They say that suicide survivors are usually relieved when they don't succeed their attempt.
Some are even happy.
I am not one of those survivors.
I don't like having to explain why I have such deep scars on my wrist;
Or apologize when I slur and stumble over my words when I'm sober because all of the pills that I overdosed on effected my brain.
I don't like having to live with the realization that I'm even a failure at killing myself.
I have to live not seeing a future.
When people ask me where I see myself in ten years, I have to lie.
I make up some stupid, cliché response like "married with kids." or "super rich with my **** together."
When really I'm actually thinking to myself, "I don't see myself anywhere in ten years because I plan to be dead before then."
I may of made it 18, and to 21, and to 23 but I will be ****** if I make it 30.
There is no future for me.

The numbness of old, once scabbed over scars
The ones where you went too deep,
Should've gotten stitches.
But instead you sent your hopes to the stars
For them alone to keep,
But they don't listen.
Medicine and serotonin
All that seems to matter in the grand scheme
Aggravation and empty promises
Let me not fall back into that bottomless ravine
They say when you wake up with a start
(Like you fell from a cliff and hit the ground,)
They say that's your soul, another part
Of you that died without a sound.
Our love is ravenous and consuming us alive
I hope in the end we make it out side by side
I grind my teeth and bite my tongue
Say not the ways my mind has come undone
For your safety I keep myself around
For our sanity we love each other unbound
Should you choose to turn around
And walk the other way;
My heart will beat its last for you.
First loves never really count-
But the last one, I hope it never fades,
The last one, I hope is you.

I tried to make it easy for myself. To give it up. I used to sit around pick at my food, and wonder how many pounds I would need to lose. I had a goal set in my mind. I wasn't ready to stop. It was becoming my time. All the constant compliments on my weight, didn't care if I saw the light of day, as long I was skinny, I was happy. I was pretty.


Now the world's a pretty ****** up place. But when you have BDD you think you're a disgrace. I pushed and pulled and tried to mold my body, into something I wasn't. That's not even the ****** part. I used to take the pills, chug the water. Was ashamed to call myself my parent's daughter. I was praying for something to come. And while it seems real dumb because according to you I'm pretty, I don't see what you see. Me calling myself fat wasn't for attention. It was a call for help. I just wanted to mention that starving yourself won't get the job done, and if you think it will, it'll harm you a ton. So please stay beautiful the way you are. And don't lose that precious beat in your heart. You're the only you there'll ever be. I love you for you. I just don't love me for me.

1.  There is nothing romantic about the way our hair falls out or the way we hover over the open toilet like there's no other empty space in the house.
2. Do not think that it will be easier to love us because the love we aren’t giving ourselves will go to you.
3. You can trail your fingers along my rib cage, count every vertebrae in my back like marbles stacked high on top of each other. This is not beautiful, this is what dying looks like.
4. I’m sorry for the smell of my breath, but there’s no amount of toothpaste that could cover up the smell of myself rotting from the inside out.
5. “I thought you had to be skinny to have an eating disorder.”
5.   “You don’t look like you starve yourself.”
5.   I know that you wish you could hold me without worrying i’ll turn to dust if you squeeze too hard.
6.   I grew up being told that my body is a temple and I should treat it as such, but I don’t think this is right, see; temples can be destroyed but it always takes another person. I am doing this to myself.
7.   I can’t remember the last time I ate without feeling guilty.
7.   I can’t remember the last time I ate.
8.   One day, I will be nothing and you will be nothing, and i’m sorry that i’m already so close to being gone.
9.   I want to get better. I am trying to get better.
10. Do not think that loving us will be easier, because the love we do not give ourselves is gone, and we cannot love you more than we don’t love ourselves.

He cries in the night tears of pain
His heart filled with so much grief, he fears he might go insane.
He tries to see a way he can keep going on, but he tries in vain.
"Help me. I'm hurting." He desperately tries to explain.
But nobody hears him as he sobs in the rain.
Now he lays there, cold as ice, with his own hands slain.

such a broken little girl
cracked open her skull and
showed everyone her dreams
shame she forgot that all her friends
were monsters

silly little girl
sliced open her veins and
showed everyone what they had
done
she was controlled by a monster

He'd always leave at 2:53 P.M.
Swoosh fwoump.

It was only a matter of time,
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-ti

I wanted to be free.

He'd strap me to a chair and whisper,
sweet stories that you'd coo to *a child,
with sour breath running down my neck,
his greasy forehead pressed against my tear-stricken cheeks;
it'd deteriorate and culture in my ears.

His scent engulfed my mind,
my body, my soul...

He made a grave mistake,
dressing me in grimy socks,
making me dance skin-to-skin,
forcing me to kiss him, call him.

Oh no, you see,
he should have known.

I betrayed his trust, I'd pay the price,
"Isn't that right, Leila?"
That's not my name.

"Now Leila, darling, you're going to be a good girl,
for Daddy, aren't you?"
That's not my name.

"Leila, sweetheart, I can trust you, can't I?
Hmm? This will be our little secret,"
That's not my name.

"Aw, don't tell me, dear, beautiful Leila,
you aren't scared, are you?"
That's not my name.

I knew him well,
after a few months,
and his smell was musty,
only when I let it be.

He always liked sweets,
like me.

He was disgusting,
and my wrists ran red with incisions;
he'd lick them clean.

He'd always leave at 2:53.

"Oh Leila, sweetheart, I expect dinner when I get back,
won't you be a good girl,
and do as Daddy taught you?"
That's not my name.

So I did.

This kitchen was charming,
as much as his worn dining ware,
lined with cracked roses painted by Chinese overseas,
wondering when they would be used.

This was the first time I'd seen him genuinely smile,
"You look especially beautiful, tonight, Leila,
perhaps it's the sparkle in your eye,"
That's not my name.

He took a sip.

His glossy eyes hovered above his glass,
and his gaze drifted over to me,
in my grimy socks and brown-stained apron,
my long, dark hair drapped over my shoulders.

Another glass,
another glass,
another glass,
glass,
sugary sweet,
sweet,
down his lips,
lips,
lips,
teeth,
throat,
liver.

He liked sweets,
sweets,
sweets,
dripping, sipping,
sweet,
sugary sweet, nectar,
cool, smooth,
antifreeze.

He'd always leave at 2:53.

Silence.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-ti-

2:53 P.M.

Silence at 2:00-
2:00
2:00

I'd heard him cry,
"Leila, Leila, Leila,"
That's not my name.

He'd always leave at 2:53,
2:00,
silence.
He would never leave at 2:53,
2:53 P.M.

*I left at 2:53. Silence.