"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
I was reading a book in a place no normal person would be. When I was accomponied by a lovely gal who had the same plans as me. We never spoke a word to eachother but I've never felt so understood.
When I can't say them, I write them
And when I write, I am consumed
in the beauty of written expression.
so often taken for granted
Yet these are my saving grace
Written words are my therapy.
I have often found it easier to express myself in writing as opposed to talking.
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
— The End —