my eyes aren't my own, they're my mothers.
my hair is flat, tired and unkept. it's lifeless.
skin soaked with thoughts of what were,
bruised with memories that will never leave.
scars little each road of the epidermis, burned
deep and stained.
they don't make me ugly. no.
my emotions make me ugly. my sick, twisted mind
and the thoughts i shouldn't have. the thoughts i have.
tired, tired, tired bones that creak with each step into normality.
i've built a home inside my rib cage, carved out a prison.
internalized my thoughts. kicked people out.
just me. it's just me and my heart, as it shouts and screams.
my brain keeps me company at night, whispering its dreams and its desires. it tells me who i am, what i want.
but it never lets me sleep. not really.
i wake up so tired, so old and tired.
my heart is restless through the day, calling out for your ears.
it talks to you, talks about you. i'm poisoned. love's sweet kiss.
the kiss of death. ugly to the bones, i'm so ugly.