Truth be told
I want to cut my memory out of your veins
Watch you bleed me into a puddle on the floor
I hope you enjoy watching what you've done to me

Truth be told
Please don't speak my name again
It smells like rancid meat dripping out out of your saliva
You are not the first who has taken advantage
But I pray you will be the last

Truth be told
I don't really hate you
I just said that over the phone
Because I hated that I couldn't keep your faith in me
When your body came crashing into me like a tidal wave
Then, I had your trust
Then, I had your attention
Then, I had you

Truth be told
I don't miss you anymore
But I don't want you to remember me as I was
Or as I am
I know I will be someone of great esteem one day
And you?
You'll be here with your **** in one hand
And a pack of cigarettes in the other
Wishing I had been cut from your body
Before you let me inside.

This is the poem I never wanted to write:
The blaming myself for things out of my control poem;
The feeling crushed by everyone's expectations poem;
The I never knew I could hate myself this much poem;
The facing my own mind is scarier than facing any demon poem;
The shameless nights I'm embarrassed to own up to in the morning poem;
The talking too fast and scaring people away poem;
The crying too frequently and wanting to waste away like a rotting flower poem;
The meaningless metaphors and stale similes poem;
The I can't see his face because it fills me with grief poem;
The I can't see his mother's face because it fills me with guilt poem;
The but I didn't do anything wrong poem;
The but emotionally I can't grasp the concept poem;
The then, hands all over me poem;
The now, hands holding a bottle of Jack poem;
The no, I'm not an alcoholic but I get tipsy to cope poem;
The I never get just tipsy anymore poem;
The lying to my parents poem;
The clinging to my parents poem;
The hating myself for every bit of it poem;
The now we're finally getting somewhere poem;
The maybe I should tell my therapist what's going on in my head poem;
The maybe I better keep it to myself poem;
The losing faith in everything poem;
The needing faith in something poem;
The needing faith in myself poem;
The wounded bird learning to fly again poem;
The maybe I can finally move on poem;
This is the poem I've always wanted to write.

Pull the trigger
Tick, tick, boom the bomb explodes
I am ticking like a time bomb
Ticking becomes tremors
Tremors become I can't breathe
Nor handle this much longer.

Pull the trigger
Touching me in certain ways
The smell of mushrooms
The anxiety that won't stop circling
All look like the barrel of a loaded gun.

Pull the trigger
Trigger warnings on songs, poems, anything
Aren't taken seriously
Causing me to have episodes
Causing me to bleed on the outside
From the inside out.
I now hardly exist
And these things make it harder
So please
Pull the trigger