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Aime Worcester Dec 2013
facing the piercing sun on my skin.
new day to hate the person staring back at me in the mirror.
another day to regret waking up.
salty tears crawl down my skin, burning my pores with scars of old memories.
hiding inside my own house of bones.
today is a present.
too bad I had receiving gifts
I get dressed
slowly putting on particles of clothing
painting on a fake smile with my eos chapstick
good morning sunshine, the earth says hello.
Aime Worcester Dec 2013
facing the piercing sun on my skin.
new day to hate the person staring back at me in the mirror.
another day to regret waking up.
salty tears crawl down my skin, burning my pores with scars of old memories.
hiding inside my own house of bones.
today is a present.
too bad I had receiving gifts
I get dressed
slowly putting on particles of clothing
painting on a fake smile with my eos chapstick
good morning sunshine, the earth says hello.
Aime Worcester Jan 2014
Depression isn’t something you can just push off your shoulder
Everyday is a struggle between laying on the colder side of my pillow
Forcing myself to get up/face the day
The sun shine literally pierces my skin
New meaning to blinded by the light
Getting ready in the morning is a blur
Foggy vision, foggy thoughts
No, I wish it actually was
Staring at myself in the mirror isn’t easy
You hate what you see
Always a desire to be someone else
Who is no where near myself
Hate the person staring back at me
“You’re pretty” they say
“You’re fine” they say
“You’ll be fine” they say
“You don’t understand” I say
Colder weather means colder thoughts
The brisk air filters my head with sharp brittle thoughts
Rainy days mean movies, cuddling, hot coco with the little marshmallows
Take me back to the days where being happy was easy
Where I would run around mindlessly, giggling
When no one cared who my friends were
What I wore
Who I was
Life used to be carefree
Tentative smiles
excitement over coffee shops
Humble attitudes
Boys had cooties, not hormones
Where you feared *** scenes with your parents
Now you crave the artificial love, and false hope
When did drinking chocolate milk turn into *****
Puking meant you were sick, not sick of *******

— The End —