bartering
as if our bodies were the key to the others' salvation.

we are not temples.

we are shrines
to those that lace love songs
into suicide notes.

we'll die singing

always a night time lover
i have grown accustomed to unwashed sheets
and trusting what i can't see

but we ****** when the sun came up
(thank you)
and you kissed me with the lights on
(thank you)

and I could see you...

i'm twenty-one years old and most days don't seem worth it.

growing up i always had the assumption that these feelings would go away.
that life would become more appealing
that my depression and anxiety would finally stop sleeping over.

no one ever wants to tell you that you don't grow out of depression.
that you learn to wear it like a second skin

they just keep telling you that things will get better
and i want to believe them

so i go home
and watch the clock
and day dream about eventually