I feel alone.
I feel tired.
I feel ill and pained.
I feel as if there is nothing to look forward to in my life.
I feel like maybe dying at the age 20 isn't so bad after all.
I feel sick from the way that I've been allowing myself to consume food the past few days which is making me feel like a failure and since I feel alone there is not one soul that is here to assist me through my low times.
I feel like I can't talk to my family about going to see someone about my physical and mental health alike because I've tried and they seem to think I'm fine and I feel that the only way to fix it is to LOOK physically sick enough for them which has me feeling like an even BIGGER failure because I just ate a crap ton of food and there is no way to take it back.
I feel that my friends don't get that they are lucky to get even a single word out of me most days because every day is literally a giant struggle between my mind and my heart and my body and to even function like a semi normal human being takes more strength than I have nowadays.
I feel like everything is just crumbling to bits around me and the people meant to be here through the worst times are the ones setting fire to the pieces of my life as they plummet to the earth.
I feel like no jar of hearts or inspirational book or memoir or documentary or extensive research can bandage the wound that has been infecting me for over half of my life.
I feel as though crumbling to pieces myself and being set on fire thus wasting away to nothing before I even have the chance to hit earth like my life around me may just be the answer to my problems.
I feel stuck in a life that isn't mine and knowing that I deserve more but cannot get there because I'm not "enough". Not smart enough, not thin enough, not talented or skilled enough in any way to climb over the debris that continues to tumble and pile up tremendously high around me.
I feel cracked.
I feel broken.

everything in this town is so messed up
the sun struggles to rise
as church goers gossip
about the pregnant 13 year old's
3rd child
this county is so ****** up
there's more drugs and lies than you could imagine
and the dealers are the ones that own the gas station
everyone is trying so hard to get by
and in my town there's 400 people(estimate)
I hear emergency sirens everyday
but Im forced to love it here
until I get away

I'm on the edge of nowhere
Feeling awfully bitter and cynical
And worn down
Pondering what it is about me that keeps him out
Because all I ever do is love him when he's sad
And happy
And lost
And angry enough to burn holes in once cherished photographs
Now he's smiling
And laughing
And he's in need of no reassurance
He's the reason I'm failing tests and zoning out at the dinner table
All that is left in me is static
I just hope he knows
That I've never wished unhappiness on anyone until now

You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because, in one of the

spun sugar fragile sequences of the events in your life, it works

out. There is a place, somewhere amidst star stuff and cosmic

collisions, where you are not the problem daughter or the

biggest disappointment or the most regretted kiss. There is a

place where you sink into a desk in your eight a.m. class and

a boy with bags under his eyes and a hole-y sweater pulled

over his knuckles says, "hi." There is a place where your father

comes back from the war with sand grit in his eyes, blood

under his fingernails and lets you save him.  There is a place

where you live in India, where you aren't afraid to love, where

everything hurts less, where you stopped punishing yourself for

the faults of your parents. You are a girl. Not a dart board or a guilty

verdict or the final, desperate ****** of a sword through

someone's chest. You are made of the same stuff as Marie

Antoinette and Catherine the Great and Elizabeth, and you

can command the winds too. You aren't going to **** yourself

tonight because no one ever asked you about the scars on your

thighs but that doesn't make them nonexistent or unimportant.

You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because you've grown:

stronger in some ways and weaker in others, but you are still

a result of rhapsodies in violet and trees bowed to the sea

and soldiers with wind burn on their cheeks. Tonight, you are

going to wrap your own arms around your own chest and

breathe, swaying silently to no music. You are going to

memorize the sound of silence, and you are going to listen hard

for the even, jagged, pitter patter of your heart. You are going

to thank your body for waging war against itself, you are going

to apologize to your head for bruising your heart. You are going

to feel the roughness of the floor and the vastness of the entire

world and all of the eventualities spread before you. You are

going to remember that this is only one, that atoms and

molecules are flighty, whimsical, prone to selfishness and

longing for the promise of stability. You are going to press your

lips to your own wrists and know, as surely as Anne Boleyn

knew when she walked to the guillotine, that no one can save

you but yourself. You aren't going to **** yourself tonight

because you are not an accident of the multiverse. You are

purposeful and beautiful and young and reckless with your

feelings, but you are not a mistake. Listen to the trembling

of your heartbeat and breathe. You aren't going to **** yourself

tonight.

Do you remember that night that you stayed up, trying to find some way to cope.

When you turned and screamed into your pillow, desperately seeking release.
                                  
Once you sat next to me and talked about nothing. I listened and let you vent.
                                                  
Or when you called me at 2 in the morning to tell me that you were too scared to sleep. Sometimes the worst monsters were in your dreams.
                            
You probably don't remember when you laid next to me, staring at the night sky, hoping for a wishing star.

Do you remember that day in class when I first saw you cry. You ducked your head in shame, but left invisible puddles everywhere you stepped. Maybe only I could see them.

One time, you stood in the center of my living room and sang the most beautiful, heartbreaking song I had ever heard.
                        
Or how about the time when you said you loved me, but never meant it.
                                                            
I bet you don't remember the night the shiny silver blade  ran across your pretty little wrist, leaving behind bright red lines that stayed for weeks.

Do you remember when I finally left?
You didn't even try to stop me.

There are many things that I am
Cynical and sarcastic
Sardonic and witty
Lazy and nostalgic
But one thing that I am not
Is yours

I'm lost in this heart crushing sea of emptiness that resonates from you.
Like the waves of an ocean
it ebbs and then crashes again
reminding that I may touch the sand
but I'll never hold it in my arms for more than a few seconds.