If you want to know what I see,
Take a look around when you close your eyes.
If you want to know how I feel,
Think about the last time you cried.
You asked me to show you what it’s like on the inside,
But from the looks of my body,
You already know.

With my eyes closed, all I see is red.
Hurting seems to be the only real thing I feel.
My arms and legs outline my internal damnation
I wish I could ask for help
But I guess it’s too late for me.

My sorrow tortures me, but I can’t express myself.
The transfer from my mind to my fingertips is lost somewhere between my mouth and heart.
My words get twisted up and I just spit out foolishness.
I feel everything so deeply
Just I have nothing to show for it.

People spoke about how cigarettes **** people
I never smoked, but I still feel a burning sensation in my lungs
People said alcohol tears people apart
But I didn’t need it to push everyone away
People never talk about how one day I would want to rip my body apart
How you’d become trapped in your own head
They never talked about the things that hurt the most
Things that take you by the throat and never let go
How being alone became the only thing I know
I only ever allowed myself to bask in people.
I sunk my teeth into them like a snake releasing venom
And allowed myself to be consumed by them
I was never one for drugs or money
The only things that have ever hurt me,
Had eyes littered with stars, and hearts filled with dust.

She wanted to break hearts, but she didn’t know how to raise her words and not her voice. Instead of raising her fists, she raised her nose so high she toppled over. She didn’t know what it was like to fall apart, and maybe that’s why she was the one with the broken heart. She wished that she could have a body that killed and a mind that paralyzed. Instead, she was left with a smile that was questionable, and eyes that said more than she ever will. She wanted to be a secret. To be able to tell people that they didn’t know her, but she was as obvious as an ink stain. Her feelings can’t be washed out. Her mind was an open book, and no one wanted to read it.

I have been searching for a place to call my own, and once I was brave enough to admit I was lost; I found you. My home is where my heart is, and my heart is yours. As often as it’s stormy in my head, and no matter how often it’s raining, you always somehow bring the sun out again.
After you came, I no longer felt lost. I found two roads that diverged in a yellow wood, and I, I took a lonely road. To find peace in my soul and that has made all the difference. It has never mattered to me where you start, but where you end. How you get there was always the most important story. I hope that you help me to wherever it is I want to go.
Describing how you make me feel is like describing how water tastes. It’s nothing but good and in my heart, I know; just to put it into words seems improbable. All I know is that I was lost and searching for a home and all I can really say is that the search is over.

If I came home screaming I want to die, my family would stare through me blankly and continue on with their day. They would continue to say that I can’t possibly be depressed. How these feelings mean nothing. How I’m being dramatic. I’m sorry that every time I’m alone, I want to die. Every time I ******* think of her I want to slit my throat and go be with her. How I hate how I feel this way and I feel like I’m falling apart. How much proof do you need? Do you want to see my scars? Here: look at my arms, look at my wrists. How can you possibly think any of this is normal? If the sky was green and my hair turned blue, would you believe me then? My body is in as much pain as my mind. I know what it’s like to be hurting inside and out. Though none of this matters… no one cares… I’m just wasting my breath.

I want to be buried in the same dirt as wild flowers, and the same place that my favorite trees once grew. Not in a field with other rotting bodies doomed like me. I want to be buried in a place with some hope. Mostly because it seems that these days I have none, and maybe if my memory lives on with hope-that may cause a chain reaction and no one will be ****** in by sadness. In all honesty, I wish I didn’t feel like this. I wish that I always saw the beauty in the world and, instead of just sometimes. To be able to live like that; seems impossible, and that’s why I wish to be buried among change. Maybe that way, I will too.