I think that I have so much to say
But all my thoughts lead my feelings astray.

I feel so many different things
But I can't quite understand my emotions, like I can't hear when a foreign person sings.

This is just a stupid attempt to have a good piece that rhymes
Oppose to the rambling ranting ******* you read of mine all those other times.

As the poison ran through her veins
She started to lose control
Couldn't breathe
Couldn't talk
Couldn't move
Couldn't think about anything else.
The worst part is that she poisoned herself.

But she won't die, nor will she be okay.
Because this poison is a different kind.

The poison is hopelessness
Being let down
Negative thinking
This poison is her own creation
Specific to her
And the people she cares about can poison her just as easily as they can breathe.


Now she's sitting
Motionless
Speechless
Thoughtless
Breathless
Because the poison has circulated
And it's reached her heart.

But she won't die, nor will she be okay
Because this poison is a different kind.

She physically feels sick
She wants to die
To **** herself
To cut
Drink
Drown
Hang
Shoot
Break
And cry
But she can't.

Because this poison has paralysed her.

This poinsion has taken away
her will to breathe, not her breath itself.
Her will to move, not her mobility itself.
Her will to talk, not her speech itself.
But it has replaced every thought with that of a blade
Or a rope
Or a gun
Or a bottle
Or a pill
Or a lake
Or a building


This poison has polluted we mind and mingled with her blood. The will to **** is a part of her now and there is nothing she can do to escape that.

Despite wanting to sleep for eternity six foot under
This poison cannot **** her
Only she can
And she is close
And willing
And weak enough to attempt.

She cannot think of anything else
And it's all her fault

She created this
She started it all.
If she had succeeded last year, she wouldn't be around to have created this poison.

So until she has hit rock bottom and has a chance at succeeding
She will try to drown her demons
Suffocate her demons
Bleed herself dry of the poison
Consume enough alcohol to alter the poison

But she won't die, nor will she be okay
Because this is a different kind of poison
And she is already dead inside.

All people express it differently yet all people need a specific way to accept it and its like a lock and key but you can't use your own key.

People express love differently to the way that they want to receive it and that's kind of where love gets lost in translation

the most ancient reason there is.

we do things in order to gain approval
or avoid judgement.

we will wear masks to hide our faces, thoughts, and personalities, to shield that which we think will be judged, in order to gain acceptance.

we will do things, say things, and even be things to gain approval, even if we disapprove of it.  

we are the fake at generation, ruled by fear and raised to be rebels.

my mask is a ***** who over estimates herself and doesn't care about others and never gets scared.
But how long can one stay in character, before they become the character...
and aren't they one in the same...

the best lies are based on the most truth.
therefore the masks we wear and the facades we create that earn us the approval and exile us from judgement, are the most believeable lies, which shows that the character, scriptwriter and actor are all the same.


so just how fake are we...?

Changing, turning over a new leaf
Isn't always for the best.

I changed dramatically since I started highschool and have been growing into that new person
Excruciatingly slowly
I've been learning to accept used a I am
Micrometer by micrometer

But then you just swoop in
Take me back to everything I was in grade 8
Naive
Easy to hurt
A push over
Sad
A cutter...

Yes. One person managed to ruin me.
In two days.

And I don't know how to revive myself from this

It's such a personal word
We all cry differently
At different times
With different thoughts
And we all draw different reactions when we cry
We all have different perceptions of crying

Crying doesn't always mean tears
You can cry out someone's name in a moment of passion , or pain, or rage
You can let tears slide down your face in a moment of happiness, sadness, or pain

When I cry
I show my faults
And my weaknesses
I show how easy it is to break me
And how easily I get hurt.

So I refuse to cry.
I wish I couldn't cry.
And right now, I wish I would die.

As ugly as you think you are.
You are wrong.
You're hideous
Atrocious looking
Horrifying
Scarily unattractive
Disgusting

As mean and awful as you think you are.
You are wrong.
You're disgraceful to the human race
A terrible person
A horrendous representation
A stupid waste of air an space

As messed up a you think you are
You are wrong.
You are so far gone that not even a saint could save you
So ******* up in your mind that you'd give a serial ****** killer nightmares
So doomed that your holiday spot is hell.


