A single tear slides down your cheek.
Every morning at 3am the girl decides it's time to rid herself of her pain.
Your stomach is tightening. She would take a shower or rather sit down in the water and cry for an hour. Your throat is closing
Cry for the heartbreak, the hope and chances she gives because in the end no matter how many times she avoids the word she's always going to be just a FRIEND. Your light headed and shivering,
the water is cold. Your numb not just from the water, oh dear; your emotions went down the drain with your tears. You turn the water off. Sit in your towel before climbing into bed and falling asleep with nothing inside your usually chaotic head.

You tell me everything I want to hear
And I want it, I want your words so bad

Every fiber of my insecurities tell me
That You're selling me snake oil
And I'm buying in bulk

Everything tells me that no matter
How honest I am with you,
I still feel like I'm lying.
Is it wrong to enjoy someone
Thinking You're beautiful?

My head tells me humility
Is the same as cutting something
Out entirely even though it'll save
Your life
Because it's not worth saving.

My head tells me that It's
Impossible for someone to
Give me a compliment
Because they simply only see
What I'm showing them.

My head tells me I'm not
A good person, I'm just pretending.

I still need to find this off switch.

Tonight was the night you said
The words I've repeated in my head
Tonight my heart dropped
Exploded like a balloon popped
No fixing this injury
Why the hell didn't you listen to me!
I told you to stop, that the words really hurt
You said everything forgetting that I still love you to the moon back to earth.
I couldn't keep it in, at 2:13
Blood rolled down my arm,
Looking like a **** ****** scene

You say if I'm actively suicidal you'll have to commit me, so can I please verify whether this is a passive or active feeling?
You don't seem to understand that I am passively active at all times, that suicide is not something you have to die to commit.
You don't grasp that I am both fine and alive while being broken and empty, all at the same time.
You don't see that I can comprehend that something is wrong with my mind for the way it whispers to me of deaths inviting embrace, that I know this isn't normal, but oh, oh do I wish it was.
You ask me to rate my feelings on a scale of 1-5, quantifying my mind's nuances before I have a chance to explain that I don't even know myself half the time.
Do your best, you say.

My best ran out when I stepped over the threshold, next time I'll know not to waste it on a visit to you.