"Why don't you write something happy?"
Because it'd be a lie.
So no I won't write something happy,
not while I want to die.
Poetry isn't something choose,
it isn't just a skill that I use,
I can't make it stop, it's not my choice,
they're not my ideas, they're just in my voice.

People are considered blank canvases from the moment they are born. I guess that's why self harm has become so romanticized. Truth be told, there's nothing more intimate than the relationship between a girl and her blade. The way it whispers sweet melodies as it glides across her milky skin like a sled on snow. The way blood drips as if seeing the Crimson could do more healing than any apology would. I guess that's why she does the things she does. Maybe that's why she can't be saved. Soon enough she will be scarred in ways beyond the eye's view; her sleeves hiding ***** secrets she dare not tell.

She says it makes her feel alive, but I wish she realized only the dead go six feet under.

Wisps
Of words
Drift down slowly as
She sits,
Invisible and forgotten.
Huddled,
As the world caves down on her.

Even though no one notices her,
They all point,
Stare,
And scorn.

An outcast,
Not knowing the reason why
They talk about how
"Dangerous"
She is.

Rumors and gossip spread like wildfire,
Burning her the worst,
Third degree burns to the soul.

They never realized how
Close to the edge
They pushed,
Until she jumped,
And put out the fire forever.

I look through a pane
Of glass
All I see is failure
Will glory
Ever show
Only the minutes
That pass will tell
Each minute gets slower
As shadows set in
As darkness captivates my soul
I only deepen
The hole I'm in
It's like a grave of sorrow
I see the skeletons of my past
Rise and haunt
My only existence
This isn't the life
I want to live
Especially at this dreary pace

Stars, don't mock me,
Looking down
Without a care in the world.
Challenging me,
Who will be next?
I admire your beauty
And fear
Your ruthlesness.
Do you really need another
To join your ranks?
Leave her with me,
I pray.
Your world will be
No different
With her in it,
Yet mine will be
So much the worse
Without her.