Her heart shattered
From all the hatred built up
Inside.

I roam
These empty hallways
Tread on broken glass
That reflects you
And the little moments
I treasure so much.

I use my hands
Those which slipped into yours so perfectly
Like a puzzle piece
To pick up those shattered pieces.
They're scratched
By the sharp edges
That pierce my skin.

I carry those wisps of memories
in my arms
Those I used to wrap around you
In warm embrace.
They're ******,
Cut by the glass
Pressed against them.

I roam these empty hallways
Trying to
Collect memories,
Both good and bad.
But inside,
I hope that
Maybe,
Just maybe
I'll find you too,
Roaming these empty hallways
Picking up the
Fragments of us.

She was
An illusion
Of delusion.

self harm is not beautiful.
it is not wonderful to be saved
it makes you feel weak
and it makes you feel sick.

carving his name into your skin
is not poetry
and is not romance

mental illness is not glamourous
or fascinating
or graceful

mental illness is sickness
anger, disgust

stop romanticizing something
that destroys life itself

I want people to understand,
Yet I refuse to explain.

Fearing
Judgement
Criticism
Mockery,

She zipped her mouth,
Sewn it shut,
And never did she
Utter a word again.

All that's left
Are old exercise books
And
Fading memories.