was it beautiful? like sitting at a desk riddled with indents from keeping the scissors away from skin rocking back and forth with only one thing circling through an addled mind the overwhelming urge to die feeling ready to write that final chapter on a life barely lived
was it beautiful? forty pills that seemed like enough at the time choked down with soda water and so many built up tears feeling the rot of depression absorbing the medicine that was supposed to make things better *******
was it beautiful? regretting waking up hours later younger sibling in the next room noticing the stumble the swearing that came from feeling organs clench and shatter but nothing coming up
was it beautiful? admitting to taking so many pills tongue feeling shredded by the words being asked to stay awake but only feeling so much anger at having failed at waking up again at still being alive
was it beautiful? three psych wards every time a voluntary check in unable to stay safe healing scars bashing limbs against every hard surface ripping open old wounds both inside and out there is nothing beautiful in self destruction
2. no romance
was it romantic? hospital beds and an iv in the back of a shaking hand monitored bathroom breaks too many to count while a body too young to feel so old purged itself of so many toxins
was it romantic? fingernails chewed down to nothing ragged cuticles raw and ****** knuckles because those hurt just a little bit less than constantly pulling open scabbed over splits in gnawed on lips
was it romantic? looking for love to give to others not leaving enough behind to keep not caring about that too busy wanting to go home please fix this make the hurt go away make everything shiny and new again
was it romantic? unable to find respite from the mental onslaught in the unmarred arms of another because illness and depression do not care about kissing scars to heal them or boxes of chocolate or roses or whispered “i love you”s because life is not a teen romance novel
was it romantic? wanting to die even while sitting next to that person that made things not hurt so bad and feeling guilty about fresh cuts fresh bruises burn marks that could be explained away as accidents
was it romantic? mass media certainly seems to think so here’s looking at you john green and jay asher because why should people have struggles if they can’t be candy-coated and wrapped up in neat little bows with complementary packets of tissues on the side
was it romantic? smelling of blood and sweat from so many nightmares and terrors trembling and shaking racked by guilt and anxiety waiting for an ulcer waiting for something to happen to make it seem worthwhile because in mental illness and trauma there is no prince no princess no damsel in distress no disney movie happy ending there is no romance in wanting to constantly die