I have studied the bruises on my legs,
Each one unique in it's own way like snowflakes but not as beautiful.
Not only are my legs filled with these blots of discoloration, they fill me as well.
My stomach aches with the touch of your hand.
My Lungs wince with the scent of your skin.
My heart is slowly caving in on itself with the intent of your every word.
And my brain,
Oh my brain, is being trapped in its own cloudy judgment that your every being created
Leaving me and my emotions so it dismembered that there is nothing left.
Only little particles of dust that I only beg that you breathe in.
So that I can destroy every bit of your insides, just as you did mine.

I used to be an open book,
My pages worn and warped
Familiar stains from countless acts of clumsiness
My story was ready to leap off its surface
My words malleable and colorful  
For anyone who'd ask in hope
To find out how to read me

But this copy got old
Pages ripped and deteriorated
Too tired to pounce at the opportunity to share
It was time to move on

I am different now
Same story, but from a different author,
Writing my insides
My pages are thick and my spine is firm
My story is simple and dull

I'm hard to open
I'm hard to read
I'm easy to put down

Long nights,
longer days,
blur together
disheveling my thoughts,
leaving my mind in a disarray
coating the bathroom mirror.
Stifled screams of your name,
or maybe its mine,
herding my thoughts
into small fences
offering me two choices
to feel,
or not to feel.

I've drank this poison before.
The tip of my tongue tingles with its familiar taste.
The only difference now is that it's not being fed to me through tubes and needles,
for I am spoon feeding it to myself.
Every swallow, my own infatuation, my own fault.
The poison is my favorite meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
It's addicting,
and I am aware of this, but I keep eating it and eating it
only to be miserable.
But people say "that's ok, you need to eat more anyway",
but there is a fine line between self care and loving yourself.
And I love you,
and that's the difference.

I have given my everything to you,
But in return
You've broken me in every which way. Now I wander through the halls
In search of my limbs
So that I can become whole again
But I can't do it alone
I need someone to carry me from the ashes,
Piece me back together,
And teach me thats it's okay to suffer
As long as you don't suffer alone.
I need someone to show me how to love myself again.

Her aesthetic comes from The words that leak from her pen making her demons look as if they have come for the purest fabric that wrap themselves  around her face,
Covering everything but her eyes that show what's truly going on inside of her weathered mind

Lately I've noticed how my hands
Have grown a liking to my veins