You are so **** beautiful.
You are all the colors of the rainbow, yet i cant even walk in a ******* straight line.

But at least I cut myself with beautiful words of innocence. So someone, someday, could still fall in love with me.

Its funny to think, that my skin doesn't feel like my own. And though my wrists have stopped bleeding, I am empty. I am a drowning soul in a dark abyss of a word that will forever haunt me. So teach me how to have faith in this world. Because I feel so lost, and though my maps may lead to the wrong places and I will never be a flower, not a pedal nor the stem, I will be taught to find a worth in this world. To find a gray area of how i can finally feel okay, to actually live in such a black and white place.

You are a rose. You have so much beauty to offer the world. You have thorns, you will wound peoples hearts. This is not your fault. You are still a gorgeous rose, and this world isn't meant for anyone as beautiful as you. And you will never loose your worth, because someone will see your beauty and love it for all of eternity. All the suffering will end. Because Van Gogh was wrong, sadness is never eternal.

"Pain is like our muscles. You know how you work out and your muscles get sore right? Thats because the muscle is tearing. But as you tear that muscle, it builds. Thats what people do, we get torn down but we build ourselves right back up, even stronger and bigger." -What my therapist told me when I said the boy I love left me in pieces.

I feel as though my mind wanders freely, wherever it so pleases. May it be the dark depths of my the back of my head, or the beautiful meadows I seem to roam day after day. Though only at night do I see the darkness. And though the hole in my soul cannot be filled, I still remain full. I can pick flowers every day for the rest of my life but nothing can rid my place of darkness, deep down Inside of me. It will remain until I die. But one day someone will shine light in to my soul, in a way no one else could. The flowers do still grow in my mind, even though the winter may come round.

I remember the smell. The smell of eggs and bacon as I arose each morning in your arms. I remember the laughter of your baby siblings when we would dance around the house and sing loving duets to each other. I remember you holding me in your arms as I pleaded to you how sorry I was for ripping my skin apart trying to leave this horrid world. I remember kissing your lips. I remember how the top one would curve to the right only slightly. But now im stuck. Im stuck with the smell of rain and sorrow, with empty arms. Im stuck with the burning silence of only the voices in my head. Im stuck with ripped up legs and no body to care for me. Im stuck with no lips to kiss and curve and im stuck with empty arms.