reason would they have?

I’m just a pot smoking, nature loving, daylight fearing, self-loathing, undiagnosed, manic-depressive, awkward, anxiety-filled, struggling to see the self-worth I know I have, every day a sinner, self-pitying, hallucinating, non-smoking, quiet, humorous, sarcastic, up all night, barely eating, bisexual, bipolar and suffering borderline, sexually active, transgender, six months grieving, ten years in mourning, still have a bottom retainer, self-conscious, full of self-doubt, tongue-tied, occasionally stuttering, kind-hearted, scared, weird, geeky, messy, artistic, book addicted, knife collecting, fighting mental unhealth, helping those in need, self-repairing, work in progress, scatter-brained and full of unanswered questions, bloodshot eyed, insecure, forgetful, tragedy-driven, grief and guilt stricken, inspired when inspiration hits, motivatingly unmotivated, picky about certain things, grateful just to have a place to lie awake contemplating the unknown, dreaming of you, emotionally hidden and abused, openly non-consenting, sexually misused, trying to move forward, looking in the mirror and seeing your face, boxer-brief wearing, shaved head, always look irritated, obsessively observational, broke and broken, constantly disbelieving, doing more for others than myself, hopeful, optimistic, curious, thinking, overthinking, thinking about how I’m overthinking, looking outside the box, lending a helping hand, spiritual, respectful of religions and their people, confused, creative, concerned, ambitious, goal-oriented, exhausted, haven’t showered in days, more productive at night, only hungry or thirsty or sleeping when I’m reminded, constantly inconsistently consistent, easily distracted, obscure, easily irritated, losing track of time, ignoring the urge to throw up, head barely above water, freezing to death, antisocial, overly caring, unacceptably flawed, empty without you, crying on the down-low, degraded, dysphoric, disturbed, defeated, abomination, mistreated, looking for attention, made-up character, simple, complex, quirky, day-dreaming, close your eyes and face the wall, all of who I am resides in my bleeding heart and mind and soul, filled with everything and nothing, often avoiding sobriety, not without manners, mostly smelling of weed and cologne, completely incomplete, mysterious, challenging, difficult, damaged, selectively personable, happily unhappy, passively pyrotechnic, easily satisfied, content, relaxed, insane, mad, brilliant, tortured, self-mutilated, terrified, infernal, interrupted, genius, raw, technically homeless and supposedly hell-bound writer.

Though what other reason would there be?


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