Some people seem perfect until you get to know them and start noticing their flaws.

Some people seem flawed until you get to know them and start discovering a thousand and one things you can love about them.

So, dear you, I wish I'm the second type of person to you, because I know I have nothing much to offer you at first sight. I'm probably a 5/10 to you, a 4/10 on bad-hair days, and a 6/10 with make-up on. I won't rate you, because I don't know how to. You have a generally moderate face, but I love your arms and your hands and your fingers and ******* it, you have no idea how much I wanted to touch them. They're delicate and they look like they're made to wear to finest watches.

And P/S: You always have the ability to pick out the finest watches.

I know alcohol is the downfall. I know he doesn't love me. And I'm unhealthy and relationships are toxic but oh god, I'm lonely, and I'm tired of having no one to hold.

Yes, my father is a bad man but when I look in the mirror all i see is his face
And I have spent too too long hating him.

My heart has been broken by people who never even asked for my middle name, and every day I face the world alone my lungs blacken. It is hard for me to smile.

Every kiss I have ever been given has been tainted. I have never been kissed with love.

I do not want to let you down, but it is in my nature. And I can't get it out.

My lipstick is too bright? But I want the men to think about the things my lips could do if only we were alone. I'm sorry.

I never intended for you to waste so many nights holding me whilst i was bleeding.

I starve myself because I want to be beautiful.

When you come home from 12 hour shifts and your eyes are tired and your legs waver, I go to my room and cry because I want to make life better.
But i am ill.

Killing myself isn't going to fix my existence. Killing myself isn't going to change the memories people had of me. I'm too miserable to sleep. I am writing this in a hotel room.

my neighbours have had their pool up since summer last year
I wonder if they stole my lost strands from the shower and threw a voodoo doll into the pool
or captured my soul in a bottle as I lazily blew cigarette smoke by their window
                         a bottle
                                         a doll

that now sits, sunken, at the bottom
of their pool and, perhaps, that's why I've spent the entire time
feeling as if I am drowning.

Let's get one thing clear: When people say "You're all I've ever wanted", they're lying.

I want many things. I want a pizza. I want to get an A for a paper I hardly studied for. I want a room with wooden floors. I want a house facing the sea. I want to walk into Forever 21 and take home anything I like. I want to travel around the world. I want to be better at sports. I want my ulcer gone immediately. I want longer eyelashes. I want to finish an entire season of a tv show without anyone bothering me. I want more followers on Twitter. I want to be friends with my favorite Youtuber. I want a pair of twin boys. I want Hogwarts to be real. I want to be good at archery like Katniss-freaking-Everdeen, cause it's so ******* cool. I want a new phone. I want to sleep late watching chick flicks without having to worry about sleep deprivation. I want three hamsters. I want superpowers. I want to fly.

But you see, here's the catch: What I want most, is you.

I signed the papers
   to give my organs away
         after I die
              to let you know that
                   even after I'm gone
                         you can still find me  
                              inside of others.

The first verse is the sound of your groans from the kitchen during your failed attempts at making lasagna.

The second verse is the sound of your laughter while you're watching your favorite comedy movie for the fifth time.

The first chorus is the sound of the creaking floorboards as you walk towards me and join me in bed.

The third verse is the sound of your heavy breathing after we made love.

The fourth verse is the sound of you typing on your computer; all focused with a creased forehead, and occasional lip-bites.

The second chorus is the sound of you trying to explain to your four-year-old niece where babies come from.

The last verse is the sound of you saying 'I love you' on our first Christmas morning together.