I feel messy
Full of swirling colors
Blue red green black orange blue
Sad and angry and happy and apathetic and anxious
All at once
Mixing into brown slime at the bottom of my chest
Dried blood
Three new scars
Another night spent sobbing awake and trying to breathe
Three more
Messy things, emotions.

the moon is mirrored in your eyes
a glittering satellite reflecting light onto the sleepy planet below
I wish I could take your hands and tell you I hung it just for you
but I'm not god, and I don't think you'd believe me if I was

I am the god of mortality and cold
I am silent and ancient, or, I was
I have died so many times, now it is all I can think of
I have forgotten the wrong I committed that cursed me to mortality
but it must have been very wrong indeed
I can only hope one day, or lifetime, my penance will be complete
and pray to be released from this formless curse
mortality clouds me, my greatest fear and my only chance for relief
and I have no knowledge if it helps or harms to take it into my own hands
it feels better, but I keep coming back
I want to be finished
my soul is too weary for another living body

my heart is the moon
glowing pale and wan
cold light filtered through voids of flesh
shadows dancing into shapes in the crevices
beating in tides against stone
saltwater drips through my veins
an ocean of blood colder than the sea pooled behind my eyes
my lungs are the sun
roaring, empty, gasping oxygen
a shining light, shying away the moon
choking for more, desperate
words fall in sunspots, blinding, pointless
the planets align in my joints
snapping into place and crawling through orbits
asteroid belts curl behind my tongue and stars burn in my ears
cosmic, ascent complete, I look below me
the void is everything
I feel distant and spread, broken into parts
solar ice forms my teeth and I gnaw at dust
above all, I am alone

one evening, like all others in most every way,
as I wash my face, brush my teeth and prepare for the coming night,
I look farther up than my chin in the mirror over the sink.
I look up, into my eyes, staring mostly blank into my reflection's eyes.
they're thoughtful in the way a sleepy child's are, half-lidded,
vaguely thoughtful, nothing inspiring, wondering what comes next.
my eyebrows raise slightly, startled by the revelation of existing.
I exist, in a human form that is my own. every millimeter of my body is mine.
I'm frozen for seconds, maybe hours, watching myself breathe, feeling my realness so suddenly that it could crush me with the weight of actually being a person,
and then my eyes cast to the side. I break my own contact, **** in a sharp breath, and continue my routine,
to pretend I never noticed myself.

"I hate myself.
I'm so ******* worthless."
You know when you think something so much that it becomes a mantra?
You memorize each letter and you write it out a thousand times in your mind and you whisper it to yourself while you fall asleep?
You think it so many times that every time you close your eyes the words are there, painted on the backs of your eyelids and you can't ignore them at all?
Every breath in feels like preparation to say it over again and reply to the not-question posed by the universe at large over what your mantra is and you just know the answer no matter what?
Every thought loops back around to the words swimming in your head to the point you're wondering how you could have started in this world speaking anything else?
You bite your tongue and the blood tastes like those words and you just want to paint them on your skin to show the world your perfect mantra, the words that have forever been with you, that you never doubted once?
My mantra is a bad one.
I've been told, I'm not allowed to feel that way.
I have to love myself.
I have worth.
Even thinking those phrases makes my head hurt.
My mantra doesn't quell the spreading hollowness in my chest or quiet the white-noise of regret and hatred in my head.
But it doesn't make my demons angry, like the ones people force on me.
My mantra reminds me how to deal with the hollow void in my soul that tries and tries to swallow up my body and crush away everything else and leave a black hole in my place.
It tells me that with just a slim line, just a smooth slice to the wrist, I can stave off the void.
With just a small burn I can beat away the demons telling me lies.
I can convince myself to eat.
I can force my lungs to work.
I can make myself live, if I remember my mantra.
There are people who need me, broken though I am.
And I can't just let the void consume me, even if I should.
Even if its better to have this churlish waste of space
This disgusting, grating, barbarous, surly, persnickety, talentless, slow, moronic, lying, cheating scoundrel of a self wither away into nothing.
Even then.
I need to keep going.
I'm needed.

I say
No
Quite often to you.
No, you can't say things like that and expect it to not hurt.
No, you have to think before you act.
No, you don't do those things.
No, because I love you.
I love your voice.
The way you look right when you wake up and just as you fall asleep.
The things you say and the way you're important enough that it can cut me to ribbons.
Your skin.
I don't know.
Its not a ****** thing. I just need you, I love you and want to hold you
I can't explain.
So I say no.
No
I can't tell you that
Its not important
Why those scars look so new
Or that one word makes me start to sob
Or how my face is so bad at listening to my mind.
I love you.
So I'll say it again.
No.

