Poetry has become my self harm,
I only write at my lows...
Instead of blood I see words,
Instead of a blade I have a keyboard...

I want to write about...
The wind dancing with the sea...
Or...
The way you smile and it lights up your innocent face...

I don't want poetry to be my self harm,
Because poetry is beautiful...
An art...
Not.
Just.
Blood.
And.
Scars.

I believe that thoughts at 3 am are the most pure of thoughts. What may run through one’s mind at that point is what they truly care about, their deepest fears, their most secret desires. The things that define them as a person.

When It is either late at night or early in the morning, and I can’t tell which one anymore, I think about life. What is the reason I am alive? Why was I put on this earth? Why am I not some kick *** alien from a faraway planet?

I think about every mistake I have made, the stupid things I have done and said.

I think about what I will do when I inevitably have to remove my bracelets and the long sleeve shirts. Or what will happen if my family finds out that I am getting bad again. What might happen when they notice that most of my meals are replaced by water, and how I spend more time alone than before.

I think about how I wish I was different, how much I wish I was free from my own mind.

I think about how much I miss my friends, both new and old.

I think about my sister, and how she is beautiful, and how she is so much like me, but there is more hope for her.

I think about how much I want to tell you that I care about you. How much I wish I could save you, how much I want to tell you that it will be okay, but I can’t because I’m not even sure about that myself.

I remember what it is like to be a child. So innocent, undamaged, unaware that the nervous feeling that was always lurking inside me would never leave, in fact it would only get worse.  

I think about how much I overthink, which is kind of counter intuitive...

I think about how I want to be like my friends, who can live so normally. While I can’t make phone calls, or talk to people without having a panic attack.

I think about how much I want to tell my family I love them, that I need them, but I can’t because caring is weakness. Because I don’t want to accept the fact that without them I am nothing but bad jokes and endless issues.

I think about what would happen if the ceiling were to collapse, killing me instantly and I wonder if anyone would care, or even remember me once I am gone.

I think about how long it has been since I have had more than a few hours of sleep.

It is either late at night or early in the morning, and I am thinking again. Which is decidedly one of the most dangerous things I can do.

It's hard to say goodbye, when you have barely said hello.