Everyone says
True love is painful.
But the key is finding someone
Who is worth the pain.

You hurt me in ways
That your "love"
Could never make up for.

He loves me in ways
That heal the scars you made.

Pill number nine.
My head is pounding
And the room is spinning so fast,
I'm not sure which way is up.
My stomach is churning,
I can barely keep it's contents from
Making an appearance.
Nine, you better be worth this.

Pill number ten.
I can't take you.
I know the doctor said tonight,
But nine has me so sick
The thought of swallowing another pill
Just makes me gag.
You'll get your chance tomorrow.

It's a darkness that surrounds you.
It covers your eyes,
And swims in your ears.
To keep you from seeing light,
Or hearing laughter.

Instead you see everything
In a dull and dark way.
Colors are no longer vibrant,
And lines seem to be blurred.
There is no more beauty in a sunset,
Or majesty in the ocean.
It's just water now.

And every sound is muffled now.
You can't differentiate your favorite song
From any other anymore.
The sound of laughter is more bitter than sweet.
Every song is the same bleak humm.
And laughter just makes me wish I was deaf.

The darkness even dulls touch.
A kiss doesn't make your heart beat fast anymore.
And contact seems nauseating.
A kiss is just a reminder
That nothing good lasts.
And most other interaction makes my skin crawl.

But now the darkness is in your brain.
In here, sometimes it's not dull at all.
Sometimes the darkness
Takes the shape of a monster.
A monster that whispers terrible things
And just gets louder when you try not to listen.
Sometimes the darkness
Feels like war inside your mind.

But yes, again, the darkness is dull.
Sometimes there is no monster,
No war,
And no yelling at all.
Sometimes when the darkness gets in your mind,
It becomes a silence.
I can't make out a clear thought,
Because all there is
Is silence.
The darkness takes the shape
Of death.
The silence, the nothingness of death.
And it becomes part of you,
Making your mind nothing but silence
And nothingness.

But the worst part about the darkness
Is my inability to communicate its existence.
I can't make anyone understand
The many shapes it can take.
How it can be torturous and loud
But comfortable just the same.

It's easy to talk about the monster,
Because it's something foreign and
Something present.
But everything else,
The dullness of senses
And the silence it becomes,
Can't be expressed.
Because in these forms,
The darkness is absence of life.
It's absence of color,
Sound,
Touch,
And thought.

And it's so hard to paint a picture
Of something that isn't even there.
I can paint a picture of a monster
With ****** teeth and devilish eyes.
But I cannot paint the nothingness
The darkness so often is.

And to me, nothingness is the most dangerous.
I can fight a monster.
But I cannot fight nothing.
Nothingness will swallow you.
It will take over your senses
And thoughts,
And eventually will to live.

Life is colorful.
Life should be loud.
Life should be funny.
And sometimes painful.
But when the silence,
The nothingness arrives,
There is no color.
There is no sound.
No laughter.
Or even pain.
There is no life at all.

Here it comes again.
The "i think we should just be friends."
The "i can't do this right now."

I told you from the start.
I told you how
Whenever I opened my mouth
And let the thoughts come rolling out,
I was alone all over again.
Just me and my thoughts.

I told you why
I hold back the truth.
I hold back
The thoughts that could **** me.
Because no one wants to hear that.

But you said you would listen,
You told me to come to you.
And you'd always be there to hold me
When the thoughts came back.

I slowly started to believe you,
I let you see my cry.
I let you hold me like you said you would,
And your arms felt like home.

Something has changed,
Like you took back
All that you said.
Last night when I cried
Your arms didn't feel like home.
But it was like I was holding onto
Someone I don't even know.

What happened to your open ears?
When I told you my thoughts
I felt coldness in you.
Like your presence was telling me
"Just shut up."

Now you see what I mean
When I say i'm a burden.
I'm just something people
"deal with".
Until they get tired
Of listening to me cry.

I'm sorry
If my pain is inconvenient.
I'm sorry
That i'm a mess.
But you knew what you signed up for
When you said
What you said.

So hear I am,
Burden Girl.
Like Superman's
Suicidal sister.
I'm the disaster
He tries to clean up.
But I'm the best
At creating a mess.

They all just say
"I'm here for you."
But they always run
When they see the truth.

A word that bites.
It burns my ears
Whenever whispered.
It leaves a sour aftertaste
When I let it escape my lips.

A word that lives
And breathes on its own.
It can pick up a pen
And write itself out
With ink in whatever color it pleases.

I’ve seen it in red,
It wrote itself quickly.
Red like lips
That left their poison kiss
Burning like fire on my cheeks and wrists.

Not the kind that warms
Or gives light to the dark.
It’s a fire that starts behind your eyes
Than burns your body whole.
Red like my blood spilled after the ****.

I saw it in white,
Well I didn’t see it at all.
White ink won’t show
On white paper.
It wrote itself in a lie.

When in white
It’s used to disguise.
Trying to cover spilled black ink.
Covering the face of evil,
It was only a manipulative excuse.

It’s written itself out again;
Now slowly and in blue.
And blue is not an excuse.
It won’t use me until it’s tired
Then cut me and burn me like fire.

Blue is calm.
Blue wraps me in his arms.
Blue holds me
Until the storm passes.
Blue is the color it should be.

This word comes in so many colors.
It can be as red as it’s victim’s blood, Or a white lie.
But the only love I need is blue
And the only one who can write it is you.

you can't make a flower grow
by telling it you love it,
by telling it it's beautiful.

a flower will continue to wither away,
even if you keep saying "I'm here for you."
when winter comes and the flower begins to die,
telling the flower "it gets better" won't warm the temperature.

don't try to nurture a flower you picked.
it will never be safer in your hands,
than it was in the grass.
flowers will dry when you rip them from the roots.

don't look at a brown flower,
and ask it "whats wrong".
it wouldn't tell you
even if it could talk.

don't lie to the flower
and say "its going to be okay"
because you put it in a vase.
the flower knows its not the same.

don't bother saying "you're not alone"
because flowers die all the time,
it already knows.
the flower is still on its own.

you can't glue the petals back on,
after you've plucked them all for a game.
she probably doesn't love you,
and the flower is not to blame.

you can't straighten out the stem,
after you've stepped on it in passing.
it will always be bent
even if you repent.

"i didn't mean to" means nothing to a flower
after you leave it in the dark.
it doesn't matter what you've said,
the flower is already dead.

a withered and dry flower,
will not stand up and turn green
just because you love it.

these things are simple facts,
its how nature works,
and nature will never love you back.

i know you're really trying,
and doing everything you can.
but without water and sun,
the flower will keep dying.

i've tricked them once again
i made them believe that everything was fine.
******* I'm good,
even after all this time.

i'm too good at lying to myself,
I'm too good at pushing away the pain.
and even tricking myself
into believing I'm okay.

you're telling me to breathe
but my throat keeps closing.
you tell me to sleep,
but every night is darkness without dreams.

how am i supposed to write,
without spilling blood on the page.
but this is my job now,
and i need a decent grade.

like forcing a bird to sing for food,
you're wringing me out.
my mind dripping to the floor,
i can't create beautiful things anymore.

i'm writing everything over again.
repeating
repeating
repeating myself.

what do you want me to say?
that everything will be okay?
you want me to make my own light,
give myself a nicholas sparks ending.  

because now I'm exposed,
I'm standing in front of you all.
and you can practically see the blood
dripping down my wrists.

with the world standing behind me,
its hard to keep my focus.
"make it pretty" she says,
"don't let them see you're already dead."

i can't turn tears to holy water,
or my own blood into wine.
i can't create beauty,
staring Darkness in the eyes.