You sang to my body
with your lips,
and when I fell
I was expecting arms
strong enough to catch me.
But instead,
you let my body hit the ground
and you danced around the mess you made
so you wouldn't get my blood
on your shoes.
I am trying to clean up
the crime scene you have made of me,
I am trying to rip away the caution tape,
and hide the stains,
but no one touches me anymore
because they see what you did,
and they don’t want to be another
building I jump off of.

I was eleven, wondering why everyone was so much happier than I was.

I was twelve, I thought, "Is this really all it is?"

I was thirteen, I knew I wasn't doing something right.

I was fourteen, sitting in the bathtub of my own tears.

I was fifteen, wanting to rip my veins open.
I was fifteen, scratching at my skin.
I was fifteen, staring at that risky bottle of pills.
I was fifteen, plotting to give up.

I was fifteen; I wanted to be dead.

But I realized, I died far long ago.

I roll my feelings up
and burn them to the ground
I enjoy the sound
of silent crying
I only want the things
that cannot be bought
I enjoy to shout
I've been smoking a lot
and starting to doubt
if i'm breathing you in
or smoking you out.