I can still see the scars
From where I cut and burned myself
There dark circles around my eyes
My lips are chapped
My knuckles are bruised
And my cheeks are hollowed out
This is not beautiful

I sleep on your side of the bed
I look at our old pictures
I walk the paths we used to
Hand in hand together
And smoke pack after pack of cigarettes
To keep the taste of you on my tongue
This is not romantic

Anger is crawling up my throat
Trying to find an escape
Depression is seeping into my bones
Crushing me with it’s weight and desperation
Anxiety is crippling so much
That even the thought of speaking out loud causes me to panic
This is not poetic

Pain is not beauty
Heartbreak is not romantic
Mental illness is not poetic
If you want the hell
That you call quirks
Have mine
I can’t live with them anymore