I woke up
Sobbing
At half past noon
Because even in my dreams, I'm a failure.
I'm sure that you'd have helped me, if I told you
But its better for me to be alone.
Its better for me to leave you be.
God, I wish the sun would go down already.

I've always loved doing drugs.
I really like it.
Being numb.
I love that.
Not feeling at all,
Instead of feeling everything too much.
All at once.
Angry, happy, sad, tired, scared
All together in nasty brown.
Numb is nothing.
Numb is black, the absence of light.
Of existence.
Everything that brings me closer to nothing is me favorite thing.
Just for darkness, for nothing
I want to drown in the nothing I get when I sleep.
Its beautiful.
My friends think I should be scared of nothing
They are
So many people are scared of the possibility of nothing.
But it's so perfect
So empty and dark and lovely.
I want it to come and take over.
Nothing is so wonderful.

I grew up ignored.
Not neglected, never abused.
Ignored.
Blithely alone with people unawares of my existence besides them.
They spoke about me as though I were not there, so I learned not to be.
I spoke myself through days that stretched into years.
"Don't draw attention.
Don't speak unless spoken to.
Don't be the interesting one.
They aren't interested in you, anyway."
Siblings stole the spotlight and I let them.
'Being ignored is like being abused, kind of. '
No, not really.
Being ignored is being silent and knowing what happens even though no one else does.
Being the ignored one means that you don't have pressure to achieve; you don't exist.
You are no better
No worse
Nothing at all.
You are nothing at all.
And eventually,
You learn to appreciate that nothing-at-all feeling.
It's freeing.
You don't have to worry about things like looks because you don't get seen.
Scars are ignored because they exist on you.
Making friends, though, is hard.
"How do you share like interests when you've never been important to have any at all?"
I'd ask.
"Figure it out."
I would tell myself.
"You have before."
Take on the skins of people around you.
Be who they want you to be.
Be replaceable in that way that makes you needed.
Simpler than it sounds, really.
Being nothing is so freeing
So calming
So boring
So cold.
And empty.
Like the nothing-at-all you are.

oh, my soft heart
oh, my gentle dream
oh, my delicate soul
oh, my downy love
you are every smooth, soft, silky thing of me
you are so soft, my heart
you are so gentle, my dream
you are so delicate, my soul
you are so wondrous, my love, my sweet velvet darling

scissor cuts and pencil marks
crumple, flatten, write, cut
take out of your pocket before you wash
more than hearts, entire wholes
grind with water, spread on screens, let it dry and repeat
the deep breaths that sound like open books in a breeze
inhuman dolls, things like people
two-dimensional
we fold ourselves small
compact the colors of those ***** feelings
get lost in corners and swept under chairs
sleep between the covers of a good book
written out theories of thaumaturgy and melanokinesis
painted, torn and taped and writ three times over
tattooed trees, spineless, boneless
the kind of kid to crumple at a stiff breeze
sideways invisible
diving into the creaking cracks in the floorboard
the kind of adult to only give tiny, stinging cuts

I miss my passion
the endless roar of want and need in my throat
every possibility exciting and new
possible, even

I miss needing to know and needing to be and feeling so much
feeling everything, constantly, overwhelmed by so many things that I was lucky enough to experience

and this emptiness, this aching hollow where my heart was
nothing can fill it
where my passion ripped out of me and bled through my shirt as I repeated line after line
an empty space beneath my ribs and behind my throat

I miss explosiveness and anger
I miss crying
I miss feeling whole and real

We all own other people.
In parts.
We cut out the things we want with words and wear the pieces as badges
Medals.
Blood dripping sashes.
Words are knives and we ask for the cuts people may deign to give us
We want to be owned in those parts so we can own them in turn.
I wonder what pieces
I've let people take from me?

Red is like rain.
Okay, wait, hear me out.
Red is the color of heat
Anger
Love
Blood.
Love is like change.
Like, spring or something, right?
This new, exciting landscape of ideas and principles
And freedoms.
Rain is like change.
Rain rinses away the ***** parts of the cities
Like love for our hearts
So red is the color of love
Anger
Blood
Change
And, surprisingly,
Rain.

