One of these days, I'll learn how to write
But I'm doing the best I can
I'll probably never be Edgar Allan Poe
Or any kind of famous man

No one will ever know my name
Or even hear my rhymes
I've told myself it doesn't matter
At least a million times

For me this life is over
There's no where else to turn
The time has come for me to end it
I guess I'll never learn

Don't anyone try to stop me
For it will do no good
Things are just gonna happen
The way I knew they would

It's time for me to **** myself
Yes, It's time for the blood to flow
How long does it take to die from a paper cut
Does anybody know?

Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.
No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!
Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?
To ease me of this power to think,
That through my ***** raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.
Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am ****’d on earth!
Sweet steel! come forth from our your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!
I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the ****** dart,
My last—my only friend!

I want you, with every fiber, nerve, molecule of my being.
My ****** muscles stretch themselves into a smile when I see you.
Not caring to hide their eagerness.
My hands move for your perfect, strong self, without my permission.
Like a magnet they are drawn.
Forcefully with shame and anger I remove them.
Frustrated that I have grown weak again.
That I, this infatuated, pathetic version of myself cannot look at you as off limits.
Cannot force myself to think of you as a friend.
Anything less than all of you is torture.
Anything less than complete wholeness in you is a nightmare
That keeps repeating itself over and over and over.
Everyone can see my struggle.
I can't hide it, believe me, I've tried.
I cannot make myself care about their derision.
I am envious of anyone that is allowed to touch you.
I long for closeness.
Not in general.
Not out of sadness or loneliness or "frustration".
But because I want, I need to be yours.
With or without consequences.
With or without a fierce inner struggle.
I would rather be with you on our worst of days, then to be with anyone else on their best.
Because they cannot mean as much to me as you do.
I crave your attention like a convict craves his final supper on death row.
With an insanity, an eagerness, a hunger no one ever feels.
No one ever wants to feel.
You electrify me with your very spirit.
You ****** me with your very presence.
Take me, want me, hold me, feel me, love me, or ******* hate me.
I don't care what you do, just do it with me.
You are not mine... That pain is white hot, deep down in my lungs.
Making it difficult to exhale.
Seeing you is a sigh of relief, but it is always closely followed by a blackness.
The knowledge that I will never receive your love.
She knows, always has. She hates me for it.
Who can blame her?
But she has you, God help me she has you.
The thing I want the most and she doesn't realize how precious, how priceless that is.
I see the disdain, the hatred, the fierce protection in her eyes.
She holds you tighter.
I feel a thrill.
She thinks that I, a small insignificant person could actually manage to rip you away from her.
Her naivety is astonishing.
My crazed hope is everything she dreads.
I'd wish to get over you...
To forget, to fall into a deep catatonic peace.
Dream of you no more.
But this addiction is sickly sweet, a deathly syrup that I don't want to give up yet
... I can't give up yet.
This hope is the only thing keeping me going.
These stories I tell myself, these dreams I barely let myself remember. They keep me sane.
Not happy,
Not content, but sane.
Please God don't take my hope away

I couldn't stand another stare,
From penetrating eyes.
I cannot bear to speak the words,
And hear their mournful sighs.
I can't get out of bed today,
I don't want to see that face,
The one with which just one glance,
Takes me to a secret place.
A place where you smiled just for me,
Where there was only light.
A place where no one points or glares,
Or could raise a word to fight.
I can't get out of bed today,
I'll close my eyes instead.
Dream of you and me again,
Warm here in my bed.

eating disorders are so hard to

                  Kick

because your eating disorder becomes your

closest most

                     honest

most

             Vicious

friend.

your eating disorder will never abandon you.

it will never ignore you it will never

leave

        you

                                      ­    ALONE

at the End of the day, it’s just you and her.

and I say {HER} because mine is a real *****.

your eating disorder is always there to

                     whisper-scream

in your

         ear.

always

there to swim in your aching(empty)(toofull)

                    stomach

to claw at your skull to

break your heart.

she, my vicious friend, comforts me.

because even though I’m being

               destroyed

               ripped apart

at least I’m not alone.

hell, she even gives me an excuse as to WHY

I am

                         alone

itsnotmeitsmyweightnoonecouldeverwantafatgirl

itsnotmeits­myweightthatkeepspeoplefromgettingclosefromLOVINGme

She knows me better than anyone— knows how b

                                                              ­  r

                                                            ­       o

                                                              ­ k

                                                              ­        e

                                                      ­            n

i am.

as much as I ‘recover’

she is there— curled under my brain matter

like a troll in a fairy tale.

she is there

waiting

watching

counting

smiling

because i always come

back.

I once stopped a Sparrow while I was up in the clouds.
I asked him for a flying lesson, because I was stuck
in the fluffy white vapors.
Steve the Sparrow is a fantastic teacher.
I fly around all the time,
but I also still climb up the clouds
like I used to.

Bad habits die hard.
Some don't die at all.