i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
                    30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.

Maybe I’m a decent person.
Maybe I have a good chance.
Maybe I can be something.

I never really tried to be.
Decency was expected
But I never did more than necessary.
So why now?
What changed?

Why do I care?
I think I can do this.
What if I can’t?
What if I’m not what she thinks?
I make everything up as I go.
When does that stop working?

Maybe I can do it.
Maybe it won’t stop working.

But I can’t count on it.
So what do I do?
I don’t know.
I think I need help.

Maybe I don’t.
Maybe I’ll figure it out.

You.
You with the cute little freckled face,
with the button nose

You with the eyes speaking more languages
then the mountains in summer.

You with the beauty of spring and the lips like a sunset bouncing off the rivers.

You with the love for poetry, me a mere fool scribbling notes in his bedroom to block out the sun.

You with the electric touch and most
adorable smile,

You turn my stomach into a butterfly cage
and simply make me tremble in the best of
ways.
Well, I’ve never known how to save myself,
but you seem to catch me in such a wonderful way.

I used to think the world was a scary place
until I imagined myself not being a part of it
When I was a teenager all I wanted to do was die
I never realized how selfish I was being
until I found something worth living for
I fell in love with writing at age 14
and its been a love affair I wouldn't give up for anything
Through my love for writing I have been able to face demons
and suffer through heartbreaks I never thought I would overcome
Writing is a gift I always feared to share with the world
and I still have no idea why
I regret that now
and I've learned that the only way to let go of regret
is to finally face what has me so scared
I've always wanted to die knowing I made some kind of difference
However I can't make a difference
if I don't do the one thing no one else can do
and that's be me in every way possible
The thing about writing is you can't hide who you really are
The parts of you that you try to hide
always find their way to the surface
and it's those things you try to hide
that make up the most beautiful parts of you
All of the things you think have broken you
have made you stronger
All of the people who have hurt you
have only taught you the meaning of true love
All of the mistakes you made that you can't let go of
they don't hold you back
They make you wiser, tougher and able to make better decisions
I've learned that life is made up of some awful ****
and I have stories that will probably never be put on paper
because they still break me into pieces if I allow them to
Life is also full of so many beautiful things
There is so much to experience
There is so much to see
There is so much to feel
If I had a child and I could give them one piece of advice
it would be to live life to the absolute fullest
and don't worry about falling because if you do fall
you will always have someone there to help you up
The best people walk into your life when you least expect it
Everything has a way of working out
and some of the most beautiful memories are made
through the darkest moments when you thought nothing good
could possibly come out of whatever is currently causing you
to go to bed with tears in your eyes
If I could tell my younger suicidal self one thing
it would be to choose life because you have no idea
when it's going to be taken from you
I used to wish I had the answers to everything
I used to wish I could see into the future because I thought knowing certain things would calm my present anxiety
Trust me when I say it doesn't
If something is meant to be it will be
If not then something better will turn up and surprise you
Until then do one thing for me and live
Take time to appreciate the beautiful colors nature has to offer
Take time to hug those you love the most
Make time to visit places you have always wanted to go to
but you always came up with excuses as to why you could never go
Tell the one you love how you really feel
and don't worry about looking stupid if they don't feel the same way
What matters is that they know and you were brave enough
to tell another soul how much they mean to you
Don't hide from the rain
Don't get angry when time moves too slow because whether you see it or not it goes so fast and you can't take back the moments you spent being angry
Promise me despite your fears you will live
Do that for me
Please
That is all I ask

How many days has it been?
Since all this started?
When did life become so hollow again?
Was it the drugs? The loss? My actions; I can no longer defend..

So hollow, Follow the rules but break them in silence..
Caught red-handed with a needle in my arm,
Surrounded by thugs with blank expressions
So zen; I'm a menace to myself, step off the path
into a place where I suffer alone; it's easier that way,
at least, that's what I tell myself, that's what I say.

With no one to hurt, or to hurt me, I break all the rules
and grin a melancholy grin, hoping for a stray bullet
to end it all. I can't do this again
was everything I struggled against in vain?

With a star in my sky, and a path to follow,
I hesitate to explain myself, I'm just so lonely
A giant phony, With no one there to catch my tears
So I go on living my life muddled in fear
It's not the first time, so just stay clear.

One of these days, I'll reach back to all the hands
Offering me a place to rest my head, so solemn is my mind
even surrounded by friends, I find myself totally alone
everyone eventually hits rock bottom..

So hollow, Follow the rules but break them in silence..
Caught red-handed with a needle in my arm,
Surrounded by thugs with blank expressions
So zen; I'm a menace to myself, step off the path
into a place where I suffer alone; it's easier that way.
at least, that's what I tell myself, that's what I say.

I just want to get out of here, I stare at myself in the mirror
and see that I can't find even a semblance of the man
I once was; where did he go? Did I grow out of it?
I'm no longer myself, and it really couldn't be any clearer.

may 24, 2017
last suicide attempt
everyone blamed you
it was him
he hurt you
why do you even talk to him still?

you were never the reason
you broke up with me that night
and i snapped
the only thing that kept me happy
left
and i had
zero reason to
live

it was never your fault...

Can you see the girl in me whom you loved
Can you hear the child in me whom you cared
Can you feel the mother in me whom you relied
Can you see the bombshell in me whom you needed
Can you see the old lady in me whom you comforted
Can you see the advisary in me whom you believed
Can you see the wife in me whom you trusted
Can you see the friend in me whom you liked
Can you see the fading me in me whom you hated
Can you see the failing soul in me whom you tortured
Can you see the falling angel in me whom you defeated
Can you just see the me in me ?
Can you ?

as i looked at the mirror
i asked who are you?
nothing replied
it’s just me
too different
i can’t remember
the times where i recognize myself
i put on too much
mask for everyone
i kept listening to the same old music
i opened a door in my mind
cameras are flashing
on my eyes
i didn’t find someone
i just found myself
alone in darkness
where i could feel
everyone is watching
expecting me to create fire
when i only breathe ice
i thought if i pretended
that i was not a fool
and get up to
their expectations
i would be happy
but i didn’t i just caused
the real me to be lost
in paradise of hell
where the crowd is the judge
and you’re a contestant,
but they didn’t know
fools eventually
change the
world