I could stare at myself in the  mirror for hours.

It starts in my extremities.
a chill creeps its way into my abdomen,
and cements my joints.

The bacteria residing in my intestines
dine on my organs for supper,
they blow up my stomach until I'm
pregnant with air, my non-existent baby
forcing thick liquid out every orifice.

It tickles,
when the flies visit my rotted skin.
Their steps light and playful,
turn sinister, and force their way into my
open mouth to lay their eggs.
I wait, as the larvae devour
my brain tissue.

When I have nothing left to give,
I'll pull down my lower eyelid
and let the maggots slide out.

when it's a pin *****
on my soft skin a zit pops
i play my mind trick
and i stop
to think of the pain i choose
how i want to bruise
and bedazzle my back
in thumbtacks
running razor blades
making crimson masks

I want to sink into myself
Deep into my veins
Be held by this warm blood
Turn myself inside out
And never see light again

And while I walk
Skin reverted
I will cross paths with
Faces of horror
And I will be happy
Because finally
I will know why
They elude me

i look at you and
my heart begins to flutter wildly
creating a certain heat inside of me, beneath my skin
my heart swells and swells
until it bursts, ripping my chest open and spraying my guts
against the surrounding walls in a thin layer of glittering entrails

a masterpiece of carnage and gore
practically glistening in the morning sunlight
so dazzling, i barely even notice the smell of my sizzling flesh
as the golden sun rays rain down on my ruptured organs,
transforming them into a puddle of bubbling crimson brew

my legs turn numb and i collapse to the floor
in a pile of bones and blood

oh how you make me MELT .

My hands hurt, my hands tremble
My hands itch, my hands scratch
My hands drag, my hands drag
My hands push, my hands shove
My hands bend, my hands break
My hands scream, my hands implore
My hands are cut off under the gleam of the midnight oil
My hands are cold, my hands are still

I will never see them again.

