They tell me I'm such a brave girl,
For walking where I've walked.
They tell me I'm a brave girl,
For still breathing.
They tell me how proud of me they are,
For standing tall in front of him
And acting as if I'm okay.
They tell me I'm a brave girl,
But truthfully, I'm afraid.

Christmas used to be my favourite holiday. And you knew that.
But on the day we were supposed to celebrate, the 23rd, you crashed your car. You crashed your car after spending the night at a girls house.
And did you call me and ask to be saved?
No.
You called her.
And you kissed her.
And you wouldn't have even told me it happened. You would have lied.
And then we celebrated. On the 26th. And I found out, but not from you.
And you said you were sick of my constant crying. But how did you expect me to act?
But when I think back and remember Christmas, I think the worst part was
That your mother had crossed out "from" on all my presents
And instead had written "love."

11pm is for those who can't sleep,
bloods filled with rush;
because of the sweet texts they just can't wait to read.

1am is for the poets who just can't stop,
can't stop the thoughts entering --
entering their mind one by one.

And 2am is for the broken.
The ones who can't stop thinking,
Thinking of what might've been,
What could've been.

You can ask me as many times as you want
Why I did it
But my answer will always be
"I don't know."
And maybe it was simply because
I was falling apart
And he was there
While you weren't.

The scars will be lost within the creases and wrinkles,
this sea will have been traveled and never unraveled.
love left its stain,
time wanes and ebbs the fervor of the summers.
Legs now twigs as fragile as the first,
limbs and bones become limp
soon won't be able to even lift my hand
to write to you a reminder of the marvelous passages
I've traveled.
Sentences running on in place of me whom lies in bed asleep.
Soon, in the dawn of a day my words will lose their sense
and I'll ramble about incomprehensible things.
You'll get tired of me.
I'll fade away to me, forget my face and name;
forget the pen and paper.
Too lost without a reason to be afraid.

There is too much I want to say now that I can-
but the words stumble upon each other.
all I can do is but put on a smile as I stare in to the mirror.
There is not a note of sound but for
the silent gesture of its affliction.

Scars on my heart
Scars on my hips
I think I'll die
With your name on my lips.