What is love
Other than pain and despair
With a little bit of happiness
Here and there.

You can take your spiteful words
and shove them up your ***
when it comes to taking **** from you
Sorry, but I'll pass
because I've accepted hatred
and hurt, pain and depression
and i'm getting sick and tired
of writing poems as confessions.
So *******
I'm tired of your ****
my feelings are a fire
the flame has been lit.

you did what I expected
I knew it from the start
you said you wanted me
but you chose her
and broke my heart

Dazed, mind filled with xanax dust.
I'm questioning who I am
When I look in the mirror I do not see myself
I see a stranger
With bags under her sunken in eyes
And her eyes, they look sad
Lifeless, dead
And her body
Her body's ugly, fat, disgusting
Covered with marks, scars, burns.
But as I look at this person in the mirror
I am over came with the urge
To hurt her, to feed her pills and potions
Because some how I think I am her
I am the sad girl in the mirror with the cuts down her arms
and the bags under her eyes
I just don't want to believe it
Believe I've wasted away
To xanax dust and cuts.

the hustle and bustle
of the morning shuffle
it's just enough
to keep you up
the stations and terminals
are coated
with sleep walkers
and sleep talkers
waiting for the inspiration
to come to life
that they always find
at the bottom
of empty coffee mugs
and tea cups