It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived

A little book,
Embossed in gilded paisley swirls,
Bound with string,
Casting its shadow on that shelf.

A dark book,
Filled with muttered words,
Jet thoughts,
An inky spectre on that shelf.

The little dark book,
Paisley words and muttered swirls,
Jet bound string,
The inky spectre that shadows myself.

You are beautiful to me,
and i never told you this
but the way your scars
light up in the sun just
proves to me everyday of
how incredibly hurt you are,
and i hope it's not because of
me because that would break
my heart into a billion pieces.
and i pray that one day you
will open your eyes
and realize that what you're
doing to yourself isn't right
because you deserve the world
and i know that your cuts
sting because mine do, too.
but we can mend eachother's
wounds while lying on the beautiful
quilt your mother made the day before
she killed herself
as we watch sad movies at two in the morning,
crying our poor little selves to sleep.
not only crying because the movies
are devastating but because our
lives are.
the desire to want something better
for ourselves is torturing,
because we all know
that'll never happen.

The curse of feeling
Is also deceiving
For I am always grieving
The loss of never achieving

It's hard living with a fragmented brain
The sad truth is we're all insane
And one day we will fall like rain
To deal with stupendous pain

My very being a damnation
Pleasure of life lost its sensation
To numb it all a temptation
Would be an end to this narration.