There will be no version of me you will ever think to admire
as your hands grasp my words and alter them as they leave
I realize this was never how I wanted this to turn out.
Your words to me are like waterproof mascara
running down and staining my cheeks-
you're the opposite of what you promised you'd be
and you make a mockery of what makes me feel so beautiful.
You showed me what it was like to actually feel something
and now I remember why I never did in the first place.
I seem to be at fault for all the faults you think you carry
and this misplaced insecurity is now our imminent demise.
I don't feel anything anymore.
Remembering what it feels like to be in your arms
seems to be a distant memory
and sometimes I want to keep it that way.
I am tired of making myself small so you feel bigger-
and I am tired of using all my strength to light your world
when you insist on living in the darkness
and never giving yourself enough light too see-
that I'm walking away slowly.
You can either run to me, or watch as I leave-
because I am more than you make me out to be
I will no longer be your nothing.

you spoke to me words like poet-
made me second guess every decision that leaves my lips
and as the staggering giant that is my mistakes
shades the sunlight from my life
I still find a way to see the sun sometimes.
I try not to break-
try not to let the world see me shake
and tremble from my fear of tomorrow
but these nerves they get the best of me.
As I am slow dancing to Sinatra
I remembered the way you looked into my eyes
and the things you said to me.
How I wished the dance floor
was a time machine so I go back
and do it all over again.
Just you and I-
but I know the look in my eye
must still show you the same way I've felt
each and every single day since I met you.
Hands heavy from being the weight you carry
heavy in your heart and even heavier on your sleeve
I am blissfully naive and I wish I couldn't see
they way you look at me anymore
because it hurts too much
when I want nothing but to become one with the sky.
So fly me to the moon,
and let me live amongst the stars
because the look in your eyes
saved me from a lot of tragedy-
but don't let me be your downfall.
I don't want to be your downfall.

I try to let these words I speak come to me
bloom out of my fingers like someone long ago planted seeds
hoping they would flourish out of me
so I could write everything you need me to.
But this heart holds more regret
and these eyes have seen more destruction
than any garden could possibly uncover.
And see that's the trouble
the only time my fingers feel at home
is when the tragedy masks the happy
and the depression nooses it way around my neck
turns the whites of my eyes red and makes me remember
the reasons I started writing in the first place.
I'm a little too close to happy and I wont ever get there
I just reach out my hand to touch it
and it runs back to it's save haven
as I run back to mine because I fear what I may find
in the dark of the night-
the silence of this room is my impending destruction
is my masterpiece and my corruption.
Its my sin and my sanity in the same exact second
and I've used that line twice now but it's the only way to describe
how I am constantly crying on the inside
crying out for that happiness that runs away when I touch it.
The happiness that wouldn't even remember my name
if I did in fact learn to love it.
So what now?
These hands hold on to the idea of becoming better
and these fingers write it out like an apology letter
but you remind me time and time again why it hurt to be lonely
and I knew I would never truly be happy.
I learned that the day someone started loving me
and it somehow still wasn't enough to ensure my insanity.

When you're running down hill, you have to keep pace-
keep running while keeping your balance so you don't trip
land face first into the dirt and wish you would've just crawled.
This life isn't born to be crawled upon
so run, run as fast as your feet can take you
towards the places you want to be
towards whatever the **** makes you happy
because who the **** wants to be me
hanging on the edge of the cliff clinging to anxiety
but I wouldn't change it for a ******* thing
because this, this is my normalcy, this is my version of happy.

It's funny how we keep things bottled up,
in the dead of the night, dark of the room
the razor was to my wrist again-
it demanded I paint these secrets across my skin
and feel the blood rush to the open wound I caused myself.
Then I looked up and saw myself in the mirror
sunken eyes and hollowed demeanor
this wasn't me.
The light in my eyes was dark again
and the blue where I used to be was now just gray.
So I dropped what was holding me hostage-
and I turned to the pills instead.
I took one, down the hatch it went.
My breath stayed shallowed and harsh
as if my lungs were crying with me.  
I looked down at the bottle
poured it's contents to the floor and counted-
is ten enough to **** me?
I took another.
is nine more enough to **** me?
I didn't want to know.
So I held the pills beneath my fingertips
as if they were the grim reaper
and I put them back in their place.
Nine pills all back in their happy little bottle-
I realized they held more power in my life than I did.
So I broke, threw the bottle and broke the wall.
Then silence.
The only thing I heard were the thoughts in my head
and the silence of my cell phone
that I wished was ringing out to help me.
But I was alone again.
I hadn't felt this low in so long-
but this time no one was around to care.
I thought about how I could end it
and I probably wouldn't be found
until three days later.
As the sun sets and rises, sets and rises, sets and rises again
I would be one with the sky
and I wonder why the **** I want so badly to die-
because the past two weeks of my life
I finally felt ******* alive
like I could breath again-
like anxiety took a vacation with depression
and left me with the optimist to babysit.
But I guess their vacation was short-lived
and they came back-
made a mess of what I had built for myself
what I had been working so ******* hard for.
Chaos.  

