I hate me
I hate me
I hate me
I HATE ME
I NEED TO CUT
I NEED TO CUT MYSELF OUT OF MY SKIN
I NEED TO RIP MY LUNGS OUT
I NEED TO DICE MY HEART
I NEED TO CHOP ALL OF MY ORGANS
I HATE ME
AND I NEED TO
NOT BE ******* ALIVE

if you asked me
why i love him,
i couldn't really tell.
i guess it's the way
his ocean blue eyes
reflect the sunlight;
the way his hair never
has a permanent colour;
the way he says my name,
the way he calls me "queen";
the way he pouts his lips,
or the way his voice
trembles slightly
when we talk;
the way he lights his
cigarette
or the way he breathes
out the smoke;
the way his hand
is made for mine,
the way he fits around me
perfectly;
the way he says
"i love you";
the way he always calls me
when i am in need;
or the way he'd never
ever ever leave.
or maybe none of this,
or maybe a whole another
set of reasons.
but all i know is
that he's mine
and i am his
until the world is gone
and far beyond then.

Selflessness and broken hearts
Alone and crying in the dark
Vast spaces of skin shouting to be cut
Empty holes where once there was a heart and there were lungs
Mourning a soul that once was alive
E**mbrace the corpse you left to rot

I'm undone.
I'm scattered.
Do me.
Do me like a drug.
Abuse me and
unscatter
the dust
I have become.

i think about the girls
in my class;
the one we have
an inside joke with,
tho we have nothing
else in common;
the one who plucks
my eyebrows
and asks me for
advice and
help with homework;
the one who thinks
i'm a nice person;
the one to whom
no one else is nice;
the one who likes
to hug me all the time
and calls me a friend;
the one who adores
chanel and likes
to talk to me
sometimes and sits
next to me in chem class;
the one i used to be friends
with but we fell out
though we still talk sometimes.
i think about
the other girls
from the golden five;
the two who are
inseparable and
nice to me and
understand me somehow;
the one who
shares my fandoms
and i can vaguely call
an actual friend;
the one i grew up
with who drools
over tom hiddleston
and sherlock and
books with me.
i think about
my literature teacher
who told me
she loves me
and about my
english teacher
who hugs me when
she's proud of me.
i think about
all the other teachers
who call me
exceptional.
i think about
the boy who used
to be my best friend
for two years
but we drifted apart
and yet he'd still
call me if he needed someone.
ithink about
the girl i stalk and
whom i send sweet messages to.
i think about
T. whom i love dearly
and V. whom i love dearly
and N. whom i love dearly
and M. whom i love dearly.
i think about my
sun and stars
who breathes for me,
my knight,
my heart.
i think about
the boy i love
and how even though
he said goodbye
he's "not indifferent"
(and about a promise
i made),
and about his mother
who adores me.

i think about my
mother who loves me the most
about my father
who calls me
princess
about my brother
who pulls my hair.
about my grandparents
and aunt and cousin,
about my mother's
best friends.

and then
i ask myself
"if all these people
are going to cry
if i happen to die,
if all these people
will lose sleep
and scream into
their pillows at night
and ask themselves why,
what does it matter
that i
don't
love
myself?"

why do we call it heartbreak
when it has nothing to do
with that useless pump
and everything to do
with your lungs being squeezed
by a stone cold hand
with murderous fingers
to the point where you
cannot breathe
and you feel like you're
drowning
when there's no water around;
and everything to do with
wanting to rip yourself
open
and throw all your
guts up?
why do we call it
heartbreak
if the
heart is not
alive?