I'm getting better.
All the scars are healing.
I don't have the longing,
or the temptations.

I'm recovering,
From the unhealthy corpse
I used to be.

This is a recovery story,
About a girl who realized
She's more than what's happened to her,
She's more than what she's done
To herself.

This is a recovery story,
About a boy who doesn't think
He's enough.
Who thinks no one will notice
If he's gone.

This is a recovery story about me.

My story isn't ending,
It's just beginning.

she's big,
almost too big.
big enough to weigh more
than you.

she's hope,
that something betters to come.
that we won't be here forever.

she's always there,
haunting your every move.
in your way,
and on your lap.
but always exactly where you want her.



she's dying,
and we have to hold onto her,
before it's too late.

it's sweet,
like honey.
it's pressure,
on my fragile body.

it's tingly,
like someone running their
fingers through your hair.
it's magical,
like nothing you've felt before.

it begins with a single slice.
then you start to feel it,
the adrenaline.
the excitment.
you feel the desire,
you long for more.

after the longing comes
more longing,
longing for the feeling,
desire for the rush.
soon you give into
the temptation.

then the guilt sets in.
shame about the ****** lines
on your arms.
shame about the scars
then you remember.
the adrenaline.
the rush.

then it begins again...

Depression
i dont need depression,
but its there.
i dont want to live,
but i cant leave.
all my friends are here,
but i am somewhere far far away.

my heart... it's made of glass
you told me it was my fault,
so it shattered.

i crawled around,
trying to pick up the
shattered pieces,
but it cut my legs,
it cut my arms.

it made me sick.
but that's ok...
right?