a
  poet's words
are their
    organs

   that

they
    donate
to

    the world

My periods turn to semicolons
My suicide notes to poetry
My goodbyes became hellos
The blades turn to sunflowers
And the bullets, a rose
My heart still is broken
But the pieces have been found
Death isn’t for me anymore
What is, in the here and now
I still don’t feel enough
But I am alive
And that’s enough to say
Today is not the day I die.

my heart when I try to join in a conversation and no one hears me so I slowly stop talking, getting quieter and quieter into silence.

Judging others
out of lack of reason
hurts the self more
the judge becomes his own prison.

stupid girl
soon no one will be left
but it doesn’t really matter anyways
when it felt like no one was there
in the first place

Baby, I lie all the time.
I'm good
It's fine
*I love you