Afiqah 27m

don’t tell us
to sit at tables and feed
our hearts to your unsettled,
needle-like soul
after leaving the front door open
unnecessarily
welcoming in those godawful lot
of dirty wretches
you goofily fraternize with
what a shame
chances after chances came
unshowingly
with open palms
yet,
it’s those sick bastards
you stubbornly decide to
seek for asylum

-a.

kate 49m

you made me realise that indeed,
love has no boundaries;
love has no limits;
that love has no borders;
and love is not confined.
my love,
i will forever be grateful for what you taught me.
fate, however, had different plans for us.
we are just another star-crossed lovers
whose paths are destined to meet
but ends up in different ways.

Destiny told me,
That today is not the end,
Tomorrow just a beginning,
And come what may,
We'll always find a way,
Back to love again;

Maybe time will tell,
Even when it stands still,
No hour passing by,
Just a change in scenery,
From day to night,
A different pace,
A brand new phase,
And lovely faces,
One you've seen in dreams,
Put can never seem to place,
Because destiny told me,
That maybe we're meant to be,
Not right now, baby,
But eventually,
If only you understand the possibility,
Of how you complement me,
The way I love you completely.

@byizn

i am still broken,
but not irreparable.

sometimes i still flinch
from other people's touch.

the moment they try to
dig deeper than the surface

is the moment i fight to remember
what it's like to be alive.

it's not your fault,
nor mine.

my breathing just gets pretty labored
with time.

It's so hard to let other people in.

I don't want many ties that unwind

I don't want to feel the omnivorous shade of blue over and over again

I want to be your Save By The Bell

That doesn't stop after four seasons

Giving you a million reasons

To love life more than before

I found you perched up in my heart

Don't squander the beauty

You have a deep ingenuity

That entices me like the victim I am

So helpless yet so assertive

You're too grand and I'm unsure if I deserve it

I aspire to be one and done

To the honeymoon

To the gravestones

Be the whiteness that's in our transient bones

When the doubt creeps in

Remember I pray to God every day that you'd be mine

And that you're always feeling jolly and fine

It's for real this time

It always has been.

It was not my plan to end up here
The timing was just a bit off
And you were only slightly worse than I anticipated
But.. I am well, thank you
Because here is good
And now is beautiful
It won't get easier, I'm sure
But let us try and find love anyway

I'm losing my focus
so hard to concentrate
my mind is bouncing
like a rubber ball on
glass walls

Everything is weighing on me
like the fact it's been nearly
120 days since I last spoke
to the woman I love without
reservation

Or that I'm struggling
with my close friend
trying to mend the bridge
of the relationship is hard
when she never replies

Or the fact that my addiction
is spiraling out of control
burning me alive and yet
I can't bear to sleep with
a woman since my last

I'm losing sleep even faster
than the US debt is growing
no matter how exhausted i am
I wake up feeling drained
mostly dead

The worst thing about this is
I can't even commit suicide
because I'd rather murder me
a little each day with the pain
because I hate myself

“I wanted to kill the me underneath. That fact haunted my days and nights. When you realize you hate yourself so much, when you realize that you cannot stand who you are, and this deep spite has been the motivation behind your behavior for many years, your brain can’t quite deal with it. It will try very hard to avoid that realization; it will try, in a last-ditch effort to keep your remaining parts alive, to remake the rest of you. This is, I believe, different from the suicidal wish of those who are in so much pain that death feels like relief, different from the suicide I would later attempt, trying to escape that pain. This is a wish to murder yourself; the connotation of kill is too mild. This is a belief that you deserve slow torture, violent death.”
― Marya Hornbacher, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia
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