Will you decompose me?
Take me apart piece by piece
Bring me back to my roots
Until I am
                     no
                              more

Your branches, they reach out
Scratchy and rough, but warm
In your embrace, I am vulnerable
But at the same time strong

Now flourish, the flowers
And fruits of our labour
Don't leave, I'll be powerless
I know you will, sooner or later

That's when I truly decompose
Not with you, not even close
I decompose to nothing
Exactly what I am to you

I'm locked away kept inside a castle that's dark and grey. I've condemned myself to be imprisoned because I refused to listen, now im here where there are distant screams but I feel I'm here alone waiting for the light that's never shown. When I walk through the halls I can smell the burning dead, maybe its a silent scream that carries it from one of the rooms doused in dread. A candelabra lights my way while I wander the hallways searching for a reason but just when I see any they seem to turn and walk away/ I have to make my way through heavy wooden doors that separate these vast corridors, afraid to move fast for the fear of making a sound because something breathes beneath the floorboards. Time has no purpose here inside the stone walls, thoughts got away from me and now when I stop I can only hear as they crawl. I cannot leave so I attack myself in the room of mirrors, sanity is not present here only remnants of decisions that remain unclear.

I cant remember the last time I felt the real pang of depression. Their words just pass through me, it doesn't sting anymore. The way you constantly make me feel inadequate doesn't even bother me like it used to . And sometimes, then I wonder, what if i got so used to the constant pain and sadness, that I, in a sick distorted way, made the feeling normal, and live in it, like it is my shadow, unfurling and consuming me, turning me to stone. But it scares me, the way I just don't seem to feel. I'd never be good enough, I would never be good enough; that is something I've seemed to tell myself so much that now it just causes a slight shrug, or the soft remembrance of that sickening feeling in your stomach right before you were about to cry. Am I okay ? Would I be considered okay ? Why can't I show empathy for the people I care about ? Where has my emotion gone. I see the world in varying shades of grey. There is nothing exciting to my life anymore, I have given up what once seemed to be enjoyable, and replaced it with this sickening grey tinted glasses. I can't draw, my imagination always evades my endeavors to express what I keep bottled in the far depths of my rusted soul. I can't paint. I've lost the joy of colour and everything I create is never good enough ( Like myself.) But, somewhere inside my head, I do know that I'm somewhat comfortable with this lack of feeling. I don't mind not crying, not feeling, not expression. I feel like I am just a fleeting shadow on life's tapestry, not even an image. But I do not mind the lack, *I have made the grey scale my home, and the shadows are my friends.

My wrists still burn from 7th grade
when the entire school laughed at me
for having *** with my brother.
But they didn't know how ******* sick it really was
and they didn't know I didn't want it.
So I ran out of class and sat on the bathroom floor,
carving my skin with my favorite earrings
that started off silver but slowly turned red.
I told you I don't wear earrings anymore.

My throat still hurts from the time I tried to drink drain cleaner
but it was so bitter i spit it all out and it ran down my chin.
So I slept all day and all night
because I cried so hard I couldn't keep my eyes open.
I wonder if that's what you taste on my lips,
Salty tears and bitter chemicals.
Is that why we never kiss?

My neck is still bruised from when I was 11 years old
and hung a jump rope from the ceiling in my basement
and tied it in a knot around my neck.
But soon as I jumped off the chair I ******* fell to the floor
with nothing but a rope burn beneath my chin.
It wasn't the feeling I wanted and I cried so long and violently,
I thought my head would explode.
Does it make sense that I don’t like heights?
Maybe that's why I'm afraid of bridges.

My lungs are still full of water from 2011
when I tried to drown myself in the bathtub.
But the water wasn't very deep and it was hard to stay under.
I could feel myself getting dizzy as my head popped back to surface.
So I stood up,
shampoo still in my hair,
and I washed everything down the drain besides my self.
When I told you I don't know how to swim,
I actually meant I'm too afraid to learn.

My ******* still hurt from the boy who thought getting me drunk would make me take my clothes off.
And I hate to say it but it ******* worked.
But what he didn't realize is that at 15 years old,
I would have gotten naked for him anyways.
I would have touched him even if
I wasn't influenced to pour
shots down my throat and coke up my nose.
I didn't have a chance to say yes or no.
I just wanted to have fun and try to forget everything I was wanting
to **** myself for.
But I ended up with a heartless human being on top of me calling me a *****
while I lie motionless about to *****.
When I got home,
my chest was black and blue but I didn't cry this time
because by then I was too ******* numb to care about anything.
I told you I don't like to drink.
I told you my body aches.

My hands are still sore from when I got sent to rehab and met a boy who liked it when I touched him.
He only came out of his room when the nurses helped him walk.
His face was so white you could almost see through him and he only spoke when he wanted to feel me.
Every night at dinner I would put my hands down his pants underneath the table,
until he stopped eating dinner with us.
He was addicted to something bad and he just kind of stopped waking up.
I got sent home but I don't think he ever left.
I waited months for that boy to call.
But he never did.
Every one disappeared
*And now I'm doing the same to you.

Anxiety is love's greatest killer.

It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you.

You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

When I no longer felt the need to live they told me there was a way;
they would cut up my body, sale all the pieces, and that way, I could stay..

They stuck me inside a crane machine,
my arms, my legs, my heart.
Fifty cents was all it took to win yourself a part.

My head it was the first to go, it went to a strange old man.
Who lived down in a basement, and had a secret plan.

My fingers they went next, to some little girls and boys.
The size of them was perfect for the children to use as toys.

The piece of me that went last, was the piece that belonged to you,
and when you walked by the crane machine you knew just what to do.

You put in your two quarters and you grasped the handle tight.
The claw wrapped gently around my heart and didn't give a fight.

You walked to your car, whistling, with my heart held in your hand.
Completely content, my soul was free, because you were my final plan.