5am and i’m still awake
waiting for a sign
wondering if you even know
how to live with this pain.

i may have dug the hole
but you pushed me into it
now i’m stuck down here
buried in this mess

happiness slips
right through me.
like i was born
with holes.

“you can go,” i told him,
“if you need to.
if you want to.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment.
“i know i can,” he said.
“but i wouldn’t. ever.”

and maybe that’s what hurts the most,
knowing he’s choosing to stay
in something this heavy.

i’m trying so hard
to do the right thing
for everyone.
but someone’s going to bleed for it.
i think we both will.

i just don’t want him
to hate me for it.
to look back and wish he hadn’t.
to wish he’d walked away when he could.

because the truth is,
i care about him
more than i care about myself.
and that’s what makes this
so hard to hold.

life is just spewing purple,
not always bright,
sometimes dark,
but it means something.
there’s joy to be caught,
even in small amounts.

did you know your eyes are golden, not brown…?
did you know that i loved you this time last year…?
did you know that i still do…?

i wish i could forget
how your name fits in my mouth
like it was carved there,
how silence never meant so much
until it was yours.

i carry you
like a bruise beneath the skin,
not quite visible,
but every time you touch too close,
i flinch.

i keep pretending
you’re just a friend again.
but your laugh still lands in my chest
like it belongs there.
your golden eyes still say too much,
even when we say nothing.

you are
every almost,
every what-if,
every cruel trick of timing.

i wish i didn’t love you,
but wishing
has never changed the gravity of you,
how you pull me in,
again,
and again,
and again.

sick to my stomach
this morning,
tired from putting up a mask
and denying the truth.
this isn’t fair
but mostly for you.
i’ve been feeling sick
but i should help myself
not call you.
nothing left to say
because we both know
we’re still not over it.

im sorry that this is killing me
and killing you too.
if i wasnt such a *******,
if i didnt bring this up again,
if i didnt stir up old feelings,
if i didnt ******* end things
in the first place.
you should’ve begged me not to go.
because now im with him,
and he’s safe,
but he’s not you.
sometimes i think about
what it would be like to
to finally just kiss you.
but that’s wrong,
i shouldnt think like that.
im sorry,
im really sorry,
this is killing me,
and killing you too.

i’ll just suffer in the unknown tonight
hey, it’s what i deserve

maybe one day, we’ll be stronger,
not measuring our worth in broken promises,
not testing our willpower like it’s a game
we were never meant to win.

maybe one day, the nights won’t stretch so long,
filled with caffeine and quiet ache,
or sharp edges and softer regrets,
as we wait for something to change.

i can’t promise to stop,
and neither can you,
but maybe one day,
we won’t have to.

i miss knowing your life,
not just you.
i know your soul like it’s my own,
yet i don’t even know
what daily life looks like to you anymore.
you took a part of me
that day in early july,
a part of me i’ll never get back,
but wouldn’t want to, either.
you took summer with you
and since then
things haven’t been the same.

i told you i was working out
and you said, “wait, you work out?”
you didn’t mean it like that,
of course,
but it still stung.
and you didn’t mean to hurt me,
but i can’t shake the feeling that i’m not enough.
i shouldn’t have to prove
that i’m strong enough
because i never am.

i know it’s wrong to love them,
those ugly, neat red lines,
stacked like tally marks,
like proof that i still feel something.
they stretch across my skin,
disgusting, maybe,
but mine.

it’s totally okay to go to bed a little hungry

i tell myself

i wish the air smelled
like summer did four years ago.
chlorine and asphalt after rain,
sunburnt skin and something sweet.

i spend each winter
longing for those days.
but when summer comes,
it never quite fits right,
like a song i used to love
but can’t remember the lyrics to.

my summers are okay now
but they feel like echoes,
fading, distant,
never loud enough
to drown out the missing.

i wait for my sister’s breath to steady,
for dreams to pull her far from me—
because i can’t let her see this,
can’t let her know
that i am not whole.

im fighting a battle im destined to lose
this fight was never mine to win
next **** up, and im dead
but it’ll be by my own hands

feeling like you’ll always be stuck in your own head
forcing yourself to act normal when you feel anything but
waking up exhausted no matter how much you sleep
seeing people move on without you and wondering if they even noticed
feeling guilty for being sad when you “should” be happy
thinking no one would understand, so you don’t even try to explain
not knowing if you actually want help or if you just want to disappear for a while
the fear that maybe this is just who you are now

maybe it is the end of the world?

i need help but it feels impossible to ask

i mess everything up
i can’t stop crying
i don’t know how to make things right
i’m not supposed to be a person that hurts others
i only hurt myself
i care

i’ve got this perpetual guilt.
i’ve hurt everyone i’ve ever loved,
but still they stay.
not in the way i need —
never when i’m pressing a blade into skin —
but still, they stay.
and still, it’s more than i deserve.

i built this place,
this hell i live in.
brick by brick, mistake by mistake.
i deserve the burn,
the collapse, the ache.
nobody knows the war inside me —
how my mind claws at itself,
and somehow,
i always end up losing.

i think i have perpetual grief, too.
i am always mourning something.
a love, a friend, a version of myself —
i think i’ve never really let go of anything.
everything i’ve ever lost
still lives somewhere in my chest,
heavy and sharp, like glass.

i try to pick up the pieces,
but i’m too tired now —
too hollow, too gone.
and every time i reach for myself,
i cut my hands on what’s left.

she said “i can tell you’re not okay”
like it was a passing thought, a flicker, a footnote,
and then she kept going.

like it didn’t matter that i was sinking.
like it didn’t matter that my lungs were half-full of water.
like it didn’t matter that i was drowning.

she said “i see you breaking” and then broke me harder,
pried my ribs open and set up camp,
tossed her pain into my chest like it had a home there.

and i held it.
i always hold it.
i bear the weight of her like it’s my duty,
like love is carrying her pain until i collapse.

i think she believes if i can save her,
she’ll stay afloat.
but she doesn’t realize
i’m not on the shore.
i’m in the water with her.
and she’s got her fists in my shirt,
pulling me down,
down,
down.

she never asks how much air i have left.
she never stops to notice my limbs trembling, my throat burning.
she just says “i’m hurting” and i say “i know”
and she says “hold me up” and i do.

and she says “i can tell you’re not okay”
and then lets me sink.

and i love her — god, i love her —
but i think she might love me more when i’m breaking.
because then i have no choice but to stay.
and she has no choice but to lean.

and i’m so afraid that if i let go,
she’ll slip under.
but i’m starting to realize
if i don’t let go soon,
i will.

you were the piece of driftwood
keeping me above the waves.
i never noticed how deep the water was
until i let go.

now, the tide pulls heavy,
and i am tired.
sometimes, you find me,
you put your hands beneath my shoulders,
lifting me just high enough
to steal a breath of air.

but you are not mine to hold onto,
so the moment slips,
and the water takes me again.
i am just adrift.

every breath that i struggle to breathe is for you

it’s march now,
and i’ve never been so hopeful,
hopeful that what i feel is just temporary.
i’m tired of waiting for the warmth,
tired of feeling like i’m stuck in this cold.
i want to feel something other than numb,
to not feel like i’m just drifting through days.
is it too much to ask for the weight to lift?
to feel alive again,
to stop pretending i’m okay?
maybe the sun will help,
maybe it won’t,
but i’m begging for something to change.

i’ve been pretending to be okay all day but all i can think about is cutting