I've been so stupid
I think as the smoke envelopes my lungs
What was I thinking?
How could I have been so dumb
Spending every waking moment
Trying to become so numb
Where did this satisfaction
Of stillness come from
What were my hopes and dreams
I guess that I have none
I take a drag with a final breath
How could I love someone
When I find such comfort in my own death
I've been so stupid
It's an affliction that I have done

Who is this person I see in the mirror?
I can't identify their familiar face,
But I don't have her name,
She seems to stare into my soul.
She won't see much, it's really dark
I wish I could find out who she was,
But she is behind the mask.

Everyone seems to like her,
She is the loved one, the one everyone wants to be
Unlike me,
Who is this girl behind the mask?
I don't recognize her,
But yet she stares back to see my soul.

My dad seems to like her,
My boyfriend madly in love, head over heals
My family loves how she is,
But yet the don't see me.

She doesn't have scars, the big tummy
She is taller and so very cute,
Her smile is like the break of dawn in early spring,
But I no longer exist.

What do they like about her so much?
Oh yeah..
She is pretty, like a freshly bloomed water lily
She is cute an rather silly,
She is thin,
That makes all the boys grin!!

I don't exist,
Why does she stare back at me?
Why does she seem to mock me so?
Does anyone seem to know??

I guess not....
The girl in the mirror seems to have my face,
No wonder I'm a disgrace.....
They like her, not me
Austin wants to marry her!!
But bury me.

She is the girl everyone wants to see,
But all they get is me......

I’m wearing a smile,
but the smile’s a lie.
I’m holding back tears,
but my eyes remain dry.

They say the way to the soul,
is seen through the eyes,
but if that is the truth,
then you can see my soul’s died.

I’m emotionally weak,
but too stubborn to break.
I scream at myself,
for being so ******* fake.

No one would know,
how broken I am.
Lying is my art form,
and self hatred’s my jam.

How can you love yourself,
when you hate who you are?
Hiding behind falseness,
like skin behind scars.

Maybe one day,
this disguise will explode.
Then you’ll see the real me,
and my world will implode.

Till then it’s my secret,
between me and myself.
So just look at my smile,
and ignore everything else.

I didn’t get the memo
to evolve -
stop sticking my hands
into the fresh-fire,
as if some part
of my visceral mania
wants to ****** my knuckles
with the ashes of Prometheus.

Every day that I don’t crash my car
is a white-hot remnant
of the suffocation of boredom,
like my life is on pause
until I’m nose down in a gutter
or in a line that I keep trying to cross.

There’s evaporated acid rain
condensing within every hangover,
each time the sun
rises; I rip down my fingernails
climbing to reach it,
gasping down
at the pulsating impulse
to make something terrifying
out of paper maché
and broken bottles
and bruised ego.

In every grave, there’s an I,
subtly watching
for the apotheosis;
a moment of sickly-yellow violence
igniting once more
any excuse for a fight
for fame,
for a feeling.

i hate people more than
i hate myself...expect you
you're a good one

i don't understand
why you hate the person you...
are my golden hour

How many times will I wash my face to feel satisfied with the work Ive put in?
How many mirrors will I have to look in until I’m comfortable in my own skin?
Will the weight of the world be lifted off if I start at the gym?
Are all the troubles I face, a reflection of the **** that I am?
Or no, are they just here? a constant reminder that if I interfere, I’ll just be more tired, more full of what I will fear, if I lose control of stopping....

I'm jealous of those people
Who end their days so well
They don't have to think twice
If they are living in hell

I live constantly in pain
always feeling agony
I don't feel sorry for myself
I made myself this tragedy

Every night before I sleep
I have a habit of overthinking
"I shouldn't have said that"
"Was I too much?"
"Am I really not enough?"
These thoughts linger my mind
As I feel forgotten and left behind
but I have no right to complain
I made my life this way

white surfaces flash in fluorescent lighting –

this is no opus, heaving on cold bathroom tiles,

blood and grain against porcelain,

convulsing creature in all its grotesque obloquy:

bleary and snotting. four-walled, windowless, antiseptic vivarium;

life crawls outside. it thrives, it devours, it fortifies.

inside, here, it repulses. ****** effluvium of all kinds.

sharp shrieks of skin across glossed floor, tears soak

before the cliff of the jaw. nothing stays.

wiping drool off the sterile sink and sweat off my knotted back.

snarls choking into sobs, sobs gasping for air.

this is no opus; blackening from corners,

the repugnant vignette held between fingernails –

for the contagious odium of the resigned abhorrent

bleeds and drips and stains.

neglect and rejection strewn like pearls,

pearls, worth nothing, feeling everything.

a fly buzzes in the stark fluorescent light,

and blackness climbs in. blackness consumes.