I tried to **** myself
Regretful
Moreso, that failure

You know, its so easy to die. Slip into oblivion and say nothing matters. To hide your sorrow until tomorrow disappears.

I woke up with thick grey half moons under my eyes, yellow-grey toned skin, one half red eye and a dozen bruises on my neck.

I dont want to lose the innocence i have left. This is my confession. Hatred burns in my heart, but not just at myself anymore & if it is not my fault i can never change this terrifying world. I feel so small, i could blink & disappear...

But still, somehow, in my absence, in the simple threat of loss, fear and pity enter the hearts of those among me. So vile. So heartbreaking. The tears on my moms face having driven three hours to see me are the worst waters i might encounter. A tsunami of emotion.

Life is pain. Death is emptiness. Suicide may be relief, but failure is guilt.

Is there a balance somewhere?

Before you go
Write something I'd only know
Without ever braving to show

Write about the humidity
Of that day,
Write about the thickness of tongues
Holding back words too scared to say

Write about how I wanted your arm
To be around me then,
How that light somehow dwindled and dimmed

Tell the story of blue and grey,
The way we were carefree that day
And your cheeks blushed in a different kind of way
About the memories for you won't stay
And how every picture loses meaning
And like a sunset, begins to fade

Write about the way you replace this thing,
Cover the discolored paint with the beauty your new life brings

Send it disclosured to me,
I'll rub my thumb along it to help my blindness see
All the things you wished I used to be

I'll brand it on my skin,
Lace it down with ribbons the color of your eyes
And show the world every time
Placed over my treasured heart,
A feeling of sublime

i am not going to beautify our love story
with words that sound like melodies
and events that only happen in movies,
because it wasn't beautiful,
nor was it a love story.
it was a tragedy filled with
the chaos of having the
right person, but the wrong time.

one thousand ninety five days
and i was a second too late.
the end was written
and the book was closed.
us became you and i,
i love you turned into
i loved you,
i looked at you, but
you were already looking at her.
you were supposed to be
the one who stayed,
but eventually became
the one who left.

and now, you're just another story
that i keep in my secret drawer
labeled all the boys i've cried over.