****, I've got little people living in my bones, running their electricity through my veins and eating my marrow and breathing my lung - oxygen and drinking my gastric acids and ****, this is what it's like for a star to die, to implode and become a black hole or millions and trillions of stardust particles floating around in the universe.

You leave the smell of *** and cigarettes behind on my skin and it's hurting me, it's stinging my nose and choking me everytime I breathe and my head hurts, my heart hurts because your eyes are so beautiful but you're ******, you kept whispering that you loved me but it hurt and my parents hate you and all my friends hate you but I don't hate you, I want to keep you.

please understand.

it isn't that i don't trust you.

it's just, i've been hurt so much and i hold so many things inside my chest, things that i have no idea how to let out of my shut throat.

and i am so very, very afraid sometimes, so very, achingly lonely inside of myself.

please show me how to open up.

I have this obsession with scratching myself until I bleed. In particular, I scratch my scalp ******. I think it's because the skin is soft and I can dig it out with ease, leaving my fingers red and my hair matted with the crimson liquid. I don't know. I used to scratch my face ****** and raw as a child. Then I got older and did the backs of my hands. Then my arms. Then my ankles. And now my scalp.

My blood and bones and soul want freedom.

I am finally finished with you and everything you are.

(So why do I feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest?)

i'm thinking of the galaxies in his eyes and the stars in his lashes and the dark silk that's his hair and how soft it looked, how soft it was and how the fringe was up just a little bit and how for some odd reason, it made me think of feathers. and of how soft his hands were, how uncertain and when his arm was around me and he bent and kissed me but moved back like he'd been burned and how his laugh sounded over the phone and how his lips danced around my name...how huge and dead his pupils were, how lost when he looked at me-but not really at me, past me, through me-for the last time..

And now we're both bleeding, both monsters. This is what you've made me into, and you finally seem content with it. Maybe now you'll stay.

For all extents and purposes, you were a skinny boy with long eyelashes that should have been forgotten immediately. Except that you weren't. You hung around in my head for months, and you're still hanging around in there. Making pure poetry it seems, since writing about you and holding you are the only things that satiate my need, and holding you isn't really an option anymore.

I want to fall in love and write about it on their back and thighs and collarbones and ribcage and hip bones. I want to make a list of every reason I love them and hide each reason on a different part of their body and I want to draw a heart on the back of their neck. I want to write a ten word poem on the small of their back about how beautiful their eyes are. I want to fall in love and I want to mean it, no regrets.

numbness sinks into my bones.

I think I may take up smoking. And drinking. And possibly drugs. And everything else that will **** me, that will let me go. I will go outside during a blizzard and lay in the snow and wait. I will get so high I think I can fly and jump out a ******* window. I don't care. Just let me go. I can't feel my heart and I can't feel my legs and my fingers are red and I don't know what to think about, except eyes that are so blue they can't even be real.

When I saw you for the first time, you were sitting in the grass at a school game. Your head was thrown back in laughter and you were with my friends. I joined you. You made obscene commentary and threw your hair out of your eyes, crawling like a sensual tiger towards your boyfriend, jumping into his arms, eyes on fire. It was the only moment I looked away from you all night. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. You thought I was too beautiful and you hated me. You didn't want him to look at me. You wanted to crush my skull and hide him under your bed. It made me love you ten times more. He was a fleeting moment in your life. I watched your heart die again and again. One day you latched onto me and kissed me like I was the only thing keeping you breathing. You were the only thing keeping me breathing. You kept saying "mine" and I knew I was never getting my heart back, even after you crushed it again and again. Never died. I dragged my way from the heavenly hell that was your arms and took the remains of my heart with me. I have found someone else. Please stop acting like I broke your heart.

remembering your long lashes and wide eyes-brilliant, with the stars shining in them-makes my heart stop...

So for the record, I ******* love you. I love the way you smile and the way you laugh. And how there's life to you, something so softly, yet unmistakably alive. You bring out the best in me and you're the whole sky, like I said before. I'd be happy just sleeping next to you for one night, but forever is the dream. I love the look in your eyes when you're talking about something you like. I want....I want to stay with you forever. I'm just afraid forever is too much to ask. I'm afraid you'll change your mind or disappear. I'm afraid you'll walk away. I'm afraid you'll leave me alone. I'm afraid because I love you in a way that eats me alive, but you probably don't feel the same.

soon, i will be sipping coffee with my color-renaming ghost boy, and forgetting tonight's agonies.

And you know what's insane? Our method of beating time was setting the broken clock in my room to the time he got there, closing my black curtains tight, and then sitting in my bed, pretending everything had stopped. Pretending like the sun wasn't going down outside, like the world wasn't still moving around us. Acting like every clock in the world didn't exist, because my room was suddenly the only world in existence and there was nothing else. Because that moment is saved forever, in both our memories and the book of the universe, and that clock won't tick until he's back for me. That moment is going on forever in my room, time stopped until his return, and I want nothing else.

the sound of the gunshot will be the final scream i could never release.

