Eye brows are not perfect.
Eye brows are on your face.
Eye brows are gone .
And now I'm gone.

"What's wrong?"
"I'm just tired."
I'm just tired of hating myself to the point of self-destruction.
I'm just tired of being in so much emotional pain that no sobs escape but gasps for air.
I'm just tired of having to hide under hoodies and long pants.
I'm just tired of drawing on myself with metal, losing my inner ink every time.
I'm just tired of not wanting to wake up the next day.
I'm just tired of not being able to sleep.
I'm just tired of the ****** noses and wilting hair.
I'm just tired of the stares and rumors.
I'm just tired of being too weak to stay.
I'm just tired of slow suicide.
" What's wrong?"
"I'm just tired."

He does not give me butterflies

Anymore.

No, the feeling he gives me in my stomach,

It stings.

In a book I opened
on page twenty three
I came upon a pressed flower and
wondered,
was it for me?

The book was printed, eighteen ninety five
I guess
the flower was alive back then and
so
it wasn't for me.

I wonder who placed it
between pages twenty three and four and
why did they put it there?
who was it for?

Sad,
looking upon the dead rose
thinking about those,
and did the book close on them,
did the rose
speak of love
back then?