People make mistakes.
Miss takes, practice, rough draft.
You learn and you move on.
But how can you move on when it's constantly being advertised to the big city in your mind.
With a body full of scars I know my mistakes better than anyone else.
I move on but I'll never forgive myself.

I was raised with high expectations.
Held at the very top of a glass pedestal and expected to hold onto broken shards when I finally shattered.
Every sharp edge, I made sure it cut me open.
I don't know if the pain was to punish myself or just to feel something for once.
Whatever the reason, I dug deep and let what was left of myself pour out.
Maybe this time I'll dig deep enough not to come back.
Maybe I'll let go of the shards and crumble under the rubble.
There's no saving a girl from monsters when they're all locked in her head.
They dig from the inside out,
And she shattered herself.

It wasn't until I caught myself writing poetry about you that I realized it.
You are intoxicating.
You make every hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The thought of you alone gives me goose bumps.

I want to feel you on my lips.
On my neck.
On my thighs.
Every bone in my body aches for your touch.

Maybe it's a warning.
The alarm sounding.
No longer out of order from the last storm.
Trying to tell me that if I let you into every part of me,
Nothing will be left of me when you leave.

Everyone leaves.
They imprint their perfect fingers on every inch of me.
They trace my body with their touch,
And they let their scent give me a high.
Then they walk out that door and never come back.

I don't ever want you to leave.
I need you to hold me together when all I want to do is fall apart.
Keep me afloat when all I want to do is drown.
Kiss me when all I want is to feel alive.
Keep my hands tight around the promises you make when I think there's nothing left to hold on to.

I think this is addiction
Only I've never been addicted to another person before.
My mind scatters with thoughts of you.
My heart jumps at the sight of you.
My finger tips tremble at the feeling of you.
Every muscle in my body craves you.
The blood in my veins boil with temptation.

I have to set my head back and take it all it.
Tell myself I'm not crazy.
Brand the thought that someone else wants me the way I want them.
With every bone they long for me to.

I can almost feel your heat lying next to me.
Almost feel your kiss planted carefully on me.
Almost feel your skin lock with mine.

I cross my fingers that this will last,
Cross my heart and hope to die if it doesn't.

You are the only light I can see.
You came into my darkness and saved me without fear of being pulled in.
You guided me out without written direction,
You took a chance on me knowing there may not be a way back out.

I'm a wonderful writer when I'm crying.
Ever tear a letter,
Every gasp for air a sentence,
Every scream in my head a paragraph.
It all spills out directly through the tip as ink,
And at this point I swear I could have written a novel.

But what do these cuts equal?

What is every drop, forming at every perfect horizontal rip, equivalent to?

If I kept going maybe the voices in my head would tell me.
I'm mad at myself, mad for going back.
But I forgot how it felt to be so hopeless.

I never felt hopeless at the bottom of the bottle,
But now I cant turn to bottles and the razors beg me to allow them to comfort me.

I'm no longer hopeless.
A little ****** up in the head but that's okay,
I  knew that already.
I mean what kind of kid turns to harming themselves for comfort?
I can't explain it, I'm not sure what kind of kid I am anymore.

Rock Bottom.
There's no chance of ever forgetting it.
Apparently I'd much rather it be pounded into my head every second.
That's how I was raised though, why should I expect anything different.
Every little mistake must be branded.
So I sit here and brand myself,
Line after line.
At least the pain writes "I'm Alive"