When the night comes out
                                 So does the blade and tears.


When the day comes out
             so does the smiles and sweatshirt

                    
                                                    When your home alone
                                                              the thoughts eat you alive


                    & when your home alone to long...


  you feel unsafe... unsafe at your home?



            Home should be safe...



                                                    So when home isn't safe then what is safe?

When she speaks,
She speaks the truth
Listen.

When she hopes,
She hopes with all her heart
Hear her out

When she laughs,
She can brighten up any room
Laugh with her

When she cries,
Her pieces thought to be glued together come apart
Hold her

When she loves,
It's like no other feeling
Love her back

When she writes,
She writes out her story with beautiul words
Read it

Because when she writes,
She's writing the words she can't find to speak

When she loves,
She's loving like she yearns to be loved

When she cries,
She's letting out everything she's been holding inside

When she laughs,
She is reminded that in reality, happiness is still so very far away

When she hopes,
She hopes in vain;
For every 11:11 wish,
Ends in tears spilling,
And broken promises,

But when she speaks.
It is rare-
She is habitually silent
For when she speaks,
No one listens.

Fake smile,
           Dried eyes,
                       Scratched wrists,
                                         Bruised thighs,
                                                         White pills,
                                                                      Rope tied,
                                                                                Gun loaded,
                                                                                                     *Suicide.

She paints a pretty picture,
But her story has a twist-

Her paint brush is a razor
And her canvas is her wrist

She paints a pretty picture
In a color that’s blood red
While using her sharp paint brush
She ends up finally dead

Her pretty picture’s fading
Quite slowly on her arm
The blood is not racing through her
She can no longer do harm

She painted her pretty picture
But her picture had a twist-
You see her mind was her razor

And her heart was her wrist

I am who I am;
no one else.
I wonder who you are;
deep inside.
I hear the slamming of keys on a typewriter;
faster, faster.
I see beyond this dimension;
the Earth is minuscule.
I want excitement;
a strange bond by words.

I am stronger than I think.

I pretend my issues don't exist;
burry them in the caverns of my soul.
I feel the warmth of your caress;
my body pulsating with love.
I touch my hip bones;
wondering if they'll always be there.
I worry my life will be incomplete;
somehow stolen from under me.
I cry for the souls who fell short;
into the hands of a living death.

I am reincarnated.

I understand very little;
this is only the beginning.
I say nothing when I should say something;
silence is the only sound.
I dream of peace;
remove the panic.
I try everything;
nothing left undone, nothing left untouched.

I am who I am; no one else.

Mirror, Mirror,* on my wall,
I just want to be thin, pretty and tall.

Mirror, Mirror, if I change my hair,
Maybe someone will start to care?

Mirror, Mirror, if I starve myself,
At least I’ll be beautiful, forget my health.

Mirror, Mirror, if I cut my wrist,
Will I feel like I exist?

Mirror, Mirror, don’t you see?
What you show, is ruining me.