I have been breathing underwater for so long I cannot remember the last time I breathed air.
I cannot remember the last time my oxygen wasn't clogged by a mouthful of loneliness.
I cannot remember the last time I laughed and my voice didn't sound hollow in my ears.
I cannot remember the last time I opened my eyes in the morning, excited to see the new day.
I have been plagued by thoughts that drown me everyday a bit further down.
Voices in my head are turning circles trying to find a way out of my twisted mind.
I am going insane.
I stand on the edge of my roof and wait to see if the wind will give me a push.
I stare at myself in the mirror, hoping to find something alive in my features but all I see is dead tissue.
I try to rip the Band-Aid off to let the wound breathe but I rip my skin off instead.
I cry when I see people holding hands and laughing because I haven't laughed in years.
I have been dead inside for a month and I feel like time has stopped and eternity has already passed.
What is a life without a smile?
It is miserable.
I am miserable.
Miserably broken.
I am tired of trying and being broken again and again and again and again and again.
How do you live that way? How do you push through and get out on the other side?
I have done this so many times and yet I seem stuck in quicksand.
I struggle to get away and I get deeper and deeper in.
I cannot get away from my own thoughts.
I cannot get away from my own loneliness.
I am broken and my soul is leaking outside my body, my fingers are shaking and I cannot keep it inside.
I feel like I am dying everyday a new death when I wake up and realize I am still here.

Perhaps love is a dress rehearsal for death.

If you reach up for the moon it doesn't seem so far.
I could grab a ladder
Or climb a tree.
It doesn't seem so big.

What is beauty?
An ideal stuffed down our throats,
That makes us scrutinise reflections
To trace every single flaw and imperfection in our very being?
I've long since stopped searching for beauty in the mirror,
It was a loosing battle, no mater what empty compliments were spat my way.
Instead I've come to think of beauty as freedom,
As liberation from the shackled thoughts of society,
And it's come to mean so much.... more.
Beauty isn't in the angular curves of malnourished models,
The photoshopped perfection of tabloid queens.
No.
Beauty is in muted sunsets,
Colours thrown up as homage to a whispered day,
Cradles by clouds and wisps of white.
Beauty is in the moments that make you itch for a pen,
A brush, a lens: anything to preserve the moment
In perfect clarity so that you can feel again the breath thieving awe.  
Beauty is in woven fingers and passionate touches,
Love shouted through the twitch of a mouth and the softening of eyes.
Beauty is caught in the second you stop, look up
And dig your nails into a world that spins too quickly,
Seizing every day that flies your way.

Handle me gently.
Mull it over in your mind
Until you find the words that match your intentions.
Say them quietly
So only I can hear.
Don't speak harshly.
Don't leave me hanging.
Don't blend into the background.
A word spoken is a word meant
So say what you mean
Because I meant what I said
And I'll say it again.
I love you times one million.
All my bad decisions were worth it
If my one right decision was you.