It’s in the past, it’s history.
I remember when it happened, seems so long ago.
My heart still hurts and I cry sometimes when I’m reminded of what happened.
Somehow I have kept going and I have lived.
I’m breathing and eating.
It’s in the past, I still remember though.

Is it alright if I say, I love you?
Because I really need you to know how I feel tonight before it’s too late.

I'm November nights' sleepless eyes,
And Saturday's heavy rain,
I feel broken and I can't remember why.
A deep breath, it might ease my anguish.
Across that town,
(that I set on fire),
Is something stronger than melancholy.
I try to reach it but it's too distant.
I'm an illusion you can't deem real.
I'm only mist,
Your hand will never,
Close around mine.
You cry like a boy,
When you hear I've lost my breaths,
In 1678's winter snowstorm.
The autumn of 1857,
Seems like cracking branches,
And you and me inexistent,
Trapped in something,
We can't seem to remember.
It has no name, that phobia.
I can't breathe, I can't remember,
Where I've left my lungs.
I can't feel, I don't know,
Where I've dropped my heart.
My eyes can't trace,
The shape of your face.
You're a blurred image,
I've crafted with my own hands.
Nothing makes sense.
Maybe I'm insane.
Desperate, so desperate,
To feel, to touch an entity,
That could be bigger than life.
But I'm a breathing vacuum.
The sensation in my fingers,
Is singeing me with so much life,
It's almost unbearable.
I'm running, bolting, wavering,
Stumbling, swaying, trembling.
I'm dying, dreaming, wondering,
I'm falling in love.
I'm falling over and over and over.
But I'm only falling.
I've never known what's it like,
To get up.
I'm falling into a rift valley,
With sleepy eyes.
I'm falling again.
But this time I'm falling asleep.
I might wake up.
Someday I might.

I imagine myself in a meadow sitting in beautiful purple and yellow flowers.
I see a river flowing and I see the tress swaying from the wind.
I look outside my bedroom window again my beautiful meadow is gone.
This time I see, houses and kids playing in the street.
I see cars pulling out of driveways.
When will I see my beautiful meadow again and drift off into my imaginary world?

Please wake me up, tell me I’m alive.
I feel numb sometimes it’s hard to open up to people nowadays.
I need help, say something to me and then maybe I will believe in this world again.

Pretty girl, you are going to be 16 soon.
Imagine being gathered with family and celebrating your birthday, it’s hard to imagine it hasn’t happened in years.
Imagine a big birthday cake, saying Happy 16th Birthday Stephanie.
I don’t remember the last time I had a birthday cake, I don’t remember the last time I blew candles out and made a wish.
Unfortunately, this will the reality of your 16th Birthday, sitting alone in your room and feeling like cutting deep.
I will cut deep and then hide my cuts with a long sleeve shirt.
I feel like cutting today and not waiting for my birthday.

I told him I’m on day 11 of not self-harming.
He seemed like he didn’t care, I’m sorry I told you.
I thought you would be interested in knowing since you said you loved me.
He agreed with me when I said it doesn’t matter how many days I have stopped I will always be a cutter.
He said yep, he agreed.
So, if I will always be labeled as a cutter and the world will continue to see me that way, why shouldn’t I continue slicing up my arms and wrists and be what people will always see me as.
Recovery is challenging I should know, why waste all that time when I could be feeling high.
Why stop my unhealthy habit if I love it?
Why stop if you will see me as a cutter for the rest of my life any way?