He always loved her
The first time he saw her, he knew he would love
Her
The way her eyes glimmered
Her hair as dark as his mind
Long enough he could bury his sadness in it
He longed for her, he could feel it instantly
But no
No, he couldn't
He could never bring someone into the depths of hell where his soul lingered
If he dragged her down, she would never make it back to the surface
At least not with her sanity
But she was so beautiful
Something he had never seen before
She wasn't safe
She didn't know
Every time he looked at her he could feel himself falling,
He knew he would never stop
She could feel it
It only took one glance
And she was gone
And then he felt it
Oh what a wonderful feeling it must be
To find someone who has it just as bad as you do
So tainted, so ruined, so dark
How glorious to finally find someone
Who's demons play nice with yours

I went home.
Body swore
from you slamming into me.
Gliding my hands
over the cactus,
******
become another face
that forgot.
Summer melted away while
friendships froze,
just as they said.
Sticky fingers
placing prints on new skin.
Everything diseased.
Crossed legs;
bottle of whiskey,
face dripping
with battle wounds
from a war like storm.
We should have broken the mirrors.

Stand in the street.
Four hours of Wednesday
marking me with gray bags
on my not so innocent teenage face
and tears painted across my forearms.
A canvas.

Letting candle wax
burn my crooked skin,
cigarettes are sewn together
one by one.  

Sloppy handshakes,
cold coffee.

It's covered my toes now.

A piece of art
is never finished
though.

So what am I becoming?

I'm jealous of all the girls,
   who can wing out their eyeliner,
   and learn how to fly.

   Whos eyebrows are perfect,
   without filling them in,
   even though they still do.

   I'm jealous of all the girls,
   who can speak to anyone,
   and who aren't in a lower league.

   Whos hair is perfect any day,
   and whos smile could,
   make world peace a real thing.

   I'm jealous of all the girls,
   who fly around people at school,
   without feeling the need to hide.

  Whos life seems perfect whatever,
  and who get invited to parties, real parties,
  whom have decent friends.

   I'm jealous to all the girls with lovely,
   long blonde hair to which people,
   compliment as though it'll be their last.

   Whos outfit is amazing,
   whos life is and their friendship group,
   whilst I'm here trying and trying.

   Always trying.

   And I'm sorry.
   For all the time I pull out my flaws,
   I break your heart just once more.

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.

the baddest addictions
are with good intentions
not to cause harm
but to feel okay
I can say
I've never broken an arm
never been under
a sadistic charm
broken myself
but healed up again
kept going back
to feel my heart
patiently beating
poisonous thoughts
are like cyanide
so easy to think
it's even easier to die
the more addictions I have
the better I seem to feel
how tragic is that?
life has some
but no appeal