Your daughter's suicidal
and you knew that she's not fine
after she confessed about her cuts.

You did nothing to help her.
You never tried to talk her through,
You never tried to get her off it.
You never tried to make her feel like she exists.

Countless night she spent
wondering if her mother cares about her.
Countless night she spent
crying till her eyes bruised,
searching for a reason to exist.

Please, don't.
Don't make your life a tragedy just to make it interesting.
It becomes permanent,
and unavoidable as the time passes.
As you get older, you stop craving the attention.
For instance,
when I was 12, I cut myself everyday.
Not, however, for the reasons I do now.
I used to cut so that I would have cuts,
and now I cut because I have to.
When I was 13, I stopped eating.
I knew I was thin,
I've always been underweight,
But I needed more baggage if I wanted to be somebody.
Now, I cannot eat without wanting to throw up.
When I was 14, I fell in love
with every boy who shot me a glance,
and gave them everything.
Now, I have nothing left to give,
(or to offer.)
And when I turned 15,
I started depending on drugs so I could
escape.
I can't stop cutting, starving, and falling back
into self destructive habits
because when I was 12,
I needed attention.
Now, yes, my life is ****** up,
but maybe I'd know how to cope
If I'd never picked up the blade, starved, or tried drugs.

maybe i like the way he makes me feel wanted and worthless at the same time. maybe i like the way he breaks my heart but stitches it back together with his kisses. maybe i like the way he never calls me beautiful, but the way he looks at me when i enter the room sends chills down my spine letting me know he thinks so. maybe i like the way he sends me home crying until 4 in the morning and texts me telling me he loves me two hours later. and maybe, just maybe i like the way he hurts me. maybe i put up with all of this because i'm just too scared to loose him.

And I think the part that hurts the most is that even though I jumped through hoops for you,
Even though I emptied my wallet, and spent all the ink I owned writing pages of poetry for you, and through all the nights where we drove for hours into the silence, singing our broken hearts out, spilling our worries out of the windows of my car as we escaped into the unknown, and with all the nights we laid under the stars and just watched as they all burned out into the sunrise, and the nights we spent sleeping in the back of my car listening to your favorite bands play through the stereo of those perfect moments, and after everything I did to try and show you how much you meant to me, to show you how beautiful you are, it all meant nothing to you, and that’s what hurts the most. Knowing that the next guy that comes wandering, broken hearted and hopelessly, down your path, will hear the same story I did,
How no one cares for you and how you've never had anyone to call your own or anyone to hold close, and how everyone leaves, and how you'd give anything to find that guy, and he too will **** himself over you until you get bored of him and disappear once more. But that's how you are, smoke and mirrors, a cold heart and a shy smile, and knowing that no matter what stories you tell your next victims, I loved every last part of you.
That's what hurts the most.

it's incredible
how i stopped wishing
that somehow
we'd get caught under a mistletoe

Its true.*

We live for eternity.
We all live even after death.
Forever and a day* after that.

And when I die
You'll still find me living.
In the trees and in the air.

In the mountains,
And in the waves on moist mud
Driven by the breath of Earth.

And after the world dies,
You'll find me in empty space.
Or perhaps near an asteroid.

And...after the universe dies,
I'll be either in a crammed cosmic egg
Or in a torn and still place.

Its not a promise of immortality
Not even anything about a soul.
(Because I don't know what is a soul
And thus can't express it through words)
But its a promise of eternity
Which shall never be broken.

Because its a promise we have made
To ourselves.