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Holly Mar 27
I thought my heart
would be safe in your hands,
until I realised
I had given
the most private part of me
to someone who had no plans
of keeping it
out of the fire.
Holly Jan 14
My body is a house
for a horde
of emotions,
locked away
in all the different
cavities of space.

Anxiety rents the room
at the bottom
of my stomach,
coming and going
whenever he pleases.
An open door
into an isolated room
filled with never-ending noise.

In the middle
of my sternum
is where you find happiness,
her glow
- sometimes hidden
but never permanently
She warms my chest
when it feels
too cold
for anything else
to live there,
and keeps my hearth going
in times i was sure
it would die out.

I feel anger
in my lungs.
Their mass pressed against
My rib-cage,
tightening unbearably
against the bars around them.
They like to be the one
to break the valuables
I hold in my hands.

She comes to party
right underneath
the surface.
All skin
and no substance.
My capillaries
burst into patches
of reds and pinks,
the colours
she likes to splatter
against the walls.
Always the unwanted guest
that turns up
without an invitation.

And loneliness;
they like to
make their bed in my head
Wrapped up
and suffocating any air
around them.
Boxes of memories
towering around them
with no motivation
to indulge in
anything that would make
their place livelier.
The lights are
always off in there,
so i can never see them
but i always feel their presence.

My body is a hostel
available for purchase
from any feelings
that need a
place to sleep.
But it is the
one place
where the only person
who doesn't feel
at home
is me.
Holly Mar 14
Some people
will have you believe
that damage can be beautiful,
and it's true
that you can find
the sunlight through the clouds.
But my trauma is not pretty.
It is an ugly bruise
that everyone thinks is okay
to poke at,
and watch the black and blue
attempt to change colours
when it heals.
There is no beauty
in crying alone at 3am,
spilling alcohol down your shirt
at a party you're only attending
to drown your issues in,
swallowing tiny little pills
to feel somewhat okay,
avoiding any comfort
because you feel you deserve less.
It is a lonely place to be,
stuck in a broken mind
with one-way windows.
I can romanticise my pain
as much as i want,
but it will always be
a toxic relationship
i have with myself.
And it is not beautiful.
Holly Mar 28
I say your name,
and it's like the room
becomes a graveyard.
Everyone has left
and a cold emptiness
sweeps it's way in
to settle amongst
your headstone.
They all
buried you
a long time ago,
while i still pick dead flowers
to throw on top
of your grave.
My hands still grasp
at the pain in my chest
while everyone walks around me
with dry faces
that pretend
they don't see your ghost
still sitting on my shoulders.
It's like I never attended the funeral
they all threw
to cast you out,
and now i'm stuck
mourning somebody
no one wants to talk about.
funeral death mourning trauma sad depression cry graveyard
Holly Jan 26
I lie awake at night
and list off all the ways I avoid feeling the ache in my chest.
All the little things I do
that become desperate behaviours
of my personality trying to fix itself.

Like collecting books and arranging them
in order across the shelf,
because the fantasy
of a world so different from mine
feels like a void I can fill my room with.

Like placing my physical sentimentalities
in a box at the bottom of my drawers,
so it feels like I have
a private place
to bury myself in and know
there is something good
still alive

Like sleeping with the curtains wide open,
because I like to
fall in love with the dark
from a safe distance,
and still imagine suffocating myself in it
at the same time.

I tell myself that
If I fill all the spaces
with enough distractions,
I can forget why I was sad in the first place.
I can convince myself
having the rest of the bottle of *****
will make me feel more alive
than I do sober.
I can convince myself
kissing a boy I don’t know
will make me feel like
I am worth being loved.
I can convince myself
my childhood no longer screams
in my ears
that my existence is nothing more
than a burden.

