Why is it?
Why is it that we are willing to hurt ourselves so badly,
to allow our hearts to be broken time and time again?
To shatter who we are.
To spend our nights in nothing but silence
and the sniffles that break through the air.
What are we doing?
What gives them the right?
You run after the person senselessly,
blinded by the brutal truth.
Blinded by the fact that you are running not only
back towards them,
but running away from the truth.
The truth that they no longer want you.
And so you run.
You run, and you run
so hard and so far that your bones begin to melt into
the path that you so desperately try to stay on.
You’re killing yourself
with the need of a single person.
Find a way to let them go.
It will hurt.
It will feel as though your heart is being torn from your chest
and simply discarded.
Like a piece of trash.
But let them go.
Let them run and run,
because they will end up turning the tables.
They will realize who they have lost.
They will begin to run after you,
continuing the never ending chase.
But they’ll be too tired
because they were chasing the wrong person all along.

This pillow holds
all of the secrets
of all of my the tears
that stained the fabric
and the whispers
of all of the hopes and dreams
that have been shattered
by the one
who used to tell me
I could.

she's got a black heart,
a glimmer of hate in her eyes,
a mind twisted enough to shake the earth,
and one hell of a fake smile

There was a girl
Whose heart was in shambles.
She cried his name
To the heavens,
Wondering what she did wrong.
She cried his name
Into her pillow so often
That she was sure her tears
Left stains in the fabric
So deep they could tell stories.
Stories of how
Her heart was broken.
Stories of how
Everyone hurt her.
And stories of how
The only relief she could get
Was the blade at night.

This pattern continued
And her skin turned
From a blank canvas
Waiting to be worked on
To being covered
In an artwork all her own.
She blamed him.
She cursed his name while the blade
Made contact.
She needed anything to take her mind
Off of his name.

It wasn't until she met
/The one/.
/The one/ who took her mind away from all of the pain
And the suffering that he had bestowed upon her,
As though having offered her
A gift.
/The one/ who kissed the marks on her skin,
The very ones that she herself
Marked her body with.
/The one/ whose lips
Felt like milk and sugar against
Her damaged skin.
/The one/ who made her human again.
Who picked up her pieces and attempted to put them
Back together.
The only problem is,
Once something is broken,
Can it really be fixed once again?

you let them in
and they never fail
to break you