"You'll never be good enough"
"Your life is a waste"
"You're a failure"
"You'll never be worthy"
"You'll never achieve anything"

The voices in my head
That I must contend with every waking moment
Until I lay down to sleep.
At which point I'm convinced
That death is better than life
For with death,
Comes rest from these tormentous demons

Love; makes the world go round
Love; a spoonful of poison to one,
a breath of life to another.
Love; such simple complexity,
that has completely eluded me

I am a master at lying
It is an art
I’ve become so good at it
That when I say
I am fine
I almost believe myself

Your eyes sang the song of loss
And I recognized the chorus

Words,
When I can't say them, I write them
And when I write, I am consumed
in the beauty of written expression.

Words,
so often taken for granted
Yet these are my saving grace
Written words are my therapy.

That blouse would look great on me

The bright flowers would complement my skin tone

That red dress, material so soft, color so deep,

would accentuate my hips and small *****

But the sleeves are just wrong.

They have such short sleeves, barely covering the elbows

Those sleeves cannot cover the marks,

The dark scars on my wrists

That I have been hiding for so long