do not romanticize the weapons with which
this world has mauled you.

love,
except what i see
in you.

i am the aftermath of war,
the tidings that you dread.
the heart when very sore
in a lonely unmade bed.

i find you in the darkness,
alone at 4am,
when guilt is but a wilderness
and night is at an end.

you see me in the shadows
of a long-forgotten grave;
in alleys that are narrow
and seldom ever paved.

you hear me in the sobbing
of a child lost from home;
in the cries of a wolf howling
at the pale and distant moon.

you call me something different
in each corner of your earth,
but recognize me even in
foreign looks and words.

sorrow is a pretty way
to give despair a name,
but sometimes you cannot say
so much in words so tame.

the sky flings rain on grass and window screens
flowers grow
but glass just blurs like tears

I like to think I'm mysterious dark leave you delirious like a dream but I'm just a ****** up girl, not a French girl, just a girl with wide eyes on SSRIs who wishes she could do pills again so that she could fly and people tell me I look like a model- a model of what? Of what not to do in life? Of ******* yourself? Of how to
crumble like a $5 forever 21 highlighter in the sun and
play with guns and
have too much fun until
the crash hits and the cigarette's lit and the mania wears off and it's just me myself and I all alone at home thinking of the next girl or guy,
        I'm not a French girl- I'm a throw a wrench in it girl, I smell like stress sweat and unpaid rent and guerlain perfume that I can't afford and all I want is to drown because I'm so ******* bored with FEELING! LIKE! ****! take another hit in the self esteem, an indica dream and cry in the shower where they can't hear you scream, no brother no father just a deadbeat daughter with eyeliner that slaughters and way too many people who've been beating up on her

do you ever read a book that wakes you up inside