Worst of wishes and muh hate
Me.

That is what you call me.
I'm your "dear one".
At first that made me cry
Knowing that I forced you to care
Manipulated you into thinking I am anything worth anything or anyone caring about.

Then I got to know you.
Realize how you saw me.
I bonded with you more and cared for you in return.

Now I almost smile at the mention of me being your "dear one".
Because I am now honored that someone so amazing as you can care for me
And at times, I even think that I'm worth caring about.


So this is for my dear one, becuse I care about you too.
And you are so much more than what you label and limit yourself as.
And even if the breath has left my soulless body, I will always be here for you.

[ dih- pen -d uh ns ]
noun
1. the state of relying on or needing someone or something for aid, support, or the like.
2. reliance; confidence; trust: Her complete reliability earned her our dependence.
an object of reliance or trust.
3. the state of being conditional or contingent on something, as through a natural or logical sequence: the dependence of an effect upon a cause.
4. the state of being psychologically or physiologically dependent on a drug after a prolonged period of use.

I depend too much.
I depended on people a lot, and they left.
I depended on my blades, and they got taken away.
I depended on my feelings, and they faded.

I relied on people.
I used a sharpener as my drug of choice.
I used feelings as my anchor.

And now I have a new person I depend on
A new drug
A new feeling

And the problem is that I believe him when he says he will stay,
I believe him when he tells me I'm beautiful,
I believe him when he says "I love you"

But that is what scares me.
When he leaves, I'll crumble.
I'll remember I'll never be anything close to beautiful.
I'll know I'll never be loved and I will struggle even more to love again
Because he has enough of me to break my heart and tear me apart.

I depend on him too much.

Hanging from the rafters,
Bleeding on the floor,
Whatever you must do, don't come knocking on my door.

Hanging from the rafters,
Bleeding on the floor,
The scene you'd see in front of you holds a lot of blood and gore.

Hanging from the rafters,
Bleeding on the floor,
The sight of me would make you wish you could change it before.

Hanging from the rafters.
Bleeding on the floor.
Whatever you must do,
Don't come knocking on my door.
Don't come knocking on my door. Don't come knocking on my door.  
Don't come knocking on my door.
Don't come knocking...

The empty space on my bed where you should be is occupied only by the thought of you

The empty curve of my waist where your arm should be resting is filled only by the desire for it to be there

The empty space between my fingers where yours should be entwined with mine is occupied only by the thought of it happening

The empty feeling of my lips without the company of yours is filled with the impossible wish

my bed haunts me
not because you're not in it
but because it brings back the memories of when you were...
your hand gently over mine as We held each other
your chest pressed against my back as We moulded as One
your feet entwined with mine as We grew closer
and eventually,
your lips against mine as We reinforced the Shared words
**i love you

In a world of male vs. female
brain vs. brawn
good vs. evil
heaven vs. hell
skinny vs. fat
***** vs. player
pretty vs. ugly
popular vs. loner
How are you supposed to find yourself.
Society puts out so many labels and stereotypes
Demand you join one
(Heaven help you if you pic conflicting catagories)
And then judges you either way.

If you're a girl
You're too masculine if your strong
You're too Girly if you're weak
You're pretty if you have long hair
You're lesbian if you have short hair
You're a **** if you have revealing clothing
You're a nun if you cover up
And so on.

If you're a guy you're popular of you're strong
You're gay if you're weak
You're unattractive if you're skinny
You're perfect if you're ripped
You're a player if you get with more than one girl
You're pathetic if you haven't even kissed someone

In a world of double standards
You're expected to be badass
Popular
Weird
Emo
Reject
Wanna be
Cool
Druggies
Smokers
Saints
*****
*****
******
Nerd
****

How are you supposed to choose ?
Heaven forbid you're smart and ripped
Heaven forbid you're skinny and a ******
Heaven forbid you're popular and 'Emo''
Heaven forbid you're badass and nerdy


You're told to make your own choices and just be who you are
But then you are judged
Ridiculed
Put down
Bullied
Excludes
Rejected
Neglected
Offended
By being who you are.
To the point where you are being told to and forced to change so much that you lose who you originally were
You second guess every choice you've made since thy lead you to who you are today
And you always feel like you should be something wake to the point where you have no idea anymore how to even catagories yourself.

