i find myself thinking a lot about death and what it means to be alive and i wonder if it is ever going to end but if the pain of my short existence is foreshadowing a larger void that i will be trapped in until i end, an inescapable spiral. although i do not have years on my side i know myself, i know my heart, and it leads me to question whether age really does mean wisdom; will i someday learn happiness?

you keep telling me to stop apologising for my own existence and that i shouldn’t be sorry for who i am but i can’t stop i can’t stop how can i believe you when every moment i am awake i feel like hiding, when my actions feel like grenades going off and nobody quite realising the damage until its too late, when i choke back the lump in my throat whenever i see my reflection or think of you how, how, how

i would have given you anything
been your anything
you were my everything
i was all yours
and now i'm just your ***** secret

someday you will ache
your heart will harden and shatter in your chest
and I hope like hell that the person that can hold you together
and warm your frozen bones
isn't 1000 miles away
kissing someone else's skin

and so I surrounded myself in bright colours, and tiny little flowers,
I started going to sleep at normal times and in the morning I would brush my hair,
I learned to smile,
but the truth is,
I still love the rain.