My nail polish is black
My hips are scarred, along with my left shoulder.
My mind is shrouded in emotionally depleting thoughts.
My stomach is burning, and churning.
I'm all out of buspirone, and they put me on prozac.
But its not enough.
I want to die, I want to **** myself.
I thought about over dosing last night, but I figured I should do some research first.
And get it right the first time.
My boyfriend says "don't, not today"
I don't care anymore.
I decided starting today that I will mark off everyday I want to **** myself.
If those days add up to more than the days I don't.
I will.

I thought about writing notes, but I don't know if I should.

When I was empty
Music echoed through my head

Then I must of felt full of life
But now I feel like a ghost

Confess your fears and dont tell me
That you arent afraid of what we dont know

I'm full now
Full of fear

And people dont understand this when I tell them
Im afraid of what I don't know
And everything else

I'll rip you out of the ground every time I see you grow.
Put you in some water in my room, deprive you of sun.
Steal your beauty away from the world, and eject you into my world.
I'll make you mine, if only for awhile.
Again and again I rip you up, to take as my own.
I hate myself, oh, how I hate myself.
Please, flower make me feel better.
I know you want to, I just need to be loved, by you.
I don't love you, you just brighten up my day.
Flower **** me now, smother me in your scent.
Wrap your roots around my neck, I deserve it.
I never loved you, flower.
Flower, die.

Have you ever felt empty, but not sad?
I am hollow, made of hollow bones.
I am decrepit oil paint, I am decomposing energy.
I am a whisper of italicized print, with the intensity of bold print.
I am the lightning in a storm, a withering thing.
I am bleach, sadness, poison.
Don't love me, I am infected, I'll **** you slowly.
Don't sit here, next to me.
Alluring? Hardly.
Poetry? Basically.
Depression? Definitely.
The pills don't help as much as they used to, I'm dying.
Rotting on the inside, you say life is a privilege.
But I'm not living, so please help me.
Sorry, but I feel like dying, killing myself.
Smoking, drinking, cutting.
I can't help it, anything to take the pain away, the pain of being me.

so i wrote a poem, or am writing something
i don't know what i need, i have no idea what i am
i took a huge step backwards

People move in and out of my life, and some literally do move.
Or I move, far away to another state.
We never speak again, and if we do its as strangers once again.
It's sad to say goodbye, but this is the truth again and again.

But do I have the right to move someone out of my life purposefully?
I have no idea if I even want to, I know I can.
Can I let people slip out of my life slowly, knowing what is happening?
Can I just let that happen, and want it to?

Angelina, I'm sorry you're so sad.
Angelina, I'm so sorry that your stomach hurts.
If I could fix everything I would, honey.
Just let me hug your little frame.
We're at such different speeds, we're such opposites.
Why do I like you so much?
I haven't wrote a love poem about anyone but Ricky in a long long time.
And I wouldn't call this love, but more like infatuation.
You're so adorable, and cute.
Angelina, I'm your friend, and I'll be here for whatever you need.
I care about you, just let me help you.
Angelina, I'm sorry I can't do anything for you.
I'm sorry you're so sad.