Until I’m lying in bed
listing off all the ways I avoid feeling the ache in my chest,
and I realise it’s not an ache
but a hole
that’s been bleeding forever.
And there’s not a patch
big enough to make it stop.
Holly Feb 20
I know you thought
reviving me
would fix the problems
that lay between us.
That if you
collected enough
pieces of me
that broke over time,
you could put them
back together again
But those broken
were not pretty,
and they do not fit right.
You have reanimated
a gruesome monster
in a body
similar to mine.
I am cold
and terrifying
and I will ruin you
until you are nothing
but a corpse
beneath my fingertips.
I wish I could be
human enough
for you,
but I am not alive
There is nothing left to me
but flesh
and ****** hands
and an empty chest
I will never exist in
Holly Jan 22
It’s been three months.
I watch you from afar
and cry silently
at the distance
between us.
Once a warm bed
with fingers reaching
for me
to lie close to
enough to feel your breath
against my cheek.
I am lost in the
empty sheets
you don’t
come to anymore.

Your clothes
no longer take up
the room in
the closet
except for the shirts
I took from
your suitcase
you dragged out behind you.
I still wear them
at two in the morning
when I miss
the way you smell
and it’s too cold to sleep

You don’t see me anymore.
I am nothing but a memory
to you now,
and you don’t look twice
when you walk past
my desperate spot
outside your work
just hoping to bump into you
the way we first did
So long ago.

You are no longer
a home.
You’re just a place
I used to know.
Holly Jan 15
My mother was
a cruel joke
taught with a raised voice.
Her pain
the foundations
for the better half of
my childhood,
her loneliness the next.
There is a forceful kind of sadness
that comes with being raised
by a woman
destroyed by her past,
your future is determined
by her emptiness.
You are left to wonder
how you could ever be
any different
than those who came before you
If living hurt this much.
But I want to be more
than what I was taught to be.
More than skin
and bone
and a raw heart
always ready to stop beating.
I love my mother
but her tragedy
was slowly becoming mine
and I couldn’t deal with that.
Holly Feb 15
I seek validation
like a moth
seeks a flame.
So attracted
to the way it feels
to have someone else’s opinion
define who I am,
that there is
nothing I can do
to stop myself
from diving head first.
And always,
just how much
it will burn me
In the end.
Holly Apr 20
It’s the sound of the dial tone,
a conversation ended after a one-sided solution.
The voicemail being more familiar to you
than actual words.
It’s the empty feeling that follows
the footsteps walking away from you,
the echo of closing doors remaining
a constant in place of ringing doorbells.
It’s the sensation of tears down your face,
runny nose and sore throat.
Cringing under your covers so not to burden
the strangers down the hall.
It’s the heavy silence of your room,
your indentation in the bed permanent.
having all the blankets bunched up around you
as if they could make you warm again.
It’s the thoughts that roam your head
at every point in the day,
asking when did you let yourself become
an option
when you should have been
a priority.
Holly Feb 5
I have left pieces of me
scattered around the graveyard
of my hometown
In all the places
I used to exist.
A part of me
in the space behind the garage,
pieces dug into the
fields of high school,
and broken shards
hidden throughout
the home I both
loved and loathed.

So much of myself
like a useless toy
they can no longer
play with,
and no longer works right.
I see them everywhere,
just bloodied little bits
cast aside
after being picked at
by friendly vultures.
And the pieces of myself
that I still hold together
between my fingers
Are ones
I barely recognise anymore.

I keep thinking,
If I play the music
loud enough
and swallow the drinks
fast enough,
I can avoid
facing the awful truth
of just how hollow
I really am.

It doesn’t work.
No matter how far
I run away,
I can’t escape
the memories that haunt me.
My skeletons have dug their way
out of my closet
to stare at me in
the mirror
with a toothless grin,
and a knife to continue
the damage
I started
A long time ago.
Holly Jan 14
You do not want to love me.
I am a cold storm that you watch
from the windows of a home
and be glad you are inside.
I cannot keep you warm
on days where
the rain drowns
every good feeling
in our bodies.
I know
it is tempting
to linger,
all good things come
to drown themselves in me
But I am a mess
of salt and bitterness
and the taste of sand
in your mouth.
If you stay,
I will be the one to
drag you out
into the sea
and leave you to sink.
Holly Mar 11
Some days I drown
in the sea of distance
you let come between us.
The salt in your voice
clogging my head
with words that cut me
to the bone.
The sloshing of emotions
that brim inside
feel like waves crashing
against my rib cage,
trying to spill
over the edges.

