jul Jul 22
i should sleep but dream has become reality and i can no longer close my eyes in fear that it'll disappear to nothing.
the absence of you reminds me of quiet evenings where i'd lay down staring at the white ceiling above me
and the silence was never more peaceful than those moments of feeling like nothing but everything.
i miss you.
           good night.
jul Jul 16
i know you want to believe that i am perfect,
but i cannot guarantee it.
scars from scabs decorate my legs and even marred my back.
i'm afraid to wear skin-tight dresses for my body is not ideal.
i know you want to believe that i am perfect,
but i cannot guarantee it.
for while you are absent at the moment, i think of the possibilities of you finding a coefficient for an expression that equals a positive integer; a whole.
thinking of the time that has not been given to me, the possibility of it being given to another.
maybe i am too attached.
maybe i am too insane.
i am not an intellectual,
just someone rambling and scrambling their words to make it seem as if i am.
i am not perfect, by all means.

because on messy days, i cannot even look at myself.
because the knots in my hair resembles the knots in my chest and i cannot even untangle them.
because no matter how often you tell me im beautiful, i cannot find the truth there, and that is a real shame.
i am not perfect, so please, don't hold me to that expectation.
might edit.
jul Jul 15
be loved
love back.

be forgotten.
jul Jul 12
What am I writing for?
Who am I writing for?
I'd like to say that I'm writing for myself to obtain purpose, but yet i think of those that will read this, and think of what they think.

The lights strung around my mirror are beginning to sleep.
The fan never seems to be exhausted despite constantly running in circles.
My skin becomes irritated by the nagging of my fingernails.

I've become tired of my mind, and it has become tired of me.
3 am thoughts
  Jun 21 jul
i've bitten my tongue so much
that it bleeds because it stops me from talking,
helps to keep the peace.
it stains my lips red as a reminder
that your words can start wars,
hurting those around you and
leaving destruction in their wake.
for what is the worth of the blood of one
when it has saved the lives of many?
You impacted me in a way I can't put into words. You saved me, but, in the end, no one could save you. I'm sorry this is how your story had to end. You'll live on.      r.i.p. xxxtentacion
jul Jun 21
im declining, deteriorating, diminishing.

i spent weeks fixated on only your happiness that i forgot to find my own.
i spent weeks wasting my words.
my feelings drained through an iv that which you have decided that you don't need anymore.
ripped from your veins, i drip onto the solid sheet vinyl flooring.
para ti. y ahora no soy nada.
i spent weeks craving your touch and while you let your words travel down my thighs, trickle down my tinted pink lips,
i imagined of what we could have been, now i imagine of what we were.
i spent weeks building kingdoms, placing our fantasies in citadels and while your voice lined the empty halls,
mine never seemed to echo along with yours.
now these walls are empty. they have crumbled at our feet, unable of resurrection.
i bathed in illusions and imagination was my drink.
now that i am sober, i realize.

para ti. y ahora no soy nada.
Since your "I'm sorry" seemed to prove flase, how am I supposed to believe that your "I love you" was genuine?
jul Jun 19
i try to grasp onto the words that slip back down my throat but they fall into piles until they are hills and soon those become mountains.
they crumble into dust and words disperse among my untouched mind
so that i cannot decipher what it is i wanted to say.
they rest in the cracks of my fractured mind and ignore my silent requests.
their bones are shattered from constant use;

i think that even i have gotten tired of myself.
currently suffering w/ laryngitis :)
Next page