So in short, I wanted to **** myself last night
thought of all the ways I could do it-
but then I saw the faces of the people I love
and then they were masked by all the pain I've caused
then that was masked by all the people that hurt me
so my knuckles repeatedly kissed the punching bag
until they bled onto the white cloth like decoration-
I was an artist.
The medicine kicked in-
sleep kissed my eyes and made my mind foggy
and I began to think about all the good things again.
I remembered the way silence was my favorite melody
and I drifted into the nirvana I was hoping for.

It's funny how we keep things bottled up-
because the silence of my cell phone
made me realize how strong I really was.
The secret I keep of last night reminds me
how many secrets are able to be kept.
The war raging inside me isn't one you win or lose-
It's the kind you have to fight in order to survive
even if no one even knows it's inside you.

I spoke, as the words left my lips I choked.
I was drowning in my own tears
trying to keep myself afloat by telling myself to swim
but it somehow wasn't enough.

Engulfed in the flames
I had lit myself on fire just to keep this passion burning
but the flicker in the night and the sparkle in my eye
has burned out once again-
so I realize loneliness is my only friend.

I spoke, choking on the words my lips built for me
that my mind didn't have the strength to formulate
all I kept saying was no, and I couldn't breathe anymore.
My palms became like a statue-
a monument of the tragedy I had faced.
Built of stone like my current demeanor.
I spoke for the first time since you took away my voice.
Messages on Facebook encrypting sinister undertone
crawled their way into my skin and latched onto my cerebrum
and all I saw was gray, there was no black and white anymore-
the cortex turned into a vortex and my mind spun facts into theories
truth into fiction and I began to wonder if anyone would listen.

But my mother held a stone face-
though my hands were stone cold and my face sheet white
she held me like I was the only piece of artwork that ever mattered.
So I spoke, let the tears drip from my face
like I was washing away my mistakes
and everything I never had the guts to say.
The words slipped from my lips like black ice on a winter day-
the kind you stay home from school for
it was the kind of cold you never left your house for.

As I told my mother how the man who stole my voice
stole my innocence as well, she wept.
The days all started to blend together again
and once the secret I had been hiding was finally free
I wasn't sure I was worth keeping anymore.
My mother's face turned cold-
and it hasn't felt the heat since..

Soon enough we both clung to the fire in our hearts-
too passionate to let it burn out or fade away.
Though I've still been swimming in the deep end
I don't feel as if I'm drowning much anymore.
These days have become watercolors
and these nights alone have become acrylics
so I guess, I am a masterpiece
even if inside there's some tragedy.

Some days, I'm a hopeless romantic-
wishing someone would look at me with stars in their eyes
write me the universe in verses
and braid stardust flowers through my hair.
Other days, I'm a realist-
knowing such things only happen in my mind and in movies
and nice words are all I'll ever be accustomed to.
I guess the butterflies in my stomach have died
because I don't really feel them anymore-
I guess the light they kept running into
burned out..

I looked at myself in the mirror today
long and hard, I stared at my reflection in the glass-
and I realized if just enough sun hit where my eyes met
then I wouldn't see myself at all-
but I realized that wouldn't be any different
because the person staring back at me,
wasn't me at all.
I started to question when I forget myself,
lost who I was even though I was trying my hardest to look-
I guess I was never really good at hide and seek.  
Then one day I stopped in my tracks
and watched you pick apart
who I was in your eyes-
I had realized where I lost myself.
You told me I was bringing you down
held onto your leg like an anchor
I was your reason for drowning.
But I'd like to think I just kept you grounded.
See the smiles on my face keep getting replaced
by the opinions you paint across my eyes
and I realize this makeup isn't actually water proof
so you take this tragedy
and turn it into your own
destructive masterpiece upon my cheeks.
It was then I realized-
you were the one tying the anchor to your own ankle
and I was the one trying to help keep you afloat
but in all my efforts to keep you from drowning
it only brought us both closer to the bottom.
You look down on me because I am sinking,
I took the weight from your own ankle
and sunk to the bottom like I always had-
you reached out your hand to find me and got lost in the tide.
The whites of your eyes turn red,
and you blame me for your exhaustion
but you were the one who set sail
on this sea of expectations
and watched as I dangled upon a string I was born with
only to watch me fall from the grips of it
only to be torn between who I am and the nature of the sea.
I am no longer happy,
nor are you.
But time and time again, regret painted on your face
you tend to blame me for the weight-
when it was your idea to come out to sea in the first place.