I was clean for a couple months, I'm not really sure how long, I stopped counting on things a while ago.
I'm not talking about drinking, *** or drugs, as i continue to indulge myself in those pleasures, but to a limit. I've never been one to lose myself at the bottom of a beer glass, or let ***** slink down my throat, although I do enjoy the feeling of warmth on my skin, it's soothing, for a change.
Alcohol is a reminder of him, No not a  break up or lost lover, I  wish it was as painless as that. It is more about abuse. The emotional and physical torture of him, how he laughed as his words slurred almost as quickly as my life faded and self harm became a sinister escape from this dooming thing we call, reality.
I thought I was okay. The doctors said I was, that's why they let me leave on the condition of pills but I felt useless having to rely on a smile in a bottle to make me feel, nothing, because I felt too much, at least that's what the nurses said. They wanted me to feel numb, so I did. I let the colour from my paintings disappear with salty tears and the dance in my soul snap,
I became grey in a black and white world, I didn't belong in.
So I stopped taking them and maybe that was the critical error in this sequence, but it felt so good to breathe for once. I could feel crisp air in my blackening lungs and as oxygen seeped it's way through my wilting body, I began to grow petals.
Only I'm not a flower nor a beauty, quite frankly I see myself as the opposite. I'm more like the watering can that feeds my friends and those around me, I guess I cut pieces of me apart in order to give it to others but that's what feeling alone does to you.

It's taken six years and a lifetime of strength to battle these demons that use my happiness to feed on. I pushed away the feelings of before, I tried to ignore, but I failed. I was told to reach out to someone before I let the blades touch me so I tried but I was ignored. Acid tears fell from my dimming blue eyes and without hesitation blades returned and ripped my pale skin, pale in colour and life. I'm told I see beauty in everyone, but never in myself and perhaps that's why the Crimson red looked beautiful on my canvas because there was colour on me. I felt alone and the shiver to my bones but I was found.
Perhaps it's a sign that I should try this living thing, one more time.

Strip down to your
Pixilated skeleton
Unless someone tells you,
you'd never
know
Where you
came from

Feel the pull from the
yellow sun  
peel away the sky
and discover
On whats under
underneath
    
You don't need to
crawl on needles
and nails
to understand
we are frail

I'm a circus on a sinking ship
I asked the clowns to walk to plank
But the jokes won't quit

Yellow balloons
Big noses
Red shoes
And squirting roses

The laughs from ashore
Rival the tides
Coming in waves

Left by my own side

The bow is starting to crack
Under the pressure of the lion
Jumping through its fiery hoop

The shrouds once held tight
Now they are fraying
And starting to droop

An iceberg would be welcomed but we are in hot water

Not even a shark insight
I've been leaking blood

But still not a one to bite

The world has no place for us
The creative, the introverted, it only accepts the best as that is its crutch
To depend on humanity's strange idea of perfection
Day in and day out, through both peace and times of insurrection
The awkward ones, the deep thinkers and the people that go by logic as well as the spirit
That speak their own truth onto the world until someone wises up and hears it.
The world has no place for you or me
To be an outsider, an outlandish freak seems to be our destiny.

The world has no place.... so we should do what we do best.... create.