the air reeks of burnt hair and patchouli
and i am remembering your voice
and i am thinking of the days
when i would open up my skin
to see if there was anything left inside.
and i am drowning,
drowning on my duvet,
fearing that i will resurface.

i'm just so tired
of fingers in my mouth and being ****** on the floor.

i'm a very bored
of being reborn with each pill and christened with a shot of *****.

what happened to my dreams.

i love older boys who teach me how to blow
smoke rings in the parking lot
of strip malls.

i love pink clothes and skirts
that hide the lines of my lace
underthings.

i love getting in a car
with someone many inches taller than me
who won't tell me where we're going.

i love cigarettes
and lighters
and their not-so-secret love affair.

i love looking down into the sky
and waiting for gravity to end
so i can fall.

i love playing mind games
with people who are "in love" with me
as sick as it may be.

i love taking teensy pills
that make me feel
tall, tall, tall.

i love being scared
that the manager will find out
that i stole a hundred dollar necklace.

i love all of these things.
but not me.

It used to be delusion
It used to be confusion
That consumed my mind

It used to be razors and knives
It used to  be thoughts of my past lives
That devoured all of my time

It used to be anxiety and depression
It used to be lack of another mental impression
That made happiness so hard to find

But now it's music instead of voices
And now it's love and my own choices
That make make this happy world, mine