She smells like rain on a warm summers day and she tastes like blackberries freshly picked off the bush.
When she laughs, it makes the humming birds sound like nails on a chalkboard and i know how cliche this all sounds but she walks like an angel and i cant help but notice her defined collarbones
She makes me want to write about butterfly's and flowers instead of cut wrists and veins.
I tell her I love her. She replies with a kiss never confessing her love but I say it anyways because her smile creates this feeling in me I haven't felt since childhood and she needs to know she is loved. when I feel her bones on my hips I cringe she's so thin.
This disorder, it's gotten hold of her. Bruised knuckles-never confessing the reason she shakes
Anorexia and bulimia-I know this disease too well. It's chronic, it's an illness, it's a suicide attempt. She doesn't know it's killing her-she refuses to accept that she has it. But at night- I can barley see a lump when she's underneath the covers.
When she dies,  her coffin will be so light people will check to make sure there's a body in it.
Her bones are sharp-like scissors. And I wonder, does she use them to cut? Do they tear her skin open? Is her elbow used to fresh air?
I hold her hands. They're so cold. How can a person live like this? If I could, I would force her to eat.
She hates the mirror. If I could, I would make her see a beautiful person looking back.

12:07 am

this is my first time writing since may. i dont really know what to write about. ive written about pain, ive written about guilt, ***, abuse, drugs. it seems thats all there is to be wrote about. i could write about love, but **** it thats so cliche and trust me ive tried it once and it turned out rotten.

i think this is a very bad time in my life. it feels as if rock bottom is one hill away. (lost all my friends, lost familys respect,cutting, getting fat(startingtostarve), snorting percs). ive thought ive been at rock bottom so many times. but every time i thought it, i realized theres more to come. (every overdose i exposed to mom)

but this time i think im farther down than that. im to the point that i realize dying is a bad option, but i can feel, as the seconds go by, it seems like the best. i know i thought about dying before, but never in this sense. ive never thought of it as a real option, ive always thought "yes, i will take these pills, but they will not **** me. i will get help after they see im suffering"

honestly, i dont want to overdose and end up back in the hospital. its a bore, a endless circle of routine. (take the pills, confess, hospital, pumped with fluids, drink the charcol, talk to doctors, pack my bags, long drive, 1 week stay)

but i dont want to die either. im terrifed of whats after death. (heaven/hell?, rot in the ground? come back a bear?) (worst scenario: stay on earth as a ghost, watch my loved ones suffer)

and i do realize there are people that love me, not many, but enough. and for some ****** up reason thats not stopping me from my selfishness. its not convincing me to let my darkness out.

im so confused about life and about who we are and what were suppoused to do and how everything ended up the way it did. im thinking too much nonsense, not thinking enough commonsense.

anyways, i guess ill keep living for now (probably keep cutting, keep snorting pills, and keep starving) and pray (towho???)that things get better

I called him daddy in bed,
but I didn't think he would leave me
the same way my father did.
Now I'm lying here
holding myself at 3 AM
because God knows
neither of them will do it.

I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.