by Laura Santos
I wear my skin
As some kind of coffin
My soul perishing inside
My hands stained red
from holding broken hearts
In a sea of madness
The bottom of the ocean
Holds enough oxygen for me
While bricks are tied to my feet
The only thing I try to do to stay afloat
Is fall asleep
And with exacerbation
Every day I wish we could trade places
Me? six feet under
You? six feet above where I lay
I’ve been fetishizing my lifeless body
I’ve been fantasizing about my death
Is it gonna be tomorrow?
Is it gonna be today?
Will I be in pain or find eternal rest?
The end of my existence is my hope
bleeding into these words
which conceive the wish
To gore out my soul
Bonding tightly, my neck with the rope
Layout, Editor, Illustrator V13
"I'm in confusion"
Having struggled with mental health issues for many years, it became a normal occurrence for me to live with repressed feelings. I joked around with suicide, raising concern among my friends and peers. With the support of the Urbana staff, I sought professional help and began recovering. My published work is meant to acknowledge and bring support to people that are
coping with destructive thoughts.
You, too, can find hope
If you are in distress or crisis, please contact 800-273-TALK (8255), or scan this QR code for more information.