That girl sitting there
is a beautiful tragedy
her mind is an aghast
her body
is her grave
her bones
ache
while her throat is being strangled
whats wrong with her mind
cant ever be untangled.
she,
is a beautiful tragedy

sometimes I imagine this body
cloaked in cation tape carved like a noose,
sometimes I still see his handprints on my chest,
sometimes I get this sense of fear
that he is still watching me,
and sometimes I still think I am there.

It is okay to miss me
it is okay to cry 
you deserve freedom
from the day I died
know that I still love you 
know that I still care 
I never have left you
I'm here from up high
and when that day comes 
we can be together again.

I've spent a lifetime
cultivating this
hatred towards myself
and I'm too alone to leave it
and too scared I never will.

My brain is wired this way,
obsessed with everything other than 
what it ¨should¨ be
With being small enough that if I breathe
my skin may start to bleed from
the aching bones inside of me.
The obsession with being perfect
or to be anyone,
other than me.

Maybe this whole time 
I've been mistaking
this body as a punching
bag... or maybe this body 
is the punching bag 
that has been accepting
all of the hits.