my skin and muscle is melting off the bone
something is on my chest and it's making it hard to breathe
am I without a heart now? am I completely broken? am I un-fixable?
disintegration is my hobby
(everyone around me doesn't see the pain I'm in and it hurts that even those who know me so well don't see me fading away while being eaten by my own negative thoughts)
I dream of drowning in my own blood, it's more of a sound than anything.
I don't have enough blood to bleed, I don't have enough air to breathe
I can't speak as much as I used to
I'm constantly sick to my stomach
I'm struggling to not drive off the side of the rode
I'm struggling to not dig deep into my legs and arms searching for veins
I wonder if i pressed hard enough if they'd shoot blood out just for a second
I'm not enough, enough, enough
I've had enough, enough, enough...enough
I want to be cold and covered in dirt
I'm giving up too fast
I can't stop slipping, falling, tripping, drowning.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
toxic girl in a toxic body.
I must be allergic to myself, the ones I love.
I have poison on my lips and fingertips.
venom runs through my cold thin veins, I'm nauseous with guilt.
my heart is unpure, spiteful, heavy and unprotected.
I'm no child of God, I'm a pure disaster, a childish imp.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
“I miss you” is an understatement
Because when I say “I miss you” what I’m really saying is that
Every day I go without your laughter
Without your smile
Without your voice
Without your intoxicating presence
Is a day wasted
It’s a day the sun is a bit duller
Food a bit blander
And oxygen less satisfying
Suffice it to say
“I miss you” is an understatement
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Up until my insomnia meets me
I lied when I said I forgot
I was scared what you'd think
If I said that I love you a lot
People have only cared for minutes
Leaving me to care for days
When I look at you all I can think
Is please don't go away
I can see me in your eyes
I dream of dreaming with you
I can trace your scars with mine
My thoughts are bleeding through:
My Talia, I know what it's like to not be seen;
what it's like to be alone in a crowded room.
For you, my star, I want you to know:
that no one shines as bright as you.
I can taste you moving on my skin.
My gasp is air you sustain.
hand in hand, under an umbrella
with you, I am safe.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
A boy more poisonous than myself?
How could I deny that whiskey covered tongue down my throat?
His hand on my thigh felt like fire or salt in a burn.
The way his brown eyes sunk into mine was like a knife into my neck.
And I liked the way I was bleeding out.
Pulled me in close and our lips slowly locked.
Until the next morning did I realize what I had done.
This isn't what I wanted,
I regret all I do.
I relapse from it all and cover up the self hate.
I'm not sad, I'm not lonely, I have this ***** I need nothing else.
I am constantly falling apart and trying to ruin everything good.
I am toxic.
Toxic to myself.
Toxic to those who risk to love me.
Toxic.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
I remember when I was seven, kneeling beside my bed, praying to God to find my Uncle and make him okay. But God didn't answer my prayer, God decided my Uncle was better off floating down the Kentucky River for three days with an unknown cause of death. Then taking my Grandmother who was the only woman in my life until I was nine. He took her by surprise. Driving my (Step) Grandfather insane and into an elderly home in Ohio. Never to be seen again after 2009. My biological Grandfather gave us a warning that he was dying. He had given up on fighting cancer so he stopped with his treatments and medication. He thought he had reached his end. Dear God, Why are you erasing my family? Did I do something that didn't please the almighty?
We outgrow our religion like our hand-me-downs.
Unknown God, Unknown future. We face the west, anxiously awaiting for Christ's second coming but what if he's already given up on us? Or came to take those he liked?
His favoritism is a sick game.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
boy, girl, girl
all their eyes were grey and harshly cold
they hid from the winter and awoke in the green warm grass of spring and summer
they whispered to concrete because they could care less about flowers
I could see them unlike everyone else, so they stared
I watched them as they'd talk about me to one another, their language was unworldly
still no matter how ghostly they were I knew they had once lived.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
Constant weight loss, consistent since junior year.
Your nose stays clean but does your mouth?
Drink away the way you feel for everyone, drink away the pain you feel when you see her eyes.
You escape the situations you can.
You tried to quit smoking, but today you asked me for a cigarette, so I guess you gave up on that just like you give up on everything else.
I'll always be the only one to take care of your heart; the others take care of your food and drug supply.
It breaks my heart to watch you wither away.
Your ribs are so fragile and a few weeks ago they weren't visible.
Now I see how you've been doing.
You're worried, and scared. The sad part is, is that you're worried and scared of yourself.
Don't call yourself a monster, don't say you're worthless, don't talk that way about your body.
The family begs you to eat, but you don't like to eat in front of people. You said it's because you're afraid they'll say something. Which they would, I understand, but that doesn't mean you don't have to avoid food all day.
They keep telling me you'll realize one day.
One day, one day you'll understand how beautiful you are, that you don't need those drugs, or alcohol, and you can eat. I guess I'll just have to wait, but I hope you get better, because this decaying version of you is burning the back of my throat and I love you far too much to bury you any time soon.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
waking up is hard when you only get two-four hours of rest
but it's for my mother, she doesn't ask for much and if all I have to do to make her happy is sing a few gospel songs and tune in and out of an old man threatening my life with hell then that's what needs to be done.
A different old man with shaky hands and an anxious tone ends the service by praying for my soul.
I noticed his gold wedding band, I wonder how long he's been married. Is his wife still living? How much was that ring? What age did he get married at?
"Our God shows the path, once you've opened your heart to him..."
My mother scoots her hand close to mine on the green seats that aren't made for good posture,
she locks her pinky with mine
I look to my left and see my mothers sweet grin
bowing her head to this God, to this cross.
She feels helpless without a bible in her hand and God in her heart.
I'm glad she claims an angel carried her to the couch from the running car in the garage. Because, if she didn't, I'm scared to death I would've been here without her.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC