I think I love you
More in my mind
Than I do
In real life .

The way you smile,
I don't know why,
But I romanticize you.
In my mind your perfectly mine.

I have a story,
A perfect script for you to follow.
Like a romcom I wrote
But that's not real.

I not a realistic person.
I want perfection.
Your not perfect.
Neither am i.

As the early morning sun is peeking
behind the mountains in my backyard,
I begin to romanticize a day where I do not doubt,
a day where I do not indulge in self-sabotage,
a day where I believe I am capable of achieving my childhood dream.

She told him
That she had a timer
That her story would be short lived
"I don't have enough pages for you to read"
He said that was fine
Some of the best stories are always short lived and end in cliffhangers
A signed contract
Two agreements
Willing participants
It's been fifty six days
He's watched the ink
Encircling her wrists
Oxidizing
Black flaking off
Skin growing more sallow
Edges looking as if they've curled in
Brittle
Brown with age
She told him
He wouldn't have enough pages to read
Less is more
He silently thought
The book closes

You can have everything you've ever wanted and still want to end your own life.
That is not beautiful.
How do you build a life for yourself when all you've ever known is darkness?
How do you make yourself happy when it's so comforting being sad?
That is not beautiful.
You decide when you're fifteen years old that it doesn't matter if you succeed in school because you wont live until you're eighteen.
You based your entire adult life on the chance that one day you are going to succeed at killing yourself.
That is going to be the one thing you're successful at.
That is not beautiful.
Having to explain why there are deep scars on your body is not beautiful.
Having the people you love and care about visit you in the hospital and seeing the sad and tired looks on their face is not beautiful.
It's sad, and it's awful, and it's exhausting.
It hurts. It ******* hurts.

romanticize our problems
until they are colored in pink and purple hues
baby blue mornings filled with you
fantasize our perfect life together
what if reality is the fake
coffee, music, and solitude can be found
any Saturday safely in your arms
awoken by kisses soft and gentle
until clothes end up getting lost somewhere
dancing around the living room
in our pajamas, without masks on
I wish this was still true
but this is not reality, this is not truth
this is me romanticizing past loving
like dreaming of Paris in the rain

"You're really good at poetry!"

*"ha, I'm good at romanticizing toxic situations"

Born into this world,
Tears at the end, tears at the start

Never going back,
My story becomes a piece of art.

Unprepared and free-handed,
Keep the paint flowing.

Cover up any mistakes,
Who knows where this story is going?

Do I love? Do I lose?
Do I laugh at the pain?

Do I bite? Do I bruise?
What does my heart gain?

How will you decorate it?
Choke a bit on glitter.

Have you ever tasted paint?
*It tastes bitter.

Hide the scars
draw a heart
on your arm
take a picture
add a filter
kiss her scars
"stay strong, love"

Only discuss what your feeling,
never share the real meaning
maybe someone will like you if you have bigger problems
joking with yourself when they barely even hit the quantum
Must've wanted to see what was so attractive
Picked up a blade then blamed me after
words are painful
piercingly baneful
Dug a deeper hole so you can bury me, just haphazards,

So immune to what your saying
you lied to me
so focused on what you're really hating
wanted to get into a fight
so you poisoned me at night.
think you're so poetic?
stop it.

It's pretty hard to stay clean
Looking in the mirror is so much harder than it seems
hard to keep on trucking
when your so bloodsucking
your actions are the kind that pull the noose up the tree
I wish it had all been fake
you put your heart out on a plate
for everyone to sample
if only they knew how you're never organically explaining
serving things the people should be disdaining

You have no idea
romanticizing for whoever's listening
when they say your so **** talented, your face must be glistening
You don't understand me
and this life you've created for yourself
writing about a life you know nothing about
how many times do I need to say it to get it in your head
You'll never understand the feeling of waking up
and wishing
you were
dead.

Hide the scars
rip the heart
on my sleeve
take your picture
add that filter
hope you're happy
"stay strong, dear"

I've never been one for romance
For so long that's been my stance
With attempts to avoid what caught my eye
Which we both find now to be a lie

I've shared with you my favourite place
Where we can both come when we need space
I now prefer it everlastingly more
Even the comforting silence cannot bore

Spontaneous moments call for plans
While I hope this won't get out of my hands
Since I crave to know I'm in control
Your "Forever" isn't quite my goal

Living is often like drowning, and sleeping like flying,
So bridges and tall buildings always tempt me.
When I talk about death I feel brave.
I've always hated how recognition can so easily turn into pride.
They say pride comes before the fall,
But I believe that various kinds of self-centeredness are the origin of all unholy descents.
I remind myself that I shouldn't take my life because I didn't give it,
And my heart continues to beat on its own.
Blood doesn't stain crimson red,
It darkens and crusts on the skin.
Everything that is dead becomes only a memory,
Then it disintegrates and washes away, eventually becoming nothing.
I can’t remember anything from before I had the ability to reason,
So when did I come alive?
I wonder if all people valued beauty,
Would there be peace?
Because I sometimes wonder whether Neil Armstrong meant to say what he did as took his first step on the moon.
I think trying is as valuable as doing,
But justification is a dangerous tool.
I am cautious of failure and success;
But count this as my eulogy
A list of things that I am going to say before my untimely death.
*I recognized the world for the canvas it was and I didn't waste my life.
My dreams were my motivation,
And they were fueled by those that underestimated me
I walked streets day and night and prayed that I would somehow run into the girl of my dreams,
and when I finally found my missing rib I looked at her like she was a piece of art that I just couldn't keep my eyes off of.
I suffered and I found its nectar bitter-sweet.
I didn't get the best of life, but then I made the best of life.
I never stopped caring,
my love for the unlovable made me daring.
I trusted too easily so I was always broken.
I always found things to love, but they never loved me,
But despite it, I still loved, hard, even though it hurt me.
I couldn't comfort because I had never been comforted.
After a lifetime of battling myself, I finally took off my crown of thorns.
I didn't let the past get the best of me,
I gave the future all of me.
I hated animosity,
War was despicable to me,
And I always preached peace.
I prayed constantly that my efforts would not be in vain.
I never actually could stop sinning,  but despite my ugly sins, I never stopped straining.
I was not perfect, but I did the best I could.
I never ceased to hear the music.
I still played, even when I felt like I was playing solo, I still played my part in this symphony of life.
My eyes were aimed at the director, and we played through the storm,
We played even when all hell was against us,
We played, and played, and played
Until eternity came through.....