In a world of double standards
Judgment
And today's society
Finding who you are and making your own path and controlling your life is the biggest challenge of all.

Help me find a reason not to give up.
Help me find a reason to actually give a ****.

Don't tell me it gets worse before it gets better, because every time I hit rock bottom I start digging six feet under.

Help me see the light again
Help me see through all my pain

Don't tell me others have it worse because I know that I have no right to be sad but I didn't ask for this curse.

Help me stand up when I get knocked down
Help me support myself when I'm on shaky ground.

Don't tell me my scars mean I've been through hell and survived and that I'm strong enough to carry on, because I believe that I deserve nothing but to die.

Help me learn to love me as I am
Help me not to change my life to fit someone else's plan

I told you I trusted you
I told you I loved you
I told you I care
I told you I try to help
I told you I believe you

You told me you loved me
You told me you cared
You told me to trust you
You told me I was important
You told me you would never intentionally hurt me

And I was stupid enough to believe it all.

Hi Classified*

I drank again. A few weeks ago. I thought I could control it. It helped.
But I loved it. It felt good to be drinking again.
But it's not just any drink. It's a specific red wine.
I was drinking up until about a week ago, but I thought someone was on to my habit , so I slowed down.
Now its nothing, just a sip every now and again, reminding me that there is always the drink. it will never leave. It's reliable
But then I remembered that there was this drink that I got into a while back. It was a whiskey. It burned me, but i liked it
And today a friend of mine gave me some. Put the bottle in my hand. And I didn't mean to. But I drank some of it. Just a tiny bit. And it burned and reminded me how much I like it
And that is my story.

*Claps

to look forward to with desire and reasonable confidence.*

I wasn't hopeful. I was stupid. But they are the same thing.

To hope isn't a good thing. It is stupid. It is only setting yourself up for disappointment.

To hope isn't to look forward to something. It's stupid. It's to be let down when that 'something' falls through.

And I was hopeful. I was stupid. I am disappointed.

I almost wish you followed her.
Because then it would hurt
And I'd get over it
And we'd go back to being friends
But I'd be right.

I almost wish you followed her.
Because then you'd have fun
And I'd be fine
And we'd go back to being friends
But you'd be free.

I almost wish you followed her.
Because then I won't let you down
And you'd get over it
And we'd go back to being friends
But I'd be in the clear.

I almost wish you followed her, because it would be your fault and I won't be the one who hurt you.

But you didn't.
Because you don't need other girls
Because you have your own girl
Because you think you love me
Because you say I'm perfect
Because you have me.
So you didn't.

I want to write.
I want to talk.
I want to cry
I want to run away.
I want to die.

But I can't.

I don't know what to put on paper.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know how to cry.
I don't know how to move.
I don't know ******* myself.

So I can't.
But I want to.
And it's the thought that counts.

Three words that broke my heart.
I chose you

You made me the happiest I had been that day.
But those three words tore me down, lower than I have been in a long while.

It was never your intention and I hope I made you happy.

I will try better next time. And in the future. I swear on my worthless life.

You deserve so. much. better...
I chose you

Three. little. sweet. words.
From. such. a. sweet. man.


There are words that will forever go unspoken from my lips, unless they are to meet with yours.

And I know in my cold, filthy heart that you deserve far much more than whatever I can even attempt to offer you.
However.
I will try my hardest to be everything You deserve.
I will try my best to be
pretty
And kind.
happy and
open.
I will try to make you happy, and to be your savior. You are not broken, but I wish to help you build yourself higher, and make you see yourself as highly as I see you.

But for your sake, I do hope you are not my knight in shining armour.
For your sake.

For your sake, I wish you never chose me.

You'll be the alcohol that I can't get enough of. Burning, warm, addictive.

And I'll be the candy that always leaves you wanting more. Sweet, fleeting, and never enough.

