I open up my bleeding heart and let it leak upon you
Let it stain your skin, let it blur whatever sure sight you had

For whatever reason, you welcome it
Now soaked in my blood, I look upon you and realize

How ugly I am

The life force my heart pumps
Barely enough to keep me alive
Weak in the light and strong amongst lies

I am not your lighthouse
I am my own ship, lost at sea

I am as ***** and worthless
As the one who first crushed me.

I am at a constant war with myself
Whether I should cake-face or remain nameless
Comfort in my own flesh...
I have never known it.

How do I further beautify this body I despise?
Not so that I love myself more, but to inspire a fire -
Your lust, your desire?

Resilience is the most cursed gift
The hand that never tires of holding
And how eager the heart is to hurt.

Forged between the veils of anger
Of sorrow
Of wretchedness.

We beg like children
To never feel the heat of the same tears
Wetten our faces.

But the past shall repeat.
But the past shall repeat.
But the past shall repeat.

I work hard.

I break myself for the better.

I choke on my own exhaust.

I sob on the long walk home.

I lash out intermittently, as if someone would care about my struggles.

I cry for help.

I snap at the hands that reach to touch.

Like a wounded animal.

Screaming.

Fighting.

For what?

Where is the line between fighting and dying?

My demons are my best friends
The ones who hold me in my times of need
Who press themselves into me
Without me ever asking
Despite my protests

They sow the seeds of anguish
Amongst the fields I reign
Like plague they reap
Before I may ever thaw.

I used to paint myself to plastic perfection. By the buzzing light of my squalid bathroom, I would paint a portrait of a queen on an otherwise less stunning, far less beautiful canvas. Synthetic eyelashes, artificial pigments and all, I was something to devour.

And as I adorned myself in little more than lace and elastic, I felt less like a plastic gem. I felt far more like a diamond, primed and ready to be displayed to an endless array of lost souls from every dark corner of the internet.

I had never been more lauded in my life. I was some sort of ethereal creature to worship.

But only as much as I was a ***** to purchase.

And all too quickly, the gems lost their sparkle. The tokens lost their shine, and I lost that glimmer in my eye.
As much as I was a work of art to inspire, I was cheap, and thrown together. Meant to be torn apart.

And now, so many people own so many parts of me. So many secrets.
I cannot even own myself.