Dear death,
I am a waste.
I am a waste of space, of air, of life.
I am a waste.
I am wasting away in this darkness of memories that I can’t seem to let go.
I am a waste.
How do I rid myself of pain that strings along the chords of my heart,
Playing it as if an instrument.
How do people make sense of the waste?
How do they learn to appreciate how their mind was meddled with and how their heart gave and gave only to be unappreciated?
I am a waste,
And I still cannot figure out how to make something out of nothing
I am still figuring out who I want to be and where I want to go and all I can seem to think of is you.
Death,
What do you do to people who are wasting away?
Do you **** the breath out of their lungs leaving them to slowly decay and turn to dust?
Or do you hug them tight and tell them everything will be okay even though all you’ll leave behind is a mess?
Death,
I can’t put my pieces back together again.
Sometimes it’s hard getting out of bed and I call you,
Yet you never pick up.
Sometimes I long to jump off of bridges and land into the arms of comfort...yet I never have the courage
Because giving myself to you or to life means commitment and I’ve never known anyone to be committed to me.
Sometimes the waste pulls me in and I drown in a sea of my mistakes; the ones people constantly remind me of, and it seems easier to let the water fill my lungs and sink than fight against the tides.

I am a waste,
Yet I’m still figuring out how to be more.
How to evolve and progress and become
To simply become something more
To want more
To experience and live more
To have said a waste but I certainly am not.
I have been put on this earth for a purpose, and I’m on an adventure of figuring out what my reason is.

These kids are like dragons
Their flames will only drag them down
All the talk is cheap,
Actions only happen on softened ground
As my mind and eyes get heavy
I've been swimming where reality and dreams meet
They say tragedy is dying in death but I don't believe,
Tragedy is never attempting to live, I don't believe
You should give only 30 percent of your mind
To find if the dreams you believe is something you can achieve
And the start only takes a start to begin.

I know what it's like to give it all and still never win
When your account is in red and car running fumes
Selling all of my things in these rooms
Just for the comfort of having a roof
But Ryan, what if it isn't enough and you lose?
I refuse, to put those thoughts in my mind.
You want all of those doubts?
Fine, what if I die of anaphylaxis  tomorrow
What if I don't have a breath to borrow
And I just turn blue.
What if this stress breaks me down
And I forget all the things that make me live
That's just as much true as all of the positive
So why do they scream all these nightmares on the news
But never show all the dreams pounding through

They want you divided, they want you weak
Push down the kid trying to speak
Tell him he's ignorant for having childish morals
Attack his grammar, leaving sides in a quarrel.
Forget the issue for fighting, they bring in their own issue for fighting.
In a rich man's war, it's all the poor biting
Until the world is bloodstained, we scatter from lightning.
Why isn't anyone asking why we are fighting?
These flames are only going to drag us down.

Open if i never wake from the deepest dreams of more,
Open if I give up, succomb to a roaring seashore,
Open if my eyes give way to darkness, where is the light.
Open if my arms fling down, i have given up the fight.
Open if time passes without a murmur, a wanting or a tune,
Open if I run, I hide, seek solace in the flashing moon.
Open if you no longer feel a yearning for a place in the world.
Open if there are no sounds or encouragement to be heard.
Open if it's hard to swallow, the pain, striking right at the chord.
Open if when the rain stops beating, you still can't find the words.
Open if your mind stops wondering, where and when and how?
Open if the door stays locked through bangs and knocks and rows.
Open if I begin to forget all of my manners, my ways.
Open if we're no longer placing photos in frames, of the better days.
Open if all friends have walked by and you find yourself alone.
Open if worry takes centre stage, know that I'll eventually come home.

I’m going to write you letters. A letter for everyday I’ve been without you. A letter for every day I felt hurt. A letter for every day I’ve missed you. I’m going to write you birthday letters, Christmas letters, New Year’s Eve letters. I’m going to write you sad letters, angry letters, and forgiving letters. I’m going to write to you. I’m going to write until my hand breaks. I’m going to spill every single drop of emotion my heart has spilled for you and has yet to. I’m going to write down every single thought I’ve ever thought and emotion I’ve ever felt, for and with you. I’m going to write you. Letters I’ll never send you. But I will still write you. I’ve always loved writing, and you always said I was a great writer. And I also love you. So I’ll get to put the two things I love most in one place. If you ever want to feel my heart again, if you ever for some reason want to see if I still care.. Take these letters. I’m badly bruised, almost paralyzed. I no longer want to speak, or even feel. So I will write to you, all that is real.

The skeleton on my shirt that matches
The pain in my head as
Letters pop up on my phone I cannot read
From here
Behind me and
The more I fight my medication that
Whispers to me
"Sleep. Morning will come. The day is done. Smile."
But
The more I fidget and
The more I write and
The more I cry has it
Screaming to me and
I faint knowing I am nothing more than
Pills in bottles.

Dear Self,
The steps I take towards finding out who you are,
Are a little shakey.
I cannot figure out what it is that is dragging me to the depths of hell that I call,
My thoughts.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, I question when your soul would evacuate its home and soar through the sky.
Self, you're so fragile, it tears me apart looking at you.
Self, how can I save you?
How is it that you're so numb to almost everything?
How am I supposed to feel when you're so caught up in your own world to notice the one beneath your feet?
Self, I am losing you and I can't figure out how to bring you back.
Maybe this is how I become my real self;
The unforgiving,
Doesn't give a flying ****,
Resting ***** face,
Self.
I think I'd like that,
But then again,
I think I'd rather stay true to who I really am,
Than become a stereotypical woman that basis her life on the hate she perserved.