I was born with a broken heart.
there was a deep crack in the middle and my blood couldn't flow the way it should.
I was three when the doctors took up my red thread and sewed me together.
my heart is fixed, now.
my blood flows
with each beat
tugging at the string of fate severed before I could breathe.
I see others, following their threads, searching desperately for who has the other end.
and my hands are free of red.
there is blue, purple, green, yellow,
but not the crimson of love and loss and longing.
my broken heart is still broken,
but now it works.

Remember when you were young and dumb
And the world was new and big and beautiful and terrifying?
Remember when
You weren't embarrassed of being excited for small things?
Remember when
The flashes of things that can't be and thing that aren't
Were fairy gifts and magic being?
Remember when
You were so small, so very small
And you compressed yourself into corners and boxes
Much like you try to now.
Remember when
It was safe to tell people the things you saw
Because your imagination was healthy?

Hazy half-light mornings interspersed with giddy sleep
Silent showers and quick grooming
Breakfast maybe, chores and work and walking in my slippers.
Afternoons tense with labor and stress
Broken up by slow-falling meditative mind rain
And usually Fall Out Boy in my ears.
Quickdark evenings.
No light.
Demons aren't occupied with being scared of being burned.
Staying up until god only knows and then some
Laying in the dark and feeling panic
Ice bones, fire veins, a noose around my throat
And not even in a **** way.
Shaking, teeth chatter, eyes roll, spin, turn, off the bed.
Sit on the floor. Lay down. Room's spinning.
Stumble to the dresser.
Grab the cure.
Illegal cure, no one knows anymore.
Dulled by use, old when taken, press harder.
Crimson bubbles, drips, rolls and stains.
Demons lap it up, whisper thanks, leave.
Sun comes up, lay in the half light.
Fall asleep giddy with pain.

Saccharine sweet, you make my teeth hurt.
Open your mouth wider, look up and kiss the sky.
Listen to me, for you I won't be curt.
Close your eyes and lose it, don't be scared, say goodbye.
Cut me deeper, I like the pain.
Sometimes I like doing it alone.
Look at the clouds, drown me with rain.
It's so much better now you're home.
Bend it, break it, make me cry.
Twisting, losing, falling hard.
Breaking, losing, where am I?
*I thought I knew, it's now all charred.

Little lost lambs,
Come to me.
Bring salvation.
Sing to me your hymns,
Songs of pain and loss and death and ***,
Gathered through your sacrilegious lives.
Tell me the stories of your life,
All the wrongs you feel you've caused
The lies you've told
The lies you've kept.
Bring me your light,
The souls of wandering beasts inside you,
Burn my tired eyes.
Come to me.
Bring me your scars and fears and tell me your stories.
And then wander on.
I'll not tie you down.

I have always believed that human beings grew up wanting to be grown
and spent the time when we were wanting to try again
all the time I have known I felt this was true
and coming back to me and you I'll say it again:
life is not lived outside of original sin
and every step I take feels like a mistake
no emo lyricism here
just real fear because there's too much dark in this big broad world for anyone to shed any real light
and without light the shadows creep and crawl
and I can watch the walls but who mans the halls
all night long I wait awake
every blink and every breath I take another reason for me to fear
"major depressive disorder"
doctors croon that like a sweet lullabye
but that does nothing to dry my eyes because what?
I'm not sick, just crazy?
I'm not hurt, just lazy?
I know the pains I feel so deep
if they aren't real then neither am I
I fall short of every sunrise with color but I try
major depressive disorder according to books
(allow me to paraphrase, I can't be bothered to look again)
is categorized by an extreme feeling of hopelessness
and loss of interest and I feel they are lacking finesse
when I am told I am a sad sad soul because the world is grand and wide
and I would invite it all to come inside
but I can't and that makes me sad.
it makes me sad when I see the way people are treated.
it makes me sad and often downright defeated
and when the little flame that keeps this broken heart burning
gets washed out by the darkness of the world awake and yearning
waiting for a moment of doubt and weak
I feel so ******* meek
me, meek.
I feel like the world is collapsing but only in my chest
I feel like an infant in a bulletproof vest getting shot
my skin starts to itch and I can't scratch with my nails deep enough
and son of a ***** they don't trust me with sharp things anymore
and the scores on my arms are the times I have lost
and this battle isn't won and this is hardly a war
this is slaughter, this is me standing alone under the whole wide world and keeping it up
and this is everyone I love looking at me straining and telling me that I'm slipping up
alaska is too far south today, do I even give a ****?
depression is not a feeling of overwhelming sadness
I am not sad because of misaligned cables in my mind
I am sad because no matter how hard I try
I'm told that I am not.
but here I am still trying, standing up from my cot on the floor
and every step outside that yawning door
there are people pulling me back and slinging words that cut deeper than I ever did
and every hand that grasps my shirttails to try and pull me home like a lost little kid
leaves mars all down my back, claws that sink and ravage leaving me ****** and raw
and bleeding open and sloppy all on the floor I keep my pace, like every step will be the last straw
like every step is the last one I need to take to get away
and as I go I follow all the trails of similar blood, refreshed by people like me every day.
and I just wanted to say
I don't give a flying **** what you think you know about my scars
I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable to see my arms, the sun is out and it's 90 ******* degrees
don't lie to me and say I should be ashamed and not wear these badges like good luck charms
don't tell me my survival is offensive to your eyes because you should know without being told
these scars are here to help me grow old
when I needed to remember I was alive these scars
were fresh cuts, science experiments on a corpse brought back screaming "I'M ALIVE"
I'm not ashamed for surviving because if I were ashamed
I wouldn't be.

