Chest full to the brim
Waterfalls spill over

You pick up the piece
There falls another

While bending to help
I see scissors on my lover
Laid in his hands
The blood provides cover

You cut out a piece
There falls another

With tired eyes
I look to you and say
"Thanks for putting me back together".

If diaries could bleed
This would get ugly
I know I need help
But I'd rather be alone
I can go to therapy
And tell all my sob
Stories and tragedies
It wouldn't matter
In the end because
I'm still dead
Abandoned in a coffin
In the back of my head
My best friends
Brought me roses
Instead of tiger lilies
Because they don't
Really know me
I'll be buried in white
When I finally
Rest my mind
Because no one likes
My gothic side
I hope they'll play
My favourite songs
The ones I left on loop
But they won't
No one knows
What it is I do
And with all this
Spare time I'd say
That's probably okay
Aside from watching Ru
I sit in my room
Thinking about things
Life and death
And all that stuff
Pondering the galaxies
Instead of facing
My own reality
Because the truth is
I can only be
So different
So those demons
That you thought left
They're all still here
And they're all my friends
Better than the ones
Who currently hold
That ugly claim
Someone's got to leave
It won't be them
And it won't be me
I guess we both
Know what that means

Tonight my heart is not in the right place
My brain is lost in the clouds
And my body is buried somewhere underground
4 am
And I am forever lost
On this feeling
Maybe I should sleep it off
Or pray to God
Whatever it is
Please be gone

I have these masses of hollow spaces inside of my chest,
and I don't mean to get my hopes up, but I want to believe,
that you are trying to do some good. But meanwhile,
I am ******* air into this body;
I can't feel my lungs,
and I realize,
that I don't want any of it.

i intend to say
i'm good, i'm ok
i fix wounds, i make them heal

but can this doctor
cry for help
as his patients cry for him?

when he heals
someone else
rather than fix what really kills

it's only up to my imagination
what kind of pain really there is
under a wound on your skin

can broken hearts break again?

you asked me that question
as we sat in the glimmering moonlight
beside the hotel pool,
our hearts filled with emotions
and our blood intoxicated with the truth potion
the only way we knew
to see the real, raw versions of each other.

in that moment,
we no longer hid alone in the shadows of our past

you told me about the pain
that wouldn’t go away,
you told me
about the time your life hit rock bottom,
how everything changed in the blink of an eye.
you lost someone you loved,
someone who promised never to leave,
twice.

you told me about the man
who walked out of the house when you were seven
and never ever looked back.
you said it didn’t affect you anymore,
that you no longer cared,
but your eyes told me stories that your lips couldn’t.
the butterfly effect,
the way he broke your heart
has effects beyond the months of tears
and years of yearning.

you told me about the girl
who fixed your broken heart
and made you feel like the luckiest man in the world,
just to take it all away.
the way she broke your heart
left you in despair
and stole your hope of ever being whole again.

so then I asked you,
can broken hearts be fixed again?

because, baby, even if you tell me that it can’t be done,
I will spend countless days and nights
helping you find yourself
in the darkest corners of your memories

and even if you say it will take forever,
I will spend my entire life
trying to make you believe my words
and accept the love you don’t think you deserve

and hopefully, one day,
I will make you feel whole again.