Shut up for once, with your arguments about how I'm not listening. I feel as if all I ever do is listen. You shouldn't assume things about me, you don't know me the way you think you do. You don't know me. I'm thinking about things that should make me cry, but they seem right for now. They seem good to think about. I will cry and whine and scream about being alone, but this is not an invitation to console me. No, I believe that the urge for you is long gone. You're upset, I cradle I adore I try to help. I'm hurt, and you open the message and drop off the face of the earth. RED FLAG RED FLAG RED FLAG. Please, stop acting as if I'm hurting you. Stop pretending that I'm the bad guy. Guess what? I have a right to feel this way. "My past" you offer when I'm mad at you. "My past makes me feel this way." But if I ever? Oh, ** **! If I dare use that? "don't use your past as an excuse to be a ****** person." You may have gone through some hard ****, Frenchie. But so did I. But you wouldn't know that, would you? OH, SURE! You know about my grandfather, who doesn't? What else? Do you know anything else? Of course not. Not much, not that I remember just yet. Why's that? why don't you know? Because I've come to realize that talking to you is near pointless.
  But you wouldn't get that, right? Even if I wrote novels upon novels, trying to let you get me, begging for you to read, you wouldn't get it. You call me close-minded all of the time. "you'd make a terrible president." Remember? I do. I try to remember everything. Just so I make sure not to make mistakes. You call me close-minded, and yet the moment anything I should/try to talk about is brought up, you disappear. But then you get mad at me for not being able to open up... hmm. I reckon it's my past, yes? I think that maybe it's my past, Sydney. OH? But you'd understand this, hm? HA! AS IF. As if you'd ******* care as if you ******* care. "You know I care about you more than I probably should, right?" Shut up.  You don't care. I know you don't. (my my my, you sound toxic, J) IM ******! ****** AND HURT! AND ALONE! OH? You're drunk, aren't you? Haven't you been? Your friends said so, the ones you've kissed, the ones you've kissed! Drunk, drunk, drunk, they message me, you in the background on your phone. Drinking, drinking drinking, smoke a bowl or seven, and who knows what else? Perhaps a massive ****, right? With your friends that you've kissed before. I'd know, I have the videos of it. But if I even mention someone I've kissed, what do you do? Blank face, play "****** on my mind" until the guilt makes me shut up, smile, change the subject. OH! The friends you've kissed, the friends you've kissed, the friends you've kissed, they text back so easily, I just wanted to see how your day was, how did you sleep, I just want to love you. Don't act like you're the victim here, don't ******* act like this. I asked how your day was, I asked how your day was, I only wanted to know how your ******* day was! Why is it that you leave me on seen? I asked how your day was, how did you sleep? "I'm with friends." "oh, I'm sorry love, I love you, stay safe." hm? and then what? opened 12 hours ago. I said I loved you I said I loved you I said I loved you. So why is it that when I post on my story about watching Twilight because I'm lonely, mostly a joke, halfway true, you're mad? Am I not allowed to feel alone, with the "opened 12 hours ago" sign blinking, screaming, at me, blinding me with its neon talons when it takes flight into dearest memory lane? Oh! MY EYES! THEY TEAR MY EYES, MY EYES! I'M BLIND! I'm BLEEDING! WILL I EVER SEE?
   Am I not allowed to feel that way? Am I not allowed to feel? a l o n e? Is that it? How is it that you can message me from your other account, what are you doing on there? You have another account, what do you do there? Oh, I sound toxic. It's my past, Sydney, it's my past!! Ha! WHY ARE YOU MAD AT ME BEING ALONE! Tell me, I've forgotten, are feelings not allowed? I think that I remember that part of my past, don't feel things. Punish them, punish me, yes? Ignore me for a while, I spoke out against you. IM SORRY JUSTIN IM SORRY JUSTIN I AM SORRY!
   I think you forget that I'm often alone, so why is it that you're mad at me? I'm alone with these thoughts, thoughts like people in a crowd, I sit in the corner, but I know they're all talking about me. Oh, I am alone. With these people who offer to help. HOW DARE THEY? I swat away their hand. ******* ******* *******! You don't know me. you don't know me. YOU CAN'T HELP ME! I'm alone. "I'm always here for you." I know it's wrong of me to believe you, I need you often, there's something wrong with me. Maybe it's my past, hm, maybe it's my past. Sometimes I can't breathe in enough air, I gasp, my lungs fill, my body expands, yet it is not enough. I can't breathe enough, I'm not breathing enough, DONT PANIC DONT PANIC DONT PANIC! ****! Crazy ***** is going through another episode, give them more pills. I CAN'T GO BACK TO THAT PLACE, OH THEY SCREAM TOO MUCH! Why are you mad? Why are you mad at me? What did I do? Did I feel wrong?
  Are you mad? At? Me? For being? Alone? When it is you that's left me. You decided to stop responding, give up, give in, move along with your day. My days aren't as productive. I'm nothing, just a lazy ***, my father says. (having your rights debated is always a fun exercise.) You get angry so often, I shouldn't feel this way? I SHOULDN'T FEEL LIKE THIS! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT "THIS" IS! As ******' if you'd get what's going on in my head, yes? Hell, Sydney, you hardly know what's going on in your head, right? But let me help you, yeah? Like you want? Like you need me to? Like you ask me to and then get mad if I can't, right? Am I right? Am I right? Am I right?
  Tell me, why'd you only ever call me when you're high?
  OH! IS IT SO HARD TO TEXT ME THROUGHOUT THE DAY? Shut up, J, she's not obligated to text you. Now you're just being silly. I leave you on seen for a minute, right? So then you ******* up, and then your mood switches and you get mad at me. OH ** **! You leave for half a day, and then more because now I reckon we aren't on talking terms, at least not on my side for a while. After all, now I need to think and make a decision, and then have the audacity to be mad at me because I feel.. a l o n e? Excuse me. EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME! IT'S PART OF MY PAST HAH! Shut up, I hate that excuse of yours. Do you remember? "Stop using your mental illnesses as an excuse for being a ****** person" do you remember that? I do. Guess what? I can. I CAN USE THEM AS AN EXCUSE, IT LITERALLY IS AN EXCUSE, I CANNOT HELP HOW I FEEL! I CANNOT HELP HOW I FEEL! I CANNOT HELP hOW I FEEL! I feel things! Different from what you do, they do, anyone does. I FEEL .. OTHER! THINGS!..as if you'd get that, yes? I'm lonely. I'm "utterly" alone, as I often am, BUT WHY! WHY ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME FEEL AWFUL FOR IT? I can't feel things without you getting so upset at me. My mental state is ****, oh but you never see it do you? Years of practice, my love. And yet you claim to be able to read me, yes? I hate you. I do, my darling, I despise you. You sicken me, give me a kiss, yeah?
  "You don't deserve words." someone told me today. It wouldn't have bothered me on any other occasion,  I would have laughed it off and gave a smart *** return, but now? Now it's cutting my arms. Oh, ** **! is it? I'm against the bed, "IT'S ALIVE IT'S ALIVE!" It isn't. It has my hands tied, and I'm naked- minus the face of absolute horror and fear. OH? Is it you who wields the blade? No, though I wouldn't be surprised if it were. Nathan does, he holds this dagger against my neck. Don't deserve words, does that mean I don't deserve to talk? Or don't deserve to hear? Regardless, my neck is slit, and he plays with my vocal cords. STRUM STRUM, VIBRATO! Whammy bar, buuurruuruuhhhh! The flesh of my wrists then split from the strings of sound, muscles move underneath, he pokes them and they recoil, I flex and we stare in aw. A third arm reaches from my hand, dropping a heart that it picked up along the way onto my chest, I choke on the length of said arm, I cry, but it's too late, the blood is internal. It grabs an arm, and suddenly I'm tearing myself apart. I become a fish, I strip myself of useless skin! OH? because I DON'T DESERVE WORDS. and yet I feel like I should tell everyone else words all of the time. Chatterbox! Wow, don't I talk way too much!
  WHY AM I TYPING? WHY HAVEN'T YOU APOLOGIZED. Perhaps it is I who is in the wrong, though, yes? You're with friends you're with friends you're with friends. So I should calm down, but that doesn't make feeling alone any less lonely, I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm ALONE. And I think that maybe I'm allowed to be. because it's lonely. when you've been left on opened 12 hours ago.