There is just some places you won't fit in,
Some people you just can't win.
There's just some people.

My last cigarette,
Burned to the stub.
A roar of panic,
Settling in.
Like waves they crash against my strong-will to disdain and discomfort me.
How unsettling.
Withdrawals are the worst.
Must make love to the addiction.
One.
Last.
Time.

Ever since I was a girl.
I knew what it felt like to do good, to be genuinely good. In return, I humbled myself at seeing the glistening faces of glee looking at me.
But in the reflection of their pearlesent whites, I had gazed upon my smile an mixture of dispear.
Counciously conversating with myself what I did that day. Critizing what I could have done better.
Everyday is like this for me, there will be no end. Hand in hand we walk, my sickness,
my friend.

I don't see the resemblemce,
to this person in the mirror.
Who plays and arrays all of my thoughts,
the voice ringing through my ears.
I don't recognize myself anymore,
I don't think I want to..
I'm in fear.
Not of who is near,
but who is it? This person.
Inside of here?
Lonely and knocking on your back door.

Laying here,
In my bed, while visions of you flow like liquid through my head.
I caress my skin, like I imagine you would do,
but how could someone ever love me like you?
I feel the hurt in my gut begin to form,
Bubbling and oozing inside of me like a storm.
When it subsides, I hope I'm no longer.
No longer than a mere' regret.
I hope you get what you get.
Laying here in my bed, holding this razor in my hand,
Here I go.. Into velvet oblivion.
The last poem of a hopeless lover.

We don't have much,
But this mess.
Sometimes we clean it up, but by the next day we've unfolded it again.
The destruction of a bitter sweet love  manifestation.
Let's lay in pieces together.