the worst part is-
nobody, anywhere, can help you.

They all see you, and they decide-
you're uninteresting, or boring.

Then comes the mania-
where you convince yourself, for days, weeks, years,
that you're okay, and they're the reason
for the heartbreak, the distrust, the jaded
worldview.

But it was you.
And you can stare into the waterfall,
or into the photograph,
or into the mirror,
and see that it was you.

The sanity, in the whirlwind of self absorbed thoughts,
is what reminds you of those days.
It brings you back,
dragging you all the way.

Till your brain screams-
ugly, useless, worthless.

The only good thing about me was my collarbone.
And I was so ****** up, to ever be distraught, at
the fact that my parents hated me, and would
never allow me; hurt me, if I was close to you.

Do you see the irony like I see it?
Where you tell me I'm not ugly,
then show me that I truly am.

Actions speak louder than words,
sounds like something you said once.