He handed me rose with a smile on his face
In each petal was a beautiful lie
The rose touched the tip of my nose
My eyes slowly blinked as my head fell back
I took a light breath over the slightly, wilted petals and just sat still
Feeling everything surrounding me
But, only with my mind
I pull the rose away from my nose and tilt my head a little to the left
I glance at it like it is the most elegant object I’ve ever come across
My finger slid over the soft, thin petal
I watch as I notice a little wind carry out of the rose
It glided past my ear and I hear a slight sort of whisper
“I love you”
My eyes smiled
What a beautiful lie.

j.m.

intense,
excruciating,
unbearable,
torture.

this pain can't be explained;
it's so terrible i almost can't feel anything.

being numb may be better than this, though.

all of me
was never meant
to be touched by you

sometimes i think
i resented you so much
that it felt like love

the feeling of lonliness
is awfully scary.
you have no one to talk to,
no one to keep you company.

i feel stuck.
i can't get out.
please help me
i'm stuck

i'm not happy
and im not sad,
not enough to tell anyone at least,
but enough to keep my mind
awake at night.

nights are the hardest:
when you finally throw away
all your distractions,
so it's just you and your thoughts,
awake until the sun rises once again.

i never believed people
when they said they put on a mask
to hide their pain
but i do it without noticing

i am confident
i am secure

but that's not true
because i do not show the real me
i don't think people would like that side

confidence is key,
right?

how can I ever be perfect
when i don’t even know what it means to be myself?

i’m thrown into a sea of lies:
drowning in the false idea that i’m more
than i really am.

i put a mask for your standards.
is it really becoming me,
or is my face cracking underneath?

imnotgoodenoughimnotgoodenough
i replay these words in my head
like a broken record.

they break off a piece of my true identity
until i cannot recognize myself;
until i look in the mirror and hate who I see.

but you made that happen.
i don’t know i am...
because of you.

i sat there,
watching my blood
drip onto my hands,
and on the floor,
seeping through
the rug below me

i sat there,
emotionless,
numb,
and said
"it didn't even hurt"

but sadly,
that was a lie

i can still feel
the knife slicing my skin,
but i liked it

sometimes i forget
that truly forgiving them
doesn't depend on their apology

forgiving them means
that their actions
don't control you anymore

it means you see them as humans
who have treated you
from their level of maturity
and your awareness of that
takes away the power
they hold

the only thing you were good at
was making me feel useless.

and i am afraid that the alcohol i drink
is filling up my body so much
to the point where i am starting to choke
on my last words

i am already six feet underground,
rehearsing my goodbyes i never got to say

i am getting drowned in the tears of those
who never showed love to me when i was alive
but are showing it now that i am dead

the drugs coursing through my veins
are decaying my body
and i am nothing more
than a skeleton in the ground

at least if i am dead i will no longer receive
the pain i know i did not deserve
when i was alive

in an empty room
there is no doubt
you'd choose me

but in a crowded one
would you choose me
or her?

i don't want to ruin your days
because i struggle to get out of bed.
i'm terribly sorry for being this way;
i tried to be different than them,
but it's harder than you think.

i wish i could change me
for you.

i depend on everything
i depend on people,
on drugs,
on alcohol
to simply numb the pain;
to keep it away

because the truth is too scary:
i don't want to be alive

it's unbearable,
the pain.
i've learned
that i cannot
control it

i cannot control
my need for everything
that makes me feel
nothing

i am so desperate for touch:
to be caressed
and kissed
all over my body.

oh, for someone to
touch me like you did
is all i need
on a night like this.

i haven't felt pretty recently
i'm constantly trying to find
something different about myself
that i like

it just never seems to appear

they're fading
you're faking it
do it again
it wasn't deep enough

close my eyes
and pray
i'm enough for you
enough for you

i wonder why i wasn't
beautiful enough for you
or if i'm beautiful at all.

i changed what i was wearing
five times before i saw you,
wondering which pair of jeans
will make my body more tempting
to undress.

tell me:
was there anything
i could've done
to make you think

her
she is so strikingly beautiful

god i hope i can look back
at how dramatic i am

i hope i will be here to reflect on my mistakes,
on my regrets

tears blur my vision;
i cannot see far enough into my future

every wound, every mark,
i become less hopeful

maybe things do change,
but this feels like rock bottom.

i don't want to sleep,
but i don't want to be awake.
i don't want to eat,
but i don't want to be hungry.
i don't want people around me,
but i don't want to be alone.

i want to stop existing,
but i don't want to die.

how the ****
do i get out
of my head?

"how are you, really"
they ask, and give you a smile,
make some meaningless small talk
"i'm fine, and you"

sometimes you tell yourself
those exact words in the mirror
sometimes your smile is a little too convincing

you're never "just tired"
or "a little stressed out"

and sometimes, alone in your bed at night,
you ask yourself
how are you, really,
and the answer is always truthful,
but never simple.

overanalyze every single word you hear
was this a sign that things were going wrong?
no, no,
you were the one who cared too hard,
not them.

stay up every single night on your phone,
either attempting to gather the courage
to turn these demons,
these constant reminders of your loneliness
into nothing more than a bad dream,
or praying just for one second
that you could feel the warmth
of equally returned love

talk down on yourself whenever possible
my life is **** because i deserve it,
right?
you must’ve done something really bad
its nearly impossible for you to cry now

become a secondary character in your own motion picture
but most importantly,
drown every single one of your feelings
in old, stolen ***
learn to love the taste of it dripping down your throat
find comfort in the warmth coming from your stomach
you’re drinking bottled love now.