Thickness of eyeliner, correlated to sadness

Willing to talk, but too proud.

I can't tell if I'm shivering out of coldness or fear
or fear of being too cold.
Our bracelets broke on the same day.
The bittersweet irony is like swallowing a rose full of thorns.
My favorite shoes are getting holes in the toes-
you love something so much you **** it.

The first time she told me I was perfect,
I told her it was the *** talking.
but by the fifth time, the tables had turned,
except
I wasn't under the post ******* influence,
I was, in my own mind, completely sane.

Every single "you two are so cute"
is-
no, was-
a candy coated suicide pill-
sweet with a bitter aftertaste.

Fire rains on my skin
red ants trail in lines where her finger tips grazed my arms.
My eyes are burning and whether its from lack of sleep or I just got some reality caught in my iris,
I'm not quite sure.

Hurt, anger, uncertainty, betrayal-
at the hands of the one person I lent my knife to-
my own self.
The sheer stupidity of allowing the free thinking, independent rifle of my pen to be settled for even a minute.

So maybe I did nothing wrong,
and maybe soulmates just isn't in the dictionary-
but neglect sure is.

And unwashed hair smells a whole lot like yesterday's feelings and burnt coffee,
and maybe if I wash out today's feelings tomorrow, I'll be left with just keratin.
Or maybe perspective, masked in an intoxicating rose scent.

I forget it all for a while-
until I get in the shower and feel the sting.
Little vibrations move along my hips, like a lover's hands around my waist.
I ease into the embrace, feeling the warmth of the only consistent in my life.
Everything else is a moving blur.

Water mixes with rain, from the morning's drive and when I pull over,
I realize that it was never rain, but my own tears,
and the tears I thought were rain turn into trails that twist and turn down my cheeks trying to find their way back to you.

And so I try walking down one,
but I stumble and fall,
and I would think to be lost in the forest
if it wasn't for that self inflicted stinging pulling me back to my shower turning cold.

She climbs on top,
She has lied in waiting for too long
Her gorgeous smile infatuates me
She is shining so much, I do not recognize the gleam is coming not from Her eyes,
but from Her knife.

how stupid to think that She would bow down to me.
how selfish to believe a simple me, could tame a wild Her.

She found weakness in my humanity,
She found strength in my pride-
She fed off both-
even as She watched a rapid red river rush from my neck,
She lapped as a parting gift from that gorgeous mouth that crawled on top

The happy carefree girl that is roaming the outside
is no match for the demons living within
and while she tells herself she’s not crazy,
everything else convinces her she is.

I can’t count the days on my fingers that I didn’t want to care
I can’t tell you how many times I said it’s not worth it,
and I certainly can’t tell you the number of days that I pushed on,
because those, are still being counted.

And while the pain and anger is still being mounted
I just can’t see the light.
For every “It will get better,”
all I want is one proof.

One proof, that will make me see that staying is worth it.
One proof that will make this dark cloud part.
One proof that's’ cry is loud saying,
“You are strong, The end is near.”

But I live in fear.
Everyday I live in fear
that my tomorrow won’t come because my only enemy,
was the one I couldn’t stand up to.
That the only reason I couldn’t confront it was because it was inside me.

The fear slowly turns into a lurking shadow surrounding me,
The shadow of anxiety relentlessly digging its claws into my heels.
The cold gnarled hand that grabs onto my arm and pulls me around like a rag doll.
The same shadow that makes me feel like I’m 10 sizes too small.

And the shrinkage continues
as the judgmental looks of my mother and so called “friends” pierce me
like I will later do to my skin with the blade,
liberating me of the heavy cloak for moments at a time.

And the cries that scream are all but silent,
sometimes they reach the surface and although a hand is offered to save me,
I bitterly refuse it, because I’m all too stubborn to admit I need help.

Deep down that strong girl is still there
She waits in a cage longing for the day she is set free.
Her soul aches to fill the body of that happy carefree girl.
She begs her captor to let her again give insurance to that personality.

Silently she prays to the God she long gave up on.
One that the person she so desperately wants to embody, does not believe in.
Yet that God seems to be too busy,
creating bombers and their victims,
mother’s separated from their children,
and most importantly, ones suffering from none other than themselves.

Don’t try and tell me I’m not crazy.
That I will get over it,
that’s it’s just a phase.
Because now, its more than just a phase.

Depression has become my full time job.
One with no health benefits
and long grueling hours with less than no incentives.
Depression has become my full time job, and as much as I want to quit,
I have no idea how to write a letter of resignation.