The way her eyes portray so much and are so deep, so beautiful and so captivating

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

The curve of her waist that leads to her hips enchants and intices me

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

The shape of her lips invite me and excite me

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

The ***** of her neck to her chest to her breast intrigues me and causes me to long to explore it with my lips

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

Her being is vivacious

*Infatuation makes you lose sense

This is my confession statement.
I fantasize abou torture and killing
How to cover it up
Where the best place for ****** is
How to have the least witnesses
Ways to avoid emotional damage of the people who see the bodies.

Now for the confession.
I have tried to ****.
More than once.
I make people cry.
I torture.

It's story time.
Here's some background.
There is this girl. She's the ugliest thing on this planet, and she's overweight. She has no friends and used to be a complete loner.

And I found my love and addiction to torture through her. I would cut her. I would take my knives and drag them across her skin. Sometimes over and over and over again in the same wound.
She will never forget me or what she is. I made permanently sure.

Now comes the interesting part. Her existence welcomed me into the darkness of her heart.
I didn't always hate her.
There was some part of me still left that didn't have the heart to put all my effort into killing her. For a while.
I started to like it though.
I attempted and pretended to **** her a lot. More times than I can count on two hands. And I liked it. I scared her so much and I helped teach her her worthlessness. I helped open her eyes to how terrible she is.
And here's a secret. I made her love those headaches she got from lack of oxygen she got when I would tighten the noose around her neck.
I made her beg for death but took away her oppertunity.
I hit, punched, sleep deprived, cut, burned, carved, scratched, pulled out hair, force fed pills, mentally tortured and oxygent deprived this stupid, ugly, useless, unwanted, weak, pathetic girl.
However, I never fully followed through.
Which is why I can write this.

Your quick kiss is what I've been waiting for. Longing for. Lusting for.
The icy feeling pressed against my skin, sharp and needy.

I know you're no good for me, I tried to stay away. But the desire was too strong. The need.

It's been building for a long time. I needed release.
No more foreplay, I wanted to go all the way.

And I did. I finally gathered the courage, and I am enjoying the blissful aftermath.

Fear or rejection risks perfection.
One can be so confident
Or unconfident
Perfectly imperfect in someone's eyes
But they will not put anything on the line to get what they want.

Avoiding the risk of failure and potentially deprive you of happiness later.
If you're too scared to put yourself out there and take it as it comes
Then maybe you're not able to handle either outcome.

No risk, no reward
If you don't take the leap you won't have the oppertunity to fly like a bird
If the response truly meant enough to you, it would outweigh the fear and you would follow through.

If you're asking me what to do, that means you need instructions on how to follow through
If you need guidance on this I don't believe it means that much to you.

I want the last thing I see to be the thick, dark, liquid life that is my blood, being pumped out of my body as I stumble into isolation to die.

I want to feel the quick, sharp, searing pain of the cut, before it escalates onto the buzz, as I drag the blade as swiftly up my wrist as a bird of prey catches its food.

I want my vision to blur, and my head to pound as the lack of blood in my body attempts to keep me alive, as I walk away from everything.

I want to feel the tears slipping down my cheeks to join with the blood pooling, the perfect coushining for my death bed.

I want to attempt to croak out one last apology as I crumple on the floor, to have my final minutes in pain.

I want to be conscious until the life is finally freed from captivity in my body, not passed out in a pathetic attempt to save myself.

I want to rip my skin apart and destroy my cage as my breath escapes to fly with the birds as my being slips away forever.

I want to be reduced to dust and set free
Finally free of the boundaries life and mortality placed on me.

You toy with my feelings
And play with my mind.
Make me believe you left me behind.

Eye will count two ten
You hide until then.
Eye will start two search four you, but don't tell me when.

Or maybe play hop scotch
Trample all over my feelings while they watch
Raise the standard up a notch.

How about we run around each other
Two everyone else it's obvious we want one another
But you'll conceal it from me, keep it under cover.

You want two play jump rope
Repeatedly jumping all over my hope
Yet eye am expected to cope.

So lets play a game.
You'll kiss me and whisper my name
Then you'll leave me and make me go insane.

Does this game seem fun to you?
Because this is what you put me though.

