You won't understand it
Until it happens to you.
The day when your stomach drops.
It's the day your eyes become a void.
You want to cry but you can't.
When everything becomes clear.
And it's okay
To hate the world.
To want to die.
To hate all the people you once loved.
It's okay.
You'll get through it.
I promise.
But I can also promise this.
You will never be the same again.

Okay, *******!
I'm sorry I'm too shy to do anything in real life,
too insecure to ask my love out,
to be in love with something so physical
Sorry I am not an arrogant self-centered ******* like you are,
that I am not confident and cocky.
Maybe I don't want people to look at me,
and judge, that I only want people to see my soul,
my personality.
But is that such a crime?
Hey, and what if everyone here is a stereotype, overplayed, overdone and fake? Looking for someone and something real is hard...
******* for calling me sweetheart, beautiful, then turning around and laughing with a friend about how I'm such a mess, talking to people in the internet on some random poetry website and for falling in love with someone's personality and soul, not just their looks, not like you who only wants a girl for her big *** and big *****, not to mention skinny *** waist and curves.
Well I'm ******* sorry (nope not really) that I like internet people,
with no judgements
like the ones you have written across your lips and constellated in your eyes.

Just do me a favor? I hope one day you will fall for a girl
with just a bit of soul, someone not a ***** for once,
and I hope she breaks your heart,
and that you will see what it's like to be with someone with a bit of spine and brain.
[walks away from him with one finger in the air]

My life is in tatters,
in shambles
in shreds.

None of this matters,
these gambles,
this dread.

I can’t help but wonder,
and worry
and stress

My action are blunders,
a flurry,
a mess.

My world is spinning,
is twisting,
is falling.

The paranoia’s winning,
it’s persisting,
it’s calling.

My control is waning,
it’s dying,
it’s paling.

This smile I’m feigning,
I’m crying,
I’m failing.

My days are numbered,
are checked,
are few.

And I feel so encumbered,
I can’t connect
with you.

The dream of the busy,
the curse of the bored.

"Hermosa, you're not actually thinking about it are you?"
What? Cutting? Yes. My wrist has been throbbing for some blood. For some **** relief. I like the perfect long cuts yes I do oh yes I like the blood in my shower drain. I think about it every time I see her and HER together mi corazon. Lociento. I cannot help it. My head aches right along with my heart oh Ray make it go away please please