I have the sea in me
this terrible, ugly sea
the salt burns at my bones and the waves lick my wounds
crashing, they smash against my skull inside
agony, immense and innumerable agonies
suffered all in this great and terrible sea
all of them come together
I store them within myself,
bottle this sea up and pretend to be a person
ignoring the pleading calls of the ocean, begging I return it's missing parts

I have many secret fears
I'm scared that
My organs are autonomous and are waiting for their chance to leave me
And that
The mountains are alive and are waiting for us to overstep our bounds so they can destroy us and our fragile lives
Or
I will stretch my chest forward too far and the scar from my surgery will split and all my insides will fall out
And
That my dreams really do show the future and it isn't all in my head
And even that
I'll never mature mentally and I'll have to go the way of Peter's lost boys and be killed to keep Neverland secret from the adults
As well as
One day I might wake up and be happy, and have nothing to worry about and just have nothing to do.
I'm so scared of these things
And I don't know why.

I'm detached.
I know that's not the right word, probably.
But I don't care.
People wish they were like me
"I wish I could stop caring and just be."
Like they can choose
Like I chose.
Like I made the choice to care about what I do.
I care about myself, sort of.
I care that I do not use myself to make life ******* people I love.
But I do not care about
Succeeding
Love
Friendships
Work
Life...
I wish I cared.
I wish I could just
Fall in love with because I care about them so much
But I can't.
I'm selfish.
I want people.
I wish I needed them.
But I only want.
Want is selfish.
Want is having-not-requiring, and I only want.
I'm selfish.
Detached.
That's still not the right word.

First, you choke on an easy mouthful of air, gasping in over and over but feeling more light-headed all the while
Second, you close your eyes, taste the terror rising up the back of your throat and blocking the air from going down
Third, you shatter, feel your body falling apart and realize with a vengeance how delicate your life is
Fourth, the panic starts. you shake, scream, sob, curl up or lash out while it grabs hold of your nerves and bends your body to it's will
Fifth, you find some breath. maybe someone is helping you. maybe you're helping yourself. a wave of calm displaces every other feeling.
Sixth, you lose your body. your mind floats in a pool of nothingness while your body runs out of primitive instinct. your calm turns to numb.
Seventh, you blink. you breathe. you remember what it feels like to be in control of your body again. you drink some water, or sleep, or both. your head hurts. your mind drifts between your body and the ether. you wipe your face and try to remember what it's like to not be having an attack.
Eighth, you can't remember, because it never seems to end. you accept it. you refuse it. you hate it. you cry. your chest gets tight.

I feel like a shadow trick, things piled to look like a person

love is a sin never planned for
be unrepentant with me
be, with me, a sin your parents and your priest will never absolve
love me like you're saying a prayer, late at night, hopeful
evangelize the feeling of being in love to everyone
love me like you're singing a hymn you know by heart
exist in me as god does in everyone; in love
sin with me in adoration
pray to anyone who will listen, this is purer
a clean sin, victimless
purgatory at worst

Once upon a time
The sky turned darker than black
And I was lost
But then
There were two lights
Brighter than hope
And you stepped forward
With eyes like shiny pinwheels
And pulled me into the daylight
So
I love you.

