Dear one,
as desired,
meticulously
corrected
the mistakes
you made,
one by one.
In the process
added my own,
do I need to tell?
I take refuge
in the thought
that it was expected
when you chose
me for this job.
All I can say is this:
we complement
each other;
but perfection
is the mirage
we relentlessly
search in this desert.

I don't know
It's fine
No it's not fine
I'm not fine
No I'm okay
This doesn't even make any f!cking sense
I don't know
Why am I feeling like this
I need a distraction
I NEED A F!CKING DISTRACTION
why am I yelling
I'm okay
I'm okay
I'm (not) okay
Whatever
Someone stop me from texting him
Before I make an even bigger pathetic ***** of myself
I feel like an emotion-****
That doesn't even make sense
I think I need to find something else to get my mind off him
I think I need to find someone else to get my mind off him
I don't care whatever
Except that I do
Don't let me text him
PLEASE stop me from texting him
My mind is driving me insane
I give up.
No, I can't give up.
I'm going to stop
I won't text him
I think.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

People look at me and call me all these names
Boys ******* use me and play all these games

I feel so alone, I can't take it anymore
I can't stand being called an ugly ******* *****

I go home and cry my eyes out
I don't know what to say, so I scream and shout

Walk into my room and open up a box
In there, are some treasures, and a few couple rocks

I dig a little deeper till I find what I'm looking for
It's the blade that wounds the thing deep inside my core

I take it out and stare at it for a while
I have so many reasons, they stretch out for a couple miles

I take my blade, walk to the bathroom, and lock the door
I look at myself in the mirror, and I am sure

What I am doing is of my own hand
These marks will leave their very own special brand

I hold the blade over my wrist
And when I bring it down, I feel pain and then bliss

The warm blood starts to trickle down
If anyone found out, they would do more than frown

I attack my wrist so vigorously
Scarring myself to **** the thing inside of me

Each and every time,  the feeling becomes addictive
For each cut becomes distinctive

This one is for the girl who told me I was full of crap
And this one is for the boy who called me fat

They didn't think I would take it to the heart
But actually, I am tearing myself apart

I do it once, twice, three dozen more times
I throw my ****** blade down and begin to cry

Why did I do this?
Even though I felt pain, I felt so much bliss

My troubles went away with each slice
The blood ran thicker down my arm, Jesus Christ

I start to sob and bury my head in my arms
When I look up, I feel the blood on my face, so warm

I get up and start to clean myself
I grab the towels that are on the shelf

After I see that there is no more blood
I go to my room and my emotions begin to flood

I lay in bed, hiding the scars buried deep in my wrist
I think about the hate, and my eyes begin to mist

The front door opens, and my mother come inside
She comes in my room, noticing that I have recently cried

She asks me what is wrong
I tell her in this world I don't belong

She sees my wrist and puts her hand up to her face
Oh, Allison, you belong here in this place

Please promise me you won't cut yourself ever again
One day you will hit a major vein

No one wants to lose you, your precious smile
The question is, do you want to stay with us for a little while?