when will you realize
that the red, uniform lines stained on my sheets
arent the result of a ****** nose
arent because of un-bandaged scratches
but from
your words
your actions
your inflicted pain
your refusal to accept
your ****** parenting
your ignorance
of my pain
of my depression
of my anxiety
of my sexuality
of the way i feel as i see myself in a mirror
and think
what am i
who am i
why am i like this
when i pray to the gods i dont believe in
asking
pleading
begging
for some comfort
to know that im not a mistake
that im not worthless
that im not unloved
that im not hopeless
although i feel like it
although i feel like ill never make it
although i feel like nothing will ever get better
and that im destined
to be the one who brings about my own downfall
to be the one at the trigger
to be the one holding the knife
to be the one who tied the noose
to be the one who opened the pills
the poison i pick is the feeling of nothingness
this is my future
this is what i spend my time pondering
while cleaning the blood from my thighs
while washing the broken glass that cuts my skin
while splashing water on my face
while brushing away the tears
while practicing how to smile in the mirror
while rehearsing my lines
while pretending im fine, dont worry about me
while trying to seem like
im always here
im always happy
im always feeling
but
you wouldnt know that
would you