Rattling of a pill bottle fill the silence
And I don't realize how desperately
I long for anything but the silence
Until it's gone.

What is wrong with me?
I'm holding on to how things used to be
Because letting go has never been my thing
But I think it's time,
And I'm scared
Letting go means finding more to fill that,
Silence
And I'm not sure I can.
I'm not sure I can...
What is wrong with me?

Barely a week clean
And I'm already craving
When can I stop this **** self hatred,
And learn to love myself?
As opposed to harming myself.
What is wrong with me?

Why do I always jump to feelings of anger, sadness, and irritability?
Why do I long for physical pain so intensely?
Why do my thoughts of self loathing present so vividly?
What is wrong with me?

I'm a tragedy, really.
A piece of artwork, pulled apart at the seams
A kind heart that's torn up, scratched and bleeding
But you could never tell, for looks are deceiving
What is wrong with me?

I have help.
I know people care.
But the last person also told me they'd always be there,
And where the **** are they now, definitely not here
And I know not everyone's the same,
But it's one of my biggest fears
What is wrong with me?

I long for the day
Tears spill from my eyes
My heart's ripped into pieces, and I'm feeling betrayed
But the last thing I wanna do is reach for the blade
Because I'll be stronger than that.

But letting go has never been my thing.
So I'm stuck holding on to how I used to think


*What the hell is wrong with me?

But I know one thing:
If I had enough skill,
To accurately depict your face
Using paint brushes,
I'd instantly become a world renowned artist...
For creating a masterpiece that trumps the Mona Lisa.

My life
Is like
A mosaic.

Shattered pieces
Fit together,
In hopes
To look
Beautiful.

When I met you, I was a draft.
An artwork to never be complete.
My eyes of charcoal
My veins of graphite
No color flowed through me for I was
Lifeless.

You opened up to me
You redesigned my thoughts.
Your paintbrush stroked a bright blush onto my cheeks
You turned me into
Bright pastels
With glorious indigos
Overwhelming scarlets
And mysterious lavenders.

You kissed me in a backdrop of
Forest greens.
You created scenery for
Every emotion,
Dressed me with rainbows,
And completed my blank spaces.
You turned me into a masterpiece.
But before you could sign your
Glorious painting
You realized
You could do better pieces
And pastel was over rated anyways.

Pass time with me...
And you will live forever.

I will memorize
The sound of your voice.

Only to compose
A piece about your vocal chords.

Stick by me...
And I will write about you.

Detail-laced words;
The specifics of your smile.

I will dedicate time
To mull over your dimples.

Spend all night
Visualizing the green of your eyes.

Take all day
Writing about the spaces between your fingers.

I am the writer...
You have been collected on paper.

You, artwork,
Now you are immortal.

You’re the painter
and
I am the canvas

You mix blues
and purples
into my skin

Your brushes
are the fists
of a flawed
childhood

I am the pale canvas
of
love

I am patient
as your anger
swells

I wait for
your artwork
to form along
my skin

This is sick
I know
But all I can
say is

“Paint me
and
Make me beautiful” -DDF

He was a sculpture,
Carved to perfection-
Crafted by a true artist.
She was splattered on the canvas;
A mess of wild color,
Thrown together by an amateur.
He thought she was beautiful,
Even though he couldn't quite
Understand her and her giant mess of a story.
She thought he was perfect, too good for her craziness and splatters.
But she was intrigued, she thought he was flawless and something that beautiful deserves to be looked at.
Funny thing is,
He thought that about her. She intrigued him and she needed to be understood.
So he looked at her for days and
Finally he came to the same conclusion as her.
She was flawless and something that beautiful deserves to be looked at.
But together-
They were something
Even more beautiful.

Someone was once able to create a chemical excitement within me//

Like when I looked at him I could see the power radiating from inside his skin//

And when he looked at me I could feel his stare in the deepest part of my gut//

Or when he touched me the power fled from his skin to mine //

Or when our lips met I could feel the electricity burning my flesh in the most beautiful way//

And when he said my name
The words rushed out of his mouth to create artworks in the air above us

Consisting of the most vibrant colors

causing a rush of energy flowing through my blood stream//

Someone was once able to create a synthetic exhilaration within me//