A steel paintbrush in hand, my canvas lays on my thigh.
One cut, two cut, three cut, four.
I've already started I might as well do more.
Paint on my arm, paint on my thighs. This feeling that it gives me is better than a high.
Painting to show the scars buried deep,
painting to show the secrets that I keep.
Painting to show the pain I hide well. Painting to show my final farewell.

I love you.

I don’t know who you are,
but I know you’re reading this.
I know it hurts and I know that it feels endless.
I know “hurts” is the wrong word, because you’re dying.
You feel like you already died.
Because you can’t accept that you’re living,
Because living is hell.

I won’t tell you it’ll get better.
I won’t tell you you’ll be alright.
Because you may never be better,
You may never be alright.

What I will say,

Is that I know what you’re going through
And that I love you for it.

Is that you are infinitely beautiful,
No matter what others say or how they look at you.

Is that your value is greater than the entire universe.

Is that you are the strongest person I know,
Because no one has ever fought as hard as you have.

Is that I would die for your happiness,
Because it kills me to see you suffer.

Don’t give up,
Even if you already have.
Because You are the reason that I’m alive.

Love,
A Survivor like you.

How can you make me feel so alive and warm and the next moment make me feel so dead?
How can you give me everything and take it all away and leave me so empty?  
How can one bring so much happiness and despair all in one breath?