How could we let
what we had
slip right between
our fingers,
as if we were
only grains of sand
that were so easily let go.
I suffocate underneath
the pain of watching you
walk away from me,
A million pieces of my heart
tearing apart
trying to follow you.
My legs feel trapped to the floor,
like seaweed tangling my feet
and keeping me anchored.

It hurts to know
that you gave up
trying to save me.
Instead you left me
to be swallowed up
by the hole
you left behind.
And most days
I feel so numb
That I barely feel it
When the riptides
Of your memories
pull me under.
Holly 2d
I had so much faith
that your hands
wouldn't drop me,
the same way
everyone else's
But as i fell
through your
I realised
you were
all the same.
Holly Apr 4
The clothes I wear don’t feel like home even on good days
and most days they end up at the bottom of my bed
in a pile I avoid putting away,
There is a museum of damage inside my chest and half the time
I don’t know what parts of me are on display anymore,
My lonely looks a lot like boredom
when I find myself standing in the bathroom
at 5:00 in the morning staring at my hands,
I have a bad habit of letting my emotions choke me
so that the only words spilling from my mouth
are black and blue lipped lies,
My body is a hostel ghosts like to rent when there is
free space in the attic,
The tendency to self destruct means I am willing to lie down
on your rocks like Prometheus and have you pick at me like a vulture,
I would burn your house down until I am
the only house you have left to run home to,
My breath is the condensation in the shower you forgot to get rid of
that will turn to mould if left to settle,
I can hear the pity in his voice when he calls me pretty,
there is a grave waiting for me when you are finished filling a void,
I am too lazy to figure out how to heal myself,
I have never been enough for those who did not stay.
Holly Feb 25
I miss you
the most
at midnight.
It’s too dark
and not dark enough
and I’m just not myself
crying over you
for the third time tonight.
I think of the way
you always laugh at my jokes
and how it feels
like sometimes
you understand why I’m not laughing.
My bed feels like
a prison at 1am
when I just want
to hear you say my name
and you’re somewhere else
with someone else.
I can’t think about
your hands
and how I know they feel
on me
except you’re no longer
on me
but someone else
much better.
And it’s close to 2am
only now I don’t miss you
but the girl
I used to be
before you let me believe
I could be someone different.
She’s somewhere inside,
rotting like a corpse
because you’ve made
my room feel like
a graveyard.
Now it’s 3am
and I’m just wishing
for this to stop
so I don’t have to feel
so alone
Holly Jan 20
I stay up late at night
restlessly thinking
about all the things I could’ve been.
I could’ve been so happy,
that my smile alone
would’ve been enough
to keep you here.
I could’ve been a volcanic
rush of anger,
so when you hurt me
I could’ve burned you to ash
while you walked away from me.
I could’ve been so sad,
that my tears would’ve flooded
the hole at our feet and
drowned you down with me.

I watched you take from me
all I could’ve been
and said nothing.
And I reached my hands out
towards your back,
yearning for you to turn around
and see the desperation
plastered on my face,
that I was unable to say out loud.
Holly Feb 16
There is sunlight in your eyes
and it is a place
I wish I could
escape to.
It is warm
and I am cold.

There is sunlight in your eyes
and I know
it does not
live in mine.
This cave I hide in
does not have room
for you.

There is sunlight in your eyes,
in the world
I used to be in.
Nothing grows here
but weeds
and a grey sad.
My hands are covered with it.

There is sunlight in your eyes.
You are alive.
I don’t know what that feels like.

— The End —