I miss you sometimes.
When I look in your eyes and see nothing there.
And know that I'm just clinging to my memories.
And know that dreams should fall apart
When proved untrue.
I love you occasionally.
Like how the sky and wind and sun want to play with your hair.
And the moon can only wish to be as perfect as you.
And your smile is like the ocean.
And your eyes are like the sunset over top of it.
I think about you daily.
About our shared pasts.
Our possible futures.
Our little lies.
The truths
We can't dare reveal to anyone else.
I lie to you, I guess.
Saying I'm okay all the time.
Admitting defeat where there is none.
All the 'Never-mind's.
And "We're cool"s.
That really mean nothing.
I wonder nowadays.
Do you miss me?
How did you really feel?
Why do we bother?
Will you love me back?
I miss you, sometimes.

we are so very different
you, you are the moon
you are cold, glittering, distant
silvered with stardust
beautiful and wan, you are
slim and precocious, all the things you should be
of the moon
between us are lightyears of void
occasional stars that burn and burn and burn
more than we can count between us
call them a group, all the stars
call it all of them
I am a thing of the sun
I sit heavy and wet in dawn light, newly hatched each morning
I am a thing of mars, dusty and cracked
aching for water, alone with a robot
I am a thing of pluto
distant, frozen, devoid, small.
I am a thing of jupiter
huge, unstable, storming
I am a thing of the sun-touched sides of these planets
a thing of the harsher, hotter light of day
I wish to sit in the cold, watery light all of them
and your moon
would show me

I want to be spring
I want to be soft buds on tree branches, the low murmur of melting snow, the fresh blue of newly clear skies
I want to be soft, brisk wind whipping across forests and plains, animals moving as one from darkness to the world again, pollen in the air
but I'm not
I'm winter
cold, unforgiving, ice and metal and skin, the heavy blanketing of deaf snow over miles of the world
frozen branches snapping in silent nights and the retreat of all living things deeper into their homes
winter with it's dangers, it's unknown, a set of footprints in the snow leading deep into the woods and never coming out
I want to be warm and soft and new, alive again every year
but I'm not

Wake me when spring has sprung
when the cold is gone,
and skies no longer gray.
Rouse me with the cries of birds
a warm wind blown my way
and a green light in the shade.
Dress me in the blooming buds,
Let butterflies be my lips,
And raindrops as my eyes.
Replace my heart with a shining star
And fill my head with a soft white cloud.
Drip the shine of morning in my veins
And I'll have the fresh green grass for my hair.
Take my bones for branches.
Make my tears have a honey-suckle taste.
My breath would be the pollen sifting through the air.
Take me from my sleeping ground
And lay me in the fresh cold stream.
Wake me when sping is sprung,
But until then, I'm going to sleep.

The storm rages, winds pulling and pushing,
Wrapping around the legs and chests of the world,
Stealing away their breath for instants.
Cold-lipped kisses patter on their hair, the backs of their necks,
Arms of thunderstorm air wrapping round them,
Watching, the sky darkens, lightens,
Morse code.
Damp earth and wet pavement kiss sneakers and boots
And the soles of bare feet,
The earth and the sky, pressing on all sides to reach each other,
Allowing those of us here to become caught
Between them.

You put so many words in my mouth
Sometimes it's hard to breathe.
All you show me are warped faces
I look in the mirror at a monster.
Words in your voice are different
"Grateful" means subservient.
My time, my thoughts, my being are worthless
But I need to keep trying, because... Why?

my heart is full of cotton and I feel so light thinking of you
like tempered chocolate or sea foam
emotions like this are so new to me but they feel so warm
even though you'll never feel this way for me, thank you for letting me feel it for you

We promised we'd stay forever young
Not gray our hair or hold our tongue
We promised that our time would tell
A story good, and written well.
Now faces come and faces go
I've never yours forgotten, though.
I wonder, now, if you kept yours
The promise that I gave for hours.
I want to meet you soon,and just see you
And see if you have kept to it true.
Our paths, they haven't crossed in long
I fear that we both did wrong..
In hoping things wouldn't change.
You will always in my heart be strange.
Strange and perfect and lovely
And young as the days and nights
Strange and perfect and lovely.
And for an old man like me feel fright.
When we meet I'm sure to say
"You haven't changed a day."
You, of course, will then reply
"You have, I wonder why?"

to be so full of love I shine like a beacon
I want it to fill me like glowing water and drown the darkness in me
to drown when I cry
flowing light and glittering ideals
to hope, hope despite evidence that may make me stop
soft like a blanketing of snow
suffocatingly, deafeningly, consumingly soft
love like a fist and hope like sea and stones and the endless rhythm of tides
to be soft and loving and hopeful
tasting blood and cracking knuckles, to be loving, to be soft
to never be hurt again

A lifetime of wrongs
Wrought by insensitive hands.
Grasping like prongs
And, well, as it stands,
I'm ******* ******.
There's nothing left but this.
All the chances, you missed.
So give my fist a kiss.
You're gonna bleed, you're gonna die
I'll burn your past, I'll skin you live,
Before you open that mouth and ask "why",
I don't care, take a ******* dive.
I can't stand you breathing
You made me mad, and don't you see?
It all ends, in a ****** wreathing.
And you bet your *** you'd better be scared of me.

