we write when we're bored
we write when we want to express our feelings
we write when we want to understand ourselves
we write when it's the only thing left to do

but most important
we write when our heart hurts

Flowers still bloom
in graveyards
and maybe
thats why
I’ve always
known
trauma and pain
can't destroy
a beautiful soul

Huddled in a corner
Knees pulled up to his chest
Head bowed upon his knees
He crys

Night after night
Day after day
His parents fight
No one is physically hurt
But all the yelling
Drives him mad

As his parents yell at each other
In another room
Tears roll down his face

He wants to run away
He wants to hide
Leave all fighting behind
.

There are good days
Teese help him hold on
But few and far between they come

He'll sob
He'll cry
As his parents fight
Day after day
Night after night

you say mental illness is a big deal until
i am sitting surrounded by trash in my car because its the only place i feel safe
until
i am crying when i wake up because i don't want to wake up
until
i am searching through pictures trying to find a scrap of light
until
i am sitting on the bathroom floor drinking the half empty beer i found in the recycling
until
i get attached to the drawings on my legs and cry when they go away
until
my plants all die because i cant water them
until
my pets die because i cant feed them
until
i starve myself on accident
until
my room has to be heavy or i cant breathe
until
i block everyone on my contacts list because i feel like they are watching me
until
i cant run anymore
until
i cant walk anymore
until
there is nothing left but you still want more

As he left for war,
with fear galore.
On the lonely streets,
She waited.

  As he grew weary of walk,
  weary of war,
  & cursed his fate,
  She waited.

     As he dreamt of her,
     each forlorn night,
     when cold birthed frostbite,
     She waited.

        When winter approached,
        & food scarce,
        By the dying embers,
        She waited.
  
          As spring drew near,
          The springs in her heart
          grew weak. On her death bed,
          She breathes her last.

              With his hand in hers,
               He waited.

What
Does one do
When
They love someone
They can never be with

To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
apart.

Sinking into the books.
The depths of literature.
Romance.
Fantasy.
Nonfiction.
I lose myself in it all.
I am safe.
Books are my armour.
They're full of words.
And words are the one thing you can't take from me.