If I died today, who would mourn my passing?
Who would lie and say that we were "so close" when I barely got a smile walking down the hall at school?
Who would blame themselves?
Would anyone be happy that I'm no longer a burden?
Would anyone confess their long secret love for me?
Would I even leave the slightest impact?
I sure hope so.

Your words ring through my head like a church bell on Sunday mornings
I get down on my knees praying for another chance
I drench my sorrows in a communion cup filled with wine
I kneel down and try to recollect what your touch felt like
My friends all preach to me about moving on
I read through your handwritten love notes like they're the bible

Everything is falling apart right now including my lungs
My feelings are fraying to their ends
Everything is blurring together
I can't tell the difference between the ***** and my tears

My scars are not ******* beautiful
The thought of someone carving into themselves just to feel something should not be romanticized The numbness that ran throw my veins and made my blood run cold is not something to publicize My body shame is not something that i take pride in.
Boasting about hurting yourself is so unethically wrong it makes my skin craw. Now spreading the word and making these problems known is appropriate. In fact it is necessary. So many young adults and teenagers go through this horrific battle alone. They think they're going absolutely insane but little do they know that there is someone a phone call away that can safe them from this treacherous addiction.

I crave to feel your fingers linger on my fragile surface.
I long for you to grip onto my heart and feel how fast you make it flutter.
I wish for you to search my eyes and see the twinkle that you placed in them.
I wait for you to twist my tongue into knots like the ones that are forming in my stomach