There is no beauty In the remains Of crumbling human. Soft Tissue upon bruise upon Broken bone bending Bending to fit the roses Bleeding from open wound Bending to chocolate Mould seeping from every crack And crevice.
There is no beauty In mirrored shards of life Sharp enough to tear Through tendon, tearing Through towns and cities built on Misery and crushing grief There is no beauty
No beauty In glass tears from glass eyes Crying fallen stars and supernovae No beauty In disembodied screams Lungless cries Say goodbye to your life This is real life There is no beauty in My life There is no beauty In me.
A poem in which I try to tackle the romanticisation of mental illness. It is not a glamorous life, I'll tell you that much.