I pour every last drop into you,
I have nothing to myself
     But an empty glass.
And if you asked,
     That'd be yours too.

How long has it been since the pillows touched my head and I haven't been greeted by everything I've bled.

Aphrodite is not a weak goddess. You've never felt a heartbreak without Aphrodite longing the same, mourning  with every lost love and every last widower. She is a ghost, wiping away your tears with her sleeves, tilting your chin up before kissing your forehead, whispering that you'll love again, even if it's yourself. And isnt that strength?

While I cry to myself in the mirror, she'll be admiring every creak in my bones.

My ***** is stuck in my throat
Hair stuck in its bun
Is it always going to feel like this?
Late nights ending in ****** throats and ripped out hair, begging, pleading with the world to stand still.

Lying is the gift that keeps on giving.