and just for some reason
I discovered that I deserved better
than I what I was receiving.

"I wanna be strong, but it's not easy anymore."*
My favorite band sings these lyrics so delicately,
and maybe I don't relate to the entire song completely,
but these nine words always catch my attention
as the song comes on the silly little playlists I make,
the few songs I put together to try and cheer myself up
on days where I all think of is drowning myself in stolen liquor.

But these songs,
these songs aren't happy,
these songs aren't sweet,
these songs shouldn't be categorized
in the category of "cheering me up"
but somehow they do.

And this is why I never believe
when someone tells me
bands and the lyrics they write,
the words they write can somehow
turn into perfect melodies,
can't save someone's life.

"I love you dearly..."
You spoke those four words to me countless times,
like a mother should
but a mother also should notice
the harsh words that follow
that feel like a bullet her daughter's chest.
"You're tearing this family apart."
"Maybe you should have killed yourself."
"You're going to ruin Christmas."
"Nothing is wrong with you."
And how do you not notice the added bracelets?
Or see how a light's always on in my room in
the crazy hours of the night when you're  
creeping around for another swallow of pills?
Or how I lock my door when I go to a
friend's house so you don't go in there?
You told me you wanted to jump in front of a car.
A train.
Overdose.
You say we don't care.
Is that why you treat me this way?
I'm numb now, Mom.
I feel nothing.
You've done it again.
I thought it was over,
when I just started to trust you.
But now?
Now I don't trust you.
Or anybody.

Its like a private battle
Going on inside my head
My mind says, “Use the razor.”
My heart says, “Live instead.” Its like a little warzone
And I’m standing in the battlefield.
The scales could tip either way
And to the darkness I yield.

I keep this secret locked within me
But it escapes in a crimson tide.
Soon everyone will know
That once again, I’ve lied.

I try to control the urges
But sometimes I crave release
And I know deep inside
That my blade will bring me peace

On the nights that I don’t lie awake
Dreaming of far better things
Than cutting myself and watching it bleed
I’m quietly reminiscing

The good old days
Where the need to bleed
Didn’t exist an an option
Because I could grieve.

But the tears don’t come anymore
And its red blood I cry
And now I fight off ugly thoughts
About different ways I could die.

Sometimes I ask myself “Why?”
As the knife rests on my wrist
Such a temptation to take my life
And yet I still resist

I know I’ve got things to live for
Like myself and my friends
But each day I face the fact
That few people understand

What its like to walk in my shoes
To be a self-harmer
To make these marks on my skin
And to think thoughts far darker

Than any person really should
But I wake up each day
I think maybe its time to break this habit
Although it seems so far away.

Each day brings me new pains
And also something new
A chance to leave my past behind
And color my world something other than red.

don't fall in love with the ones who only crave intimacy.
the ones who are there because
they're driven by sweet words and an even sweeter kiss.
and that drive
gets higher,
it gets faster,
as more touch gets involved.
but they only crave intimacy,
while you crave something much more.
don't fall in love with the ones who will touch you
and make you feel like
you're floating,
because soon enough they'll push you to the ground,
leaving you to question everything with nothing but
the bruises and scars on your body
left over from
their touch,
their kisses,
their words.
don't fall in love with the ones who only crave intimacy.
they won't want you how you want them.
trust me,
because I crave intimacy.

I remember when I first smoked.
I thought I'd be coughing for weeks,
but now I smoke a pack a day as if I can't get enough of inhaling a sickly sweet smoke into my lungs.
It reminded me of family reunions and hugs from my long dead grandparents.  
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember when I first drank.
I attempted to drown the shot,
but it seemed like the liquid crawled back up my throat like a fire looking for a burn, but I kept going back for more.
I kept on getting burned, drowning another after another until I couldn't remember my name or the date
when in reality I was trying to forget yours and the day I met you.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember the first time I cut.
Blood poured from my wrist in ribbons of red
and in a sickly way someone in me might have thought it was beautiful,
the way it fell to the bathroom floor in a
drip drip drip waterfall.
the razor cut through skin as easy as a butter knife through butter
and at first I didn't know I would love it so much.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember the first day I met you.
Your brown eyes could go from happy to sad in a split second,
but the grin that formed on your face like an artist carved it on there was so contagious I found myself grinning, too.
Your hands were always cold, holding mine, touching my waist, moving my hair out of my face.
I kissed them to keep them warm.
Your kiss sent fireworks throughout my body, like it was 4th of July
and I was just a little kid screaming at the colors and the sounds as your lips explored mine, and my hands explored your body.
I could never get enough of you.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

His nicotine tongue was the most conniving part of his existence.
Every time it made contact with mine,
I tasted Marlboros,
the only brand he would buy.
Whatever his nicotine tongue
did to mine sent me into
a tornado of insanity each time,
like I was one of his cigarettes,
but he put me out,
stepped on me,
before I could burn his lips.
His nicotine tongue told his mouth
to speak such brutal words
that would make me
fall in love with him
over and over,
lighting me up and up,.
He had never kept me lit,
put me out before I could
trick him into thinking
"love"
could be a hole
he could also fall in.
He had carried me
around in his pocket,
his nicotine tongue
telling him to fuel his craving
and pull me out,
wrapping his mouth
around me and breathing me in
until I was no more.
But the more he
breathed me in,
the more his
nicotine tongue
started to die.
I was toxic.
He never did fall in love with me,
but I did end up
being the one to
stomp
him
out.