he is the gun in my mouth he is the flames in my hands he is the pills on my tongue he is the smoke in my lungs he is the alcohol falling down my throat he is the sin I didn't want to make.

I don't know how to
not **** everything up,
I don't know how to change
my ways,
and I don't know why I'm
such a terrible person.
Someone tell me how to
get rid of my anxiety
so I can talk to people.
Someone tell me how to
be a better person,
because I'm tired of always
being wrong.

I've never had a home
that felt like one,
more than the home I
feel when you put your
arms around my waist,
when you kiss my neck
and when you whisper
my name into my ear.

You're a little like a shipwreck and I think you lost your heart amidst all the piles of rust and dust and I tried to help you by looking for it but everything was so dark and I couldn't find a light, so I tried looking in your eyes but there was nothing there.
You lost your mind a few years ago and I don't think you've ever really been the same. Your eyes used to hold an eternity of light, but now they're darker than the darkest of nights.
You treat your body like a canvas and it looks like you're trying to draw a map, I always knew you were lost but I couldn't figure out where you were, maybe you're lost inside yourself, and I don't know where your map is planning to take you but I hope you get out okay and I hope it's nicer than where you are now.
You look like you're made out of paper and you are so fragile I can't remember the last time I touched you because everything I touch seems to break and I couldn't do that to you.
You have power lines surging through your veins but you're breaking them one by one, so I guess you're not happy with them anymore. You leave cracks all along them and let the energy leak out.
You're like a minefield and I honestly don't know how to work my way around you anymore. I've had years of practice but you suddenly switched and now everything is different and I can't navigate you in the dark.
You started to do things that I do a few months back. Now you stand by me while I light things on fire, because I guess it's better than lighting myself on fire.
You stand by me while I stand on the edges of cliffs, my arms open and my head back, staring at the sky and wondering if I could make myself fly. I don't really want to, I just want to jump. But if I stepped off the edge, I would want you to fly.
And I don't really know which is worse, the look on your face when you know I'm not really there, or the look on your face when you suddenly realised you weren't either.
I'm still looking for your heart, but I think it has been swept away, I'm sorry, but never mind, you took mine anyway.

The moon cascaded on to your skin,
shining lights brighter than the northern ones into your eyes,
taking pictures of the sun
and planting them behind your eyelids,
capturing colours from the galaxy and rainbows
and painting them in the back of your throat.
You're like the fire I used to set in my hands when I couldn't breathe,
except this time it's because
you resemble the flames dancing in my hands,
and you feel like home when
your hands close around mine
and your arms wrap around my waist,
and I love you like I love the sunrise,
and cigarettes,
which altogether is a ******* lot,
and coffee tastes like your breath
when you leave for uni and I'm still in bed,
and sometimes when you're gone I wear your hoodies which are oversized on me,
but I like it because it feels like you're wrapping yourself around me.

Maybe one day,
I'll wake up and not hate
myself, and breathing will
come naturally like it does
to everyone else.
I've never really understood
how people around me can
breathe with no effort,
but it takes half the muscles
in my body just to take
one ******* breath,
I guess I'm just unlucky.