I'm your poet, I'm your pain
I'm your forever never was
In the black chill lake
Right at moonlight
Listen as I hide my scream
Dressed as a ballad.

I'm your sculptor, I'm your sanity
I'm your always and forever
Colorless hallucinations
A nostalgia induced sight
Hold me gently in a second
Then vanish before I wake up

I'm your painter, I'm your dream
I'm your never looking back
Blinding lights of evermore
Baggy jeans and icy grins
Baby we were an eclipse
Ephemeral like my wish.

i slip
          under the ice

i bang on the surface
                              and yell

no one hears
                   my cries
                                  for help

the air leaves my lungs

                  “why should i try?

                                                  if no one cares”

i slip
                              under the surface

        the breath

                   choked out

                                                of my lungs

falling

          freezing

                      floodin­g

                                   engulfing

overwhelming

farewell,

o

cruel


world

i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
                    30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.

i remember the scratching sound of the record player
i remember the sharp blade of the scissors as the dim light reflected
i remember the noise of the cars 4 stories below
i remember the pills i thought of dying from so many times
i remember getting so acquainted with death that i tried to join him
i remember the red lines on my wrist
i remember feeling the sharp sting
i remember the music giving me life
i remember the music making me feel things that i don't feel
i remember the lights
i remember fading away
i remember my phone wallpaper
i remember the music taking me away
i remember blades of grass, so sharp in the morning sun
i remember sitting in my window nook as it rains
i remember the noise
i remember shutting down
i remember foggy mornings
i remember not talking
i remember not moving
i remember not being able to breathe
i remember the streetlights
i remember not feeling like myself
i remember looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger
i remember the sound of a fountain pen on parchment paper
i remember the taste of lemonade in the summer
i remember cloth scraping against flesh
i remember ribs poking through translucent skin
i remember dizziness
i remember the hunger
i remember the sun
i remember the rain
i remember drawing with posca markers on my arm
i remember dancing in puddles
i remember slightly too long sleeves
i remember my first concert
i remember playing piano
i remember feeling the sun on my face
i remember the feeling of the car as it speeds up
i remember watching ride the cyclone in my best friend's basement
i remember the cuts
i remember the red marks
i remember the hunger
i remember the hunger
i remember the hunger

im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im fine
but the scissors cut deeper and deeper every time
im ok
im ok
im ok
im fine
but lying in by bed, i start to think its my time
im ok
i say
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
im ok
































im not