I fell in love the way only a young 20-something can.
So completely and so fully that it encompasses your whole being
and grabs your heart with a fist the size of a watermelon
squeezing with the strength of a horse
one in the last leg of a race to prove it's worth to the stadium.

Your heart was not seized with mine,
and you stared into my eyes feeling empty- both in reality and inside.
You brought apologetic smiles and guilty shifting eyes
to my swollen heart like a paltry offering to an angry god,
One who has already scorched the earth.

I love you. And you don't love me. And you don't love yourself.
And inside your body are piles of self-loathing left like laundry,
you won't let me in to clean or organize your mind, heart, soul.
Inside my body are piles of hurt, sadness, and anger,
but you can leave them be, leave them for me to heal and cry over.
You don't have to help me or even let me help you, just let me love you.

Everything has gone mad
Everyone has what I had
Depression, agony, pain
Let's all board the misery train!
I was young I was lonely
I was imaginary
Alone
So alone
So sickeningly alone
I liked it better though
Than when they hurt me
No one would see
So I didn't tell
I knew they couldn't tell
No one would tell
I rather-ed hell
There was no justice  
None ever since
Yet I don't whine
You won't see those years of mine
Because I didn't show off sadness
I grew out of the madness
It's your turn
Hide your burns
If you say you want to die
Stop prolonging it, easy enough, say goodbye
But you won't, you want Attention
So you'll mention
Whatever it is
To be in the school's show biss
Don't tell me "I'm a liar  
I don't know what I'm saying
It's not as bad as someone else's pain!"
I don't feel bad
In fact it drives me mad
**** yourself or don't
But I won't
Let you
Drag me
Where
I've
*Already been

Let me tell you a story about a busy steet in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world.

Somewhere near the end of this busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, there was a flowershop.

It was a lovely old place; an elegant building surrounded by beautiful gardens with daisies and daffodils and roses. It had bird baths where the cheery cardinals and bluejays stopped by for an afternoon splash, and even a sprinkler for the young children to run around in while their mommy's and daddy's were picking out pretty flowers.

Now, inside this flowershop, there were rows upon rows of pots filled with any type of plant you could imagine: dragonsnaps, lilies, zinnias, tulips, the whole lot. Baskets of flowers hung from the ceiling, overflowing with bright colours. Every once in a while, petals would rain down and the entire shop would look magical.

Everyday, people of all ages would dash into this flowershop. Men in suits, looking to find the perfect gift for their dates. Ladies in dresses, picking out just a little something to look nice in a vase on their dinner table. And of course, the gardeners, with their overalls and ***** fingers.

So, as I said, busy people on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world would dash into this busy flowershop, then dash back out and get on with their busy lives. Always looking for the most ravishing type of flower, the ones that could catch your eye as soon as you entered the shop. Never focusing on anything else.

What no one realized was that there was a small flower placed near the back wall of the shop. It was never moved; always been in the same exact place ever since it arrived at the flowershop years and years ago. The owners had stopped watering it, so the flower was beginning to shrivel up. Most of the petals had fallen off and were now laying in a sad little pile on the ground, and the few that remained had turned the colour of black.

The little flower got sicker and sicker every day, but it never lost hope. Every time the suited man stopped in, or the lady with the dress, or the ***** gardener; the flower would use its last bit of strength to make itself noticed. It stood on its tippy toes, perking up and spreading its wilted petals and frail stem as much as it could.

No one saw.

Then, one day, when the owner was sweeping the floor of the flowershop, he saw something near the back wall. Something broken. Crumpled. Blackened. Ugly. Dead. Something that once was beautiful until it stopped being noticed; stopped being loved.

You see, in a busy flowershop on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, no one's ever going to notice a wallflower until it wilts.