my skin and muscle is melting off the bone

something is on my chest and it's making it hard to breathe

am I without a heart now? am I completely broken? am I un-fixable?

disintegration is my hobby

(everyone around me doesn't see the pain I'm in and it hurts that even those who know me so well don't see me fading away while being eaten by my own negative thoughts)

I dream of drowning in my own blood, it's more of a sound than anything.

I don't have enough blood to bleed, I don't have enough air to breathe

I can't speak as much as I used to
I'm constantly sick to my stomach

I'm struggling to not drive off the side of the rode
I'm struggling to not dig deep into my legs and arms searching for veins
I wonder if i pressed hard enough if they'd shoot blood out just for a second

I'm not enough, enough, enough
I've had enough, enough, enough...enough

I want to be cold and covered in dirt

I'm giving up too fast

I can't stop slipping, falling, tripping, drowning.

toxic girl in a toxic body.

I must be allergic to myself, the ones I love.

I have poison on my lips and fingertips.

venom runs through my cold thin veins, I'm nauseous with guilt.

my heart is unpure, spiteful, heavy and unprotected.

I'm no child of God, I'm a pure disaster, a childish imp.

I remember when I was seven, kneeling beside my bed, praying to God to find my Uncle and make him okay. But God didn't answer my prayer, God decided my Uncle was better off floating down the Kentucky River for three days with an unknown cause of death. Then taking my Grandmother who was the only woman in my life until I was nine. He took her by surprise. Driving my (Step) Grandfather insane and into an elderly home in Ohio. Never to be seen again after 2009. My biological Grandfather gave us a warning that he was dying. He had given up on fighting cancer so he stopped with his treatments and medication. He thought he had reached his end. Dear God, Why are you erasing my family? Did I do something that didn't please the almighty?

We outgrow our religion like our hand-me-downs.

Unknown God, Unknown future. We face the west, anxiously awaiting for Christ's second coming but what if he's already given up on us? Or came to take those he liked?
His favoritism is a sick game.

boy, girl, girl

all their eyes were grey and harshly cold
they hid from the winter and awoke in the green warm grass of spring and summer

they whispered to concrete because they could care less about flowers

I could see them unlike everyone else, so they stared
I watched them as they'd talk about me to one another, their language was unworldly
still no matter how ghostly they were I knew they had once lived.

Constant weight loss, consistent since junior year.
Your nose stays clean but does your mouth?
Drink away the way you feel for everyone, drink away the pain you feel when you see her eyes.
You escape the situations you can.
You tried to quit smoking, but today you asked me for a cigarette, so I guess you gave up on that just like you give up on everything else.
I'll always be the only one to take care of your heart; the others take care of your food and drug supply.
It breaks my heart to watch you wither away.
Your ribs are so fragile and a few weeks ago they weren't visible.
Now I see how you've been doing.
You're worried, and scared. The sad part is, is that you're worried and scared of yourself.
Don't call yourself a monster, don't say you're worthless, don't talk that way about your body.
The family begs you to eat, but you don't like to eat in front of people. You said it's because you're afraid they'll say something. Which they would, I understand, but that doesn't mean you don't have to avoid food all day.
They keep telling me you'll realize one day.
One day, one day you'll understand how beautiful you are, that you don't need those drugs, or alcohol, and you can eat. I guess I'll just have to wait, but I hope you get better, because this decaying version of you is burning the back of my throat and I love you far too much to bury you any time soon.

waking up is hard when you only get two-four hours of rest
but it's for my mother, she doesn't ask for much and if all I have to do to make her happy is sing a few gospel songs and tune in and out of an old man threatening my life with hell then that's what needs to be done.
A different old man with shaky hands and an anxious tone ends the service by praying for my soul.
I noticed his gold wedding band, I wonder how long he's been married. Is his wife still living? How much was that ring? What age did he get married at?
"Our God shows the path, once you've opened your heart to him..."
My mother scoots her hand close to mine on the green seats that aren't made for good posture,
she locks her pinky with mine
I look to my left and see my mothers sweet grin
bowing her head to this God, to this cross.
She feels helpless without a bible in her hand and God in her heart.

I'm glad she claims an angel carried her to the couch from the running car in the garage. Because, if she didn't, I'm scared to death I would've been here without her.