I've craved death as long as I can remember, but God forbid I let anyone else go. And now I'm staying for someone else. Because my heartbeat doesn't mean as much as yours.

The only way I have left to describe how I'm feeling is gray. Empty and gray and like I'm not anything at all, because in all reality, I'm not. Someday, I will be dead, and this will be all that's left, these words right here. I'll be words on a screen on a website.

I feel musings and poetry on my tongue, in the back of my throat, on the tips of my fingers. Letters never written or never sent are inked across my brain and words unsaid are branded beneath my skin. I am composed of writing now, my greatest love. It will be okay.

When you don't love me anymore, put the gun to my temple and pull the trigger.

And if you ever loved me at all, shoot yourself next.

i know that i'm all wrong for you but i can't help but miss you like hell.

For the people who put me so high up on their ******* pedestals that they thought I was some sort of angel: I'm not. You all can call me perfect and beautiful and dreamy and whatever else you want to spit out. But eventually, a time will come when I peel back my shell and make you see what I am inside. How cruel, how senseless, and how vile I truly am. And you'll be disappointed. You'll see the bitter, broken thing where all your expectations used to be and you'll be *******. How dare I not meet up? How dare I *not ******* care?

And I am sorry that you are taking us so seriously, and I am looking at you as a placeholder- a boy who wanted the empty space next to the burning doll that I am so badly that my charred fingers crumbled, and I let you stand by my side.

If I could stop thinking of your solar system eyes and starry lashes, that would be ******* fantastic.

and i am realizing that i am living my life one push away from self-destruction.

You tasted like cinnamon, like summer.

You were a shade lighter than caramel, and your eyes were forever swirling, green and gold and chocolate.

When you made me promises, I dared to believe them.

I was wrong and you are a liar.

the slices down my ribcage are infected, just as you infected my heart.

I want to lay down in snow banks and smoke cigarettes and feel the toxin-filled air freeze in my lungs and just die, nicotine and ice inside the void that is my body. I want my empty hands to be open and my eyes facing the sky, the last sunset I will ever witness forever trapped inside them. I want the cold wind to lift my soul from my prison-body and carry me into the clouds. I want to be at peace at last.

i just want to drink myself gone.

Was because my fingers have become lead, and my tongue is glued to the top of my mouth.

and if i were ruled by something other than my heart, i swear, i wouldn't be doing this.

"This will be the last time that we see each other. And someday, 'i love you' will be as friends from a million miles away.

Good-bye Taylor. It's time to let go."

Do you ever just feel your energy under your skin?
Like lightening and it's like eating your veins or some **** but it isn't, it's like zapping you and crawling in your bone marrow and and growing in your stomach and your head is full of sky and your throat, the back of it feels kinda like battery acid and kind of like rainwater and it tastes like burn. And it's like you don't have skin anymore you've just got pure ******* magic, and little people are building homes in my ribs and I can feel them crawling on my bones and stealing blood from my heart to drink, lighting up my lungs and making me glow from the inside out- the death of a star, in a breathing girl.

two things that are never meant to be.

*don't pretend you're sorry.

I'm 17.

I suffer from daily anxiety attacks. Sometimes up to six of them in one day. Thoughts of ending my life, of ending the constant torment, are what I have to think about to calm me down.

I have to convince myself that I'm going to **** myself almost nightly to save my life.

Tell me again how these are the best years of my life?

All I can think of is us holding hands, a gun in each free one, and my tarot cards scattered all around us.

and right now, i just want to hold you so tightly that you fill the spaces between my ribs. i long for you to become the blood in my veins and the air that i breath, because i want all of you...even the parts invisible to me.

I don't care about much of anything, but I could care about you, if you wanted me to...

You ruined me and now you are ruining my poetry, stomping your way onto every line and using the only thing I ever found comfort in as a way to twist the knives within my back and heart.

fingers locked together, but something feels different. looking over and thinking, "oh."

*because the hand connected to mine isn't yours anymore.

I want to hold your hand as badly as ever. But I'm sad and aching and my fingers won't forget how yours felt between them and my hand won't forget how tightly you held it and my brain won't forget your smile, it's kind of like you burned it on the inside of my eyelids. I can taste your voice in the back of my throat and your gaze is like butterflies on my skin. I wish you'd hug me again. I miss smelling you on my skin all day.

you had the nerve to tell me to smile, even though you are the one who took it away to begin with.

everything we made together kept breaking, and now i think it was a sign.

ripping the flesh from my palms because your ***** won't leave me alone..

You didn't call and the oxygen in my lungs is poison.

my heart is not an instrument you can just play.

And I'm not even a legal adult yet.

But I've already given up. Death drives me. And I can barely write anymore, because my fingers feel like lead, like they're broken. All my bones are crushed beneath everything I gave up on. I feel like gravity weighs millions of pounds, like I've got dead galaxies on my shoulders, made up of all the dreams that died before they ever lived at all.

I just want to fly away.

i am wondering if this is what a panic attack feels like

Still making the same mistakes.