sometimes i hate being a poet, because i write about everyone but no one writes about me. i am the one spilling my heart out with ink; suffering, quietly, crying, and aching. why does my mind feel the need to empty itself and write? my words don't always heal this ache, they just make my chest bleed even more. why can't i be an empty person, who can let go and doesn't let their fingers fly with passion and remorse and spite? sometimes i hate being a writer, because all of these cries feel futile, they just keep reminding me that no one is listening to me.

i have never felt so terrible
i have never been an option
it's either me, or a bottle
and you choose the bottle
every time
every single time
your addiction does not love you
not like i do
yet you cannot see
you never listen
you are drowning, lost and gone
i can't help holding on
i can't keep hurting myself
along the razor edges of your broken bottles
as broken as you are
so i only wish, for you to take of yourself
i cannot keep watching you **** yourself

she wrote
so dark
there was
never any
light
between her
lines

he wrote
so sad
there was
never any
life
between his
lines

she wrote
one last time

he wrote
of suicide

i feel as if happiness should come easier than this
so light, and welcoming
not so tiring, and trying
like having to train myself to accept the good thoughts
it shouldn't be this hard
i shouldn't have to swallow pills
to make all of the violence in my head stop
happiness is a choice they say, well -
it has never felt like one to me
it's a chore, a task, one i am uncertain i will ever complete
it is so fleeting

i need to sleep this sadness away
like a bad drug that i can't escape when i'm awake
hoping that the effects will wear off and i can forget
but i can never forget

i like you more when you are sober
yeah, you're so much better
i like you more when you are you
that's the one i love and choose