By. Lauren

Drunk on the "innocence" of our youth.
Ready for another shot of liquor.
We down quicker and quicker.
It's always seemed to be this way.
Our pupils dilating larger and larger.
Not ready for the hangover.
Not ready for it all to be over.
Drinking makes the demons go away.
No more chatting in our minds.
Tonight we get to be normal teens.
Just drinking the "innocence" of our youth away.
Letting it glide down our throats
Quicker and quicker each time ready for the gulp.
The gulp that makes it all go away.

By. Lauren

I never wanted to be here.
Not here.
Not in this room.
Not anywhere.
I never wanted to be me.
Not in this body anyway.
I've always wanted to leave here.
Leave me.
Leave this body that has treated me so unfair.
I never have given any care.
Not to this body.
It doesn't care for me anyway.
I never wanted to slice it open.
See its blood.
I never wanted to see my blood.
I never wanted to see it drip.
Feel it drip.
Make it drip.
I've just never wanted to be alive.
Not here.
Not in this world.
Not where I have been treated so cruel.
I've never liked all the slurs.
The hurtful things they scream.
I don't want to hear them scream.
And I can't.
And I won't.
And I still stay.
Stay silent.
I just want to leave.
I've never wanted to be here.
Not here.
Not there.
Not with them.
Not in this body anyway.

By. Lauren

Looking at you I can't help but wonder if you've been crying all day.
Your eyes seem to want to fade.
Fade away.
Looking at you I can't help but want to pump the happy back through.
Back through your veins.
Looking at you makes me feel dead.
Your skin looks so grey.
Are you okay?
Looking at you I can't help but want to cry too.
Cry all day.
All because I looked at you.
Looked at you today.

By. Lauren

The smell of death has always been a 6th sense to me.
I do not know why but the second something I once held dear to my heart passes on I smell the smell.
A smell that's so nauseating I can hear it.
Hear its rumble.
Hear its beating on the no longer pumping heart.
Hear the smell.
The smell of rotting.
The smell that brings tears to my dull eyes.
The smell I've always seemed to recognize.
The smell of death.
The blunt reminder that they are gone.
Gone forever.
Gone like the smell.
The smell I feel trapped in.
The smell of death.
My 6th sense.

By. Lauren

* my voice echos *
I want to tell you a story.
A story that goes like this.
A story where my voice echoes over the bustling room.
A story where I can get real quiet when talking about sensitive topics.
A story that goes like this.
It all begins loud as I tell a violent tale of the girl that was hit last week by her boyfriend.
Then it seems to fade.
My voice fades into a bleak whisper as I tell the tale of two lovers one living with a mask over her face.
A tale of two fates.
Two worlds.
Two people that will never seem to cross paths no matter the story.
I want to tell you a story where I can tell the truth.
A story a lot like this.
A story of vulnerability.
I want to tell you a story.
A story that will help the world see the true me.
I guess I don't want to tell you a story at all.
I just want to tell you the truth.
I want to tell you my truth.
Time to start where it all began.
* my voice fades into a shallow whisper

By. Lauren

What's it like to wake up comfortable in your own skin?
No doubts of your beauty just ready for the day.
What's it like to not weigh yourself multiple times a day?
Calculating every gram that puts your astray from your Instagram model body.
What's it like to look good in anything you wear?
Not too big or tall.
Not too small or short.
Just perfect for everything.
I wish I had that beauty.
The kind where your skin glows even in the driest of seasons.
The kind where your legs are always soft no hair to shave.
What's it like to be perfect?
Perfect like you?

By. Lauren

My family has never seemed to get themselves weaned.
Not from the drugs.
Not from the alcohol.
Not from the smoking.
Not from the abuse.
Not even from the bleeding.
Year after year another resolution.
I will change they always seem to say.
Relapse after relapse they always seem to peruse.
We have never been weaned.
Learning our habits from one another not knowing that's what we should not do.
It's become our DNA.
Our flesh and blood.
Self-harm took me over too.
2 years of cutting watching the pain watching my blood go down the drain.
Yet another one not able to be weaned so soon.
Crying in the bathroom full of fears full of tremors full of hopelessness.
Yet another lost hope.
Life was useless to me
A dream I would never be able to see.
I couldn't be weaned.
Each night I tried to stop.
Just breathe and look at the ceiling.
Remaining yet another lost cause.
I never knew how small my room was until I was enclosed in the space that I couldn't escape.
I never knew how large my mind was until I was lost in all of its emptiness.
I couldn't be weaned.
Night after night memorizing my scars adding on to my collection.
It took 3 years without help to finally get here.
I just hope I can stay.
Hope I can change my DNA.
No more losing blood.
No more watching others struggle.
We all will be weaned.
Weaned of the drugs.
Of the alcohol.
Of the smoking.
Of the abuse.
And even the bleeding.