I am not numb
For numb is having emotions too much to bare
Too complicated to sift through
Too tangle up to sort out
Too overwhelming to rise above
That everything just merges into nothing.

Robotics
Mechanics
Manic antics.
No longer unmotivated
No longer too scared to try
No longer too pained to care
No longer too hurt to love.
The threads you were hanging on by we're annihalated.
But you're not falling
Or panicking
Or soaring
Or dying
You're just existing.
Going through the motions of the decent or the flight.
Taking everything in your stride.
Not faltering
Not altering the way you do things.
Everything is transformed
Emotion feels nonexistent
And thoughts become frail.

But my days are numbered.
Not because I can't feel
Or won't feel
But because everything is mediocre.
Soaring is going up
Plummeting is going down
Rising above the **** is up
Being in he'll is going down
Torture is annoying pain
Euphoria is mild joyfulness
Depression is a shadow
Love is a fleck of light
Being haunted is remembering
Thoughts are just there
And my existence is passing me by.

My days are numbered
Because my torturous reward is this cage.
This daze
This haze
This maze of feelings
Impossible to navigate when everything is foggy.

My days are numbered
Because when you push something so far away
You're just giving it momentum to hit monumentally harder.  
And I can't escape this daze
But when I'm released...
I fear the outcome.

My thoughts are like a river
Flowing through what used to be my soul.

My thoughts drown rational feeling
Or any decent emotion.

My thoughts war goodbye to the beach as they drag my good mood into the cold, dark depths of them.

My thoughts cause the same amout of trauma as a near-drowning.

My thoughts are sometimes still and transparent
Showcasing the horrors they hide

My thoughts at other times dark and murky
Ugly and sinister
Concealing the awfulness beneath its surface
Waiting to surprise you

My thoughts look inviting at times
Refreshing
But My Thoughts are a dangerous weapon to the unsuspecting
And the most common one can **** me as easily as drowning in my swimming pool.

Attention
Affection

These are the things She strives for

Perfection to get attention to gain affection

But what is perfection?
She starves so She can be skinny, even when She's told She has a **** body
She cuts to punish Herself for eating, yet sees Her scars as imperfections
She puts on make up so She can be pretty, even though She is told She is beautiful
She straightens Her hair to look perfect, even though She is told She looks pretty anyway.

When will She be perfect?

She dresses up,
dumbes it down,
changes Herself
but is let down.

When will She be perfect?

She tries to capture the attention of men and and gain their affection,
But shys away from affection, emotion and the human touch.

When will She be perfect?*

Maybe She will be perfect when she changes Her definition of 'perfection'

We will sit
We will talk
We will laugh
We will cry

We will cut
We will burn
We will drink
We will starve

We will think
We will share
We will feel
We will trust

We will compare
We will harm
We will swap
We will injure

Let your blood poision mine
And mine to the same to yours
Let me dilute the effects of the alcohol with my own poinsion
Let you share the effects of the drink and get me drunk on your love

Let us rant
Let us feel
Let us rage
Let us vent

Let us breathe
Let us survive
Let us dig
Let us live

Let us bound
Let us leap
Let us soar
Let us fly

Once upon a time
Twice upon a memory
Thrice upon a wish

I wanted a destiny that was intwines with yours
But alas, I hardly know you.

You enchanted me
Bewitched my mind
And spelled my affections

There is one word I shan't ever utter
But if you're my knight in shining armor
And I am more than just a step for you to climb
Then maybe I will change fate to spend the rest of my life with you.

I will creat my own destiny.
But I am doomed to failure

I may try my best
And find motivation
But my will power and hope are inconsequential compared to my omnipotent and everlasting sin.

Second choice
Backup plan
*******
When all else fails

They are all the same thing.
They are all Me.

" Sometime " isn't Sometimes. It's not occasionally. It is the future.

Just because Sometime is a variable you haven't figured out yet, does not mean there isn't an answer.

It's like solving for x , like mathematics- something You're good at- just because you don't know the answer when reading the question , but there is always an answer, a solution.

There may be a solution, an answer , to this equation that I am now a part of. But I hope that, despite what I lack in the department of math, I thoroughly hope you see me as your equal, and that I will not become just an ex.

