I had never liked my name until i heard you say it. Watching the syllables roll off your lips while they slip into a smile is equivalent to watching our hometown pass away through an open window, the serene sensation of the wind blowing through my hair, and blowing away the person i used to be. You found the words to erase the self-portrait my brush always seemed to repaint, no matter how hard i tried to change the ending.
When i asked you what your favourite food was, you said it was just dinner- home cooked chicken and potatoes. You said it reminded you of the easier days when a sunburn after a day at the beach was the worst thing that could ever happen to you.
On the night that was the very beginning of the rest of our lives, In that moonlit cabin, I realized i would be happy passing my days just listening to you talk.
I am a master at opening old wounds, Scars cover my legs from the bug bites i can never stop picking no matter how many times my mother tells me i am only going to make them worse. It is in my nature to
Pick and pick and pick,
no matter the blood shed or the pain inflicted.
Like a moth to flame, i was drawn to you and our endless cycle of break up, make up, love you, hate you, love you so much, It did not matter the
months and months and months
i spent picking up the pieces of my heart, i would always let you take out the stitches.
I used to think you were my forever, that one day we would own a big log cabin in the woods, and i would wake up to your face each morning and think, "We made it."
My words, like me, have grown empty of meaning. No rhythm, no depth, no feeling My words, like me, have become boring and plain. No spice, no depth, no pain. My words, like me, are now nothing more than ordinary.
I sit all by myself Sip Drink my coffee Puff Smoke my cigarette I think there must be more to life than this
I sit all my myself Write Scribe out my thoughts Sob Cry my stress away I think of all my friends I have grown to miss
I sit all my myself Listen Eavesdrop on conversations Speak Talk only to my hands I think about how much i keep inside
I sit all my myself Excluded Left out of the laughs Vanish Its like I'm invisible I think no one would care if I died
I sit my myself I always sit by myself Maybe i can't connect with others Or maybe they can't connect with me I laugh by myself I cry by myself Maybe this is how life works Or maybe I'm just incomplete.
I sit all alone I'm always all alone In my pain , I am caught I'm empty I'm broken I'm begging please Just sit beside me , and distract me from my thoughts.
They say "When you grow up, your heart dies." My heart? My heart has been dying for a decade. (Somehow it's still beating) It wasn't until I found myself In some strange men's beds, On the bathroom floor, So deperate to feel alive, To feel anything at all, That I realiezed I've already grown up.
I've been dead inside for years.
She stole my innocence when I was merely 4 years old. Along with the bottles my "unconditionnal love" for him was gone too. All these drugs, I swore I'd never do. These cigarettes, Have broken the last of my rules. The razors I used to not know what were for (Let alone, understand how someone could get pushed so far.) Have all made their marks on me Literally I look in the mirror and I hardly recognize the reflection, And I see all my lonely nights painted upon my skin. I've been told you can ******* heavy heart on my lips. Smell the smoke. Touch the scars. I've grown into the person I swore I'd never become.
When your cigarette doesn't ash and the cherry keeps on burning, and the way the smoke looks when it's lost it's way in the air, and how people inhale the fumes like oxygen even though they know it's killing them.
The look of tears flowing from your eyes that match the red ribbons flowing out of your wrist, and the look of healed scars, and how behind each one there's a story that might never be told.
Empty people sourrounded by empty ***** bottles, and the way the alcohol burns their throats, but they keep on drinking it anyways.
The dead looks in people's eye when they're advoiding something they don't want to talk about, and the way screams feels when they crawl up your neck.
The way the moon hides behind the clouds because it too cries sometimes and wants to be alone. Old photographs that show your process of losing your inncocence,and your process of slowly dying. The sharp keys on the piano and how the piercing noise hurts your ears and rings in the air. The feeling of letting go. Old heartbreaking love letters. The calls for help no one really hears. The feeling of kisses when they really don't mean anything other than you're lonely. The clock that makes every sinking second sitting in the hospital room feel like decades.
The way I can find beauty in everything around me, but I can't seem to find an ounce of beauty in myself.