I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.

It all started last week, when we walked down the hall,
I said that I loved you, that I’m yours above all,
You looked into my eyes, with much disbelief,
Not knowing what I knew, what was underneath.

It hurt really much, that you declined me,
But I knew and I know, that we could never be,
It was hopeless from start, from end, and from now,
How could I dismiss, how could I allow.

You was the girl of my life, and I know you still are,
But it feels like I was hit by a large, big freight car,
Dark contemplation, don’t now what to do,
I can’t live like this, I have to follow through.

I’m lost and adrift, can’t find my way back home,
It faithfully feels, like I’m stuck in a dome,
Nothing can bring me back, I'm too far way down,
The only option left, is to let me drown.

I can feel it myself, that the end is near,
We have to cohere, but it’s still to severe.

I would convince you to love me
if only I could understand the reason
for what my whole being goes through
by the very thought of you..

When you break a bone in your body from a part which had never given you any sensation throughout your life
and whose existence was merely implied by its basic function,
suddenly as it brakes and gives such immense pain
That pain is processed in your brain which it identifies the source
and as it does, it recognises the existence of that bone..

But if the pain is out of an emotion,
as your brain tries to figure out the source and nature of the source,
you realise how less even your brain knows about you.
And as your brain starts to delve into this part of you,
as it tries to see you,
you give it an image of yourself.
It can be an honest image if you have the courage to see the truth..
or just a bunch of lies - and it depends on how honest your insight is, and how painful the truth is..

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.
Something comforting.
It is a comfort only very damaged people understand- the tacit agreement to cause pain, and to receive it.
Pleasure is for people who have what they want.
But for those of us who are starving, ours is best peppered with suffering.
Being with someone who understands that carries its own worth-
I don't want you to make me feel good.
I couldn't stand it if you did.
I don't want you to touch me gently, or ask if I'm alright, or stop to look into my eyes.
I am starving, and so are you: I want your teeth.
I want you to make me hurt. And I want to hurt you.
I want you to hurt me because I'm not him, and I want to hurt you because you're not her.
We want to see each other suffer because we are starving and we need to feel that someone else is.
Don't hold back. I want you to lower me because I'm too good for her.
Don't love me, don't caress me. Dig your nails in. Drip candlewax on my stomach.
One step down from torture is all I can stand in the way of human connection, when it isn't her.
Punish me for looking at her like a baleful puppy tonight, even as you waited in my room with your soft skin and your sharp teeth.
There is nothing you can do that will be too violent, too brutal, too sadistic.
I don't want to be loved right now.
I am too raw.
I want to be touched. I want to be ruined. Leave marks. Smear lipstick.
Lower me because I am
Too
****
Good for her.
Let this heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs don't matter.
Help me **** it. Help me pin my demons to the bed and make them writhe, and I will do the same for you.
Let's exorcise our loves tonight and banish them to hell.
Let's tell our skin that it is irrelevant.
Let's say "*******" to the things that bind us. I will cut your heart out for him.
I will kiss your scars, not to heal them but to remind you that when you put them there you fought for something, something we both fight for now.
Hurt me. Fight her. Do it for her.
Do it for her because I'm not good enough to hurt.
Do it for her because I'm TOO good to hurt.
Crush me.
You could boil me alive and it wouldn't make up for her, so at least leave me bruised.  
I will give you what you need, and you will give me what I need: not love, but contact.
Please,
Let my heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs
Don't
Matter.

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.

Hope is an understanding that the self at present and the self of future are different.
Hope is a belief in change.

Change in self is influenced by ones decision and ones reaction to circumstances.
Hope is a belief in free will.

Trust in self can let actions and decisions to be arising out of ones free will.
Hope is ones measure of self.