You said you hadn't figured it out yet, but you're smart and I trust you.


"Yes" is just a word, an answer.
Not a promise, an agreement.

" Sometime ", however is a promise.  
A promise for the future. And I will hold you to it.

The lonely lamp
Abandoned in the street
With its dim light.

At a glance, you'd think it's just
A street lamp
But everyone and everything has a story.

If you look closer, you'll see the scratches and dents,
The marks people left behind

It's alone and solitary
Abandoned
Deserted.  

It's light will fade, and during the day it becomes pointless
But at night
It can light the way for some lonely souls
But for some damaged people
That lonely
Solitary
Abandoned
Street lamp
Can be a reminder that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I want your fingers to kiss my skin, like a pianists kiss the keys

I want your lips to explore mine like music explores the air

I want your body to press against mine like the musicians foot against the pedal

I want us to work together like string and damper

I want to feel your presence like a song stuck on my head

I want to be your everything like music is so me.

Tattoos are personal expression
My body
My rules
My ink

10 regrets
9 new cuts
8 hours of fear
7 hours of sleep
6 tears cried
5 feelings I cannot express
4 thoughts I can't share
3 words I struggle to say
2 emotions I can actually feel
1 more breath
0 more f**ks to give

Goodbye

She collects shiny objects
And lurks in the dark

Flightless and alone
She stares at her collection
Wondering which one is her most prized possession

Crying out into the night
Cold and desperate
She decides to examine each object more closely
And let them examine her skin
In order to determine her favourite.

When you fix your heart with pieces of others whole heart
You're left with a bigger hole when they inevitably leave.

When you try heal your cuts with others kisses
You bleed more in the absence of their lips.

When you cover up your scars with love and tender words
You rip them open again when the love vanishes and the tenderness subsides.

The moral of the story is to never put yourself together with parts of someone else
Because you'll be left to pick up the broken pieces when everyone inevitably leaves.

Everyone has a book. It's their life, figuratively. Etched onto the pages of a book. But you write it as you go. In the choices you make. The things you do, say. Who you love, who loves you.
And yes, others will feature in your book. Some will put the pen back in your hand when you feel you can no longer write.

Some will be able to read your story by the look on your face, what you show by the way you act, what you say.
Others won't.
Or maybe that's you.
Maybe some of us write in invisible ink or in a language others can't understand.

You can't just erase some of the words or tear out the pages you no longer like.

Don't let someone else take over your job as Author. Don't let anyone take the pen away for you. And don't let others try control your narrative by deciding who or what can feature in your masterpiece.


In life, you'll find an actual book, or someone's story that you will fall in love with. A book that will become your bible. But make sure it's a hard copy, a hard cover, not the pages of someone's life, kissed with their story.

I know you fell in love with my story, or lack thereof. The way you couldn't decipher it, or even see the words at first.
You like the mystery, the suspense. The way you never knew what was coming next.
You fell in love with the subject matter
Genre
Writing style.
But not the author.
Never me.

I just wonder if this is the end of a chapter, or of my entire book. Because yes, you are a part of my story.

There will always be someone more important.
With parents it's always the first born.
With siblings it's always friends.
With friends it's always  partners.
With partners.... Well , I wouldn't know. I've never had one.

There is always someone more important than me.
And this is what I'll never say out loud,
Or to your face,
Because its too selfish.
I'm too selfish.
But with R.H there's S,
With C.G there's M,
With Z. D/K there's J,
With B.H it's  A,
With M.H it's  L,
With K.H it's Him,
With K.A it's himself.
With A.T it's others.
With me? I don't know.
With me it's You. It's Him. It's Them. It's anyone but myself.  

It is a selfish thought
A selfish feeling,
But I am a selfish being.
The point is. That I feel unimportant.
You tell me you love me. You tell me I'm important.
But no matter how much you say it
you love her more. She is more important.
There will always be another that is valued above me. Valued above all. And it will never be me.

And that destroys me.

That is why I always bring up our girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or person you're always with. Or person you're always talking about.
I rub it in my face.
I make sure that I know
At most
I'm second best.

*There is *always more.