to the girl who wrote me asking me for advice at four o'clock in the morning when her brain was high off of an ashy heart: stop ******* around with toxins, and no, i don't mean the drugs turning your life into unwholesome chaos. i mean your ******* friends who told you that your problems are nothing your demons are nothing you are nothing. stop it. you're better than them.
to the friend who asked for advice on how to turn herself into a walking skeleton: get over yourself. anorexia and bulimia will not fill some hole in your tragic past, they will ravage everything good in you until you are nothing but the flesh you have despised. do not ask me how to "become an anorexic" because all you are asking me is how to die.
to the boy who i have dedicated so many poems to: god, you are so oblivious to everything. to the soulless "i love you"s spoken out of pity, to the feigned grins, to the fact that you are ripping me apart. i was always told to not love someone who was sad because they would drag me to the pit of the ocean with them, and i should have listened. there isn't enough of me left to share.
sometimes you can't help sad people because you're going down the same path.