Drunk girls in the washroom.

Smells like a mixture of puke and perfume

With a hint insecurity.

Usually more packed than the club itself. "Sorry, excuse me"

The woman's washroom, a place where 2 strangers become best friends instantly.

Discuss where they last left their self respect and dignity.

"You're awesome! Let's take a selfie"

"I can't believe he came here with her I thought he loved me"

A place where women then become social workers for the night.  

Or where they form an alliance for a fight.

The woman's washroom, a place where everything and anything is exposed.

Where women usually *** without the door closed,

Or there are 3 women in one cubicle cause its better than waiting in line.  

" oh here, you forgot your lipstick, borrow mine."

Where the girl washing her hands in the sink next to you shares her deepest secrets,

And let's not forget that one girl balling her eyes out about all her regrets.

The woman's washroom, a place you go where a 1 minute job is actually 15.

The only time a woman will sit on a toilet regardless if its clean.

And the one person who sees all of the above through sober eyes while everything is a blur  

Is the woman handing them paper towel, and a lollipop when they tip her.

Every morning i wake up exhausted

I make a vow that as soon as I get home I'll go to bed.

As 1 am turns to 2 am I realize that was a lie.

I'll lay in bed wide awake as the hours go by.

Eventually I'll fall asleep right before the alarm goes off.

Yesterday I woke up with my head pounding and a cough.

Still, I got up, and got dressed.

" there is no such thing as being stressed "

I chanted to myself as I looked at the mirror.

I could have sworn I had a fever,

But I told myself I had to go.

" if I do my make up right no one will know"

Every morning I convince myself, that this is the way its done.

That this way ,later on in life Ill have my fun.

I'll stitch on that fake smile, and walk out the door.

But in reality, I don't want to do this anymore.

I live to work and I work to live.

I heard once that you get what you give.

But, it seems as though the good karma skipped me.

At 21 this isn't how I imagined my life to be.

I do not live I simply exist.

Exist to complete everything on my to do list.

So busy making a living that most of the time I forget to make a life.

So set of that dream house, and car rather than being somebody's wife.

I guess I've learned one meaning of sacrifice.

Having money be a priority makes you think twice.

I mean what's the point of that money, if you never have time.

Not just time to spend it, but time to live at your prime.

These are the years you'll remember the most one day when you're old.

The stories your kids, kids remember their grandparents told.

All you have to say for it, is "I made money"

And that's not the life I want for me.

You see, now no one knows the value of things they only know the price.

Make a big cake all by yourself and then everybody wants a slice.

This friendship. Is nothing but artificial.  

Because they are only there as long as you stay beneficial.

We value money more than we value time.

We forget to realize it's not about the top of the hill its about the climb.

We look past the moments in life which pass us by.

Live to work and then we die.

Because time is the one thing we can't get back.

So focused on how far we have yet to go that we get off track.

At some point we all smile with that invisible gun pointed at our heads.

Sitting with nothing but the quiet chaos in our minds as we sit at the edge of our beds...

Wondering where the time has gone.

Before we know it our life is done.

No one leaves this world and survives

And all we have to show for it is a peice of paper we let run our lives.

I picked up a pen and paper.
In hope that I wouldn't be such a failure
At writing down exactly what I felt.
I watched the candle wax melt,
I stared at that flickering flame
Thinking about the person I became.  
I don't know who I am anymore.  
I'm not even sure if I remember who I was before.
Before all the pain...
Before all the tears and secrets these walls contain.
Before my thoughts took over my brain.  
Before all this became more than I could explain.
In time I've adopted a forced laugh;
A smile seen in a photograph
All over social media just to convince everyone
I'm out being " happy" and having fun.
Convince them enough so even I believe in that lie.  
Do you know what it's like to have a body that wants to live but a mind that wants to die?
To have a constant battle every morning to get out of bed,
Because you're so tired from being up all night listening to the chaos that exists only in your head?
Do you know what it's like to want to cry
But come to the point of being completely dry...
Cause you're all cried out?
To scream and shout
At the top of your lungs but no one can hear you?
To want to tell someone but no one will ever understand what you have been through?
I'm not sad anymore, I am numb.
This is what I have become.
And I knew this was somehow worse than what I used to feel.
How do you heal something that doesn't feel real?
Something that is no longer alive but simply exists.  
When the scars on your wrists
Become almost like lists
Of all the things your demon insists
That you are.
Not enough of something with every scar.
Not good enough, not smart enough, not worthy enough...
Sure as hell not that tough.  
When hydromorphone becomes the chaser to your whiskey,
I thought of this as my paper remained empty.
I wanted to write exactly how I felt and I couldn't have descibed it any better.