Purple walls,
Waiting anxiously to be,
Blue,
Waiting desperately to be,
Fixed,
Holes and scars,
From you,
From me,
Writing on the wall,
Only from my insanity,
The floor is covered,
Laundry undone,
Old art projects,
Failed dreams,
And notebooks.

The bed,
Is where,
Where I like to rest,
However I'd sit there,
When I felt a pounding in my chest.
Stare at the ceiling till your eyes bleed,
Stare at the ceiling,
Till your demons flee,
The same room where,
I said my first i love you,
Where,
I meant my first I hate you,
Where friendships fell between the wall and the box spring,
And I,
Was too tired,
To retrieve them.

She saved my life
and I have no clue how to thank her properly
I don't think she really knows
or how much she means to me
nor how much she's done for me
and when I try to explain it
I sound foolish and can't get my words to sound right

*(s.m)

I know i'm not really myself
when i'm doing this
I'm not quite myself very often
to be honest
but I regret
every single time I wasn't there myself.
I hate this disease
i hate this disorder
and the things it makes me do
when I'm in an island
far away from myself
living in a reality
where stolen things are quite better
than my own
and the moon shines, bitter & anguished
because I stole its shine away
and put it on the star
that lingers in my stolen
rag heart.