You called me the moon and stars
The sun to your sky,
The rainclouds too.

But all I ever wanted was to watch your sky.
I never meant to live in the space between the stars.

my bones are quartz
my heart a horse
my eyes are dew
I'm nothing but a compilation
or emulation
of things I see in you

he whispered
"I love you"
but it was too quiet
so he said it again,
with a closed fist.
eventually
it only sounded right like that

let's lay in my bed and
talk about the end of the world and
how much I hate my mom and
how much you hate your hair and
pretend we don't have to figure out what to make this

Apathy is the stones waves of emotion cast you against
Until your body smashes open
Fills with saltwater
Heavy-wet lungs
Sting
Cold as the ocean

on purpose, on purpose.
I will not love you on accident.
I did not wake up suddenly overwhelmed.
I am quite whelmed, honestly.
but with my head up, my eyes open, my arms held wide aloft,
I am walking face-first into loving you.
the stains on my teeth from where I bit back
should scare you off, would scare me away.
but your hands are raw with fighting back.
I want to love you on accident. I want the surprise, the shock, the explosive horror of being so uncontestably tied to someone else that I cease even to be my own body.
but this is better. maybe less movie worthy, less poem worthy, but better.
I look at you and see your flaws, and think how they mirror my own.
and I want to be here, fully here.
on purpose, I think of you.
on purpose, I am loving you.

I wander when I'm alone.
I walk for as long as I can.
I've gone miles before
Gotten lost, even.
I get lost a lot.
I feel better when I'm lost.
Losing myself physically helps me feel less bad
About losing myself mentally.
You know?
I like storms for that reason.
I can walk out in a thunderstorm and be lost to the world for a while.
And drown in the rain.
And it's wonderful.
People never suited me, not really.
I love my friends.
My family is important to me.
I'm sure I could become dependent of one person's fancy if I chose to.
But wind
And water
And ice
And loss
And the smell of the sea beating the rocks into sand.
Those are the things I need more.
So I wander.
I wander for miles sometimes.
I get lost a lot.
It makes me feel better.
You know?

I put a bottle by my bedside
Before I went to sleep
To replace the liquid lost
From the times I weep
I closed my eyes to rest
And it was suddenly very near.
So I thought I'd climb inside
And wait to disappear.
I settled at the bottom
And waited for some sap
To come and fill the bottle
With water from the tap.
All the time that this was happ'ning
I was sleeping very well.
Having thought my fate was sealed.
And dreaming I was in hell.

This is for you, if you're like me.
For you who always did your best even though it would never be enough.
You who is alive but not happy about it.
You, who despite all odds, has survived.
You who can't remember what being happy was like without the melancholy tinge of real life.
You who finds solace in being alone but who feels guilty not visiting.
You who love body modification not for the artistic benefits but because that pain is allowed.
You who dodges questions about your clothing choices because yes you know it's too warm for a sweater but there are scars you need to hide to feel safe.
You who drew words of anger and pain in your skin with blades.
You who tries to be good, to not want that sweet sting of bloodletting.
You who still, sometimes, fails.
You who wakes up sobbing and doesn't know why.
You who is always to blame.
You whose voice is constantly warped into "I'm sorry".
You who can hear their inner voice screaming "Useless useless useless useless useless" over even the loudest music.
You who can easily watch their friends walk away, because its okay, they're better off.
You who gets headaches;
Stomach pains;
Back problems;
And more but ignores them because you're only worth as much as you can do.
You who believes everyone is beautiful; Except you, you're a one in seven billion chance of not being beautiful.
You who realizes how ridiculous and egotistical you are with sentiments that everything is your fault and you're so worthless.
You who can't stop saying it.
You who hates yourself more than anyone ever could.
You who is scared of being hurt, but hopes for a knife in their back when they walk down a dark street.
You who is perfectly different from everyone else but such a sheep you could puke.
You who is like me
But not.
You who are precious, loved, needed and so worthwhile.
You who are top ******* yourself.
You who I don't know and maybe never will, but who still deserves to be happy.
You who I hope finds your happiness.