smile like you don't wish you were dead.

he kissed the scars on her skin, but stared at yours in absolute disgust.

thank you for showing me how easy it is to lie about love.

i'm just another dead butterfly at your feet.

you make me as happy as cats.

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

and i am finally starting to be *okay.

i'm tallying up your broken promises on my flesh, darling.

we fought the clock for almost two years. but time always wins, in the end.

it was strange, sitting there realizing we fought a running clock for almost two years. seeing what had once looked like forever become more like seconds, and knowing we lost, because we never could have won.

i am giving up on you.

True love is holding their hand and committing a double suicide when you realize that you can't do it anymore.

i understand. i'm sorry i didn't know you.

There is silence where my heart once thundered. And all the screams have turned to whispers.

getting lost in kisses that may or may not mean everything just to get away from you.

and now I go from this content, docile girl to a savage within moments.

I want to hold your hand rather desperately.

i'm sorry, baby. things really weren't supposed to be this way.

and i hate her with almost the same passion that i hate you with.

*but not quite. For i hate you with a lovers passion, and i hate her as the usurper.

if i had wings, you broke them.

sitting here terrified of you because everyone who came before left

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.

When i ran out of ways to make myself happy, i turned to vices instead.

wishing i tasted of something other than cherries and sin.

i am an addict in the worst possible ways.

i love you even more when you hate me.

i would rather let the memories i held so close to my heart fester and **** me, as a wound, than lose them. because losing these pieces of the past would mean losing any ghost of you that i may have left.

i.  am. not. strong.* i am paper-thin skin, ripped and torn, floating in the ocean with salt scorching the wounds. red ink pours into the water, and i am trapped in a circle of great whites, smelling the innocent blood and ready to feast.

i'm not strong. i'm scared.

i am tortured at night as well, by the ghost of you in my sheets.

you made the near-constant chatter in my head stop, but now you are gone and all i hear is *screaming.

today was the last day i may ever see your face.

*and i am having pretty mixed feelings about that.

babydoll keeps saying she loves me, *but she doesn't know what a mess i really am.

feeling like a wasteland.

spending each day on the verge of tears takes its toll.

i will never be what you want.

my throat is tight and aching with every word i never said.

and i have a million problems to drink away this weekend.

*a family history of alcoholism is one.

i am just another dead thing beneath your boot.

i wish i had a vice besides *love.

red pen lines cover pale thighs and i am almost ashamed.

You. Who ruined me in ways I didn't know possible. Who filled me with a rage and agony and eventually such a deep sense of loss, of pure emptiness that I saw my own death every night. The smell of you lingers in my worn sheets and on the love seat that remains on the patio, and every time I sit there breathing in your scent, memories flood my eyes and fire drips from my tear ducts. You ruined me in impossible ways, showed me why storms are named after people. You replaced the blood in my veins with poison. And now, you draw a girl you lied to me about for years pictures, asking her to come watch the stars with you. The stars that we used to trace across the skies together, side by side in the dark. You swore you'd come back to me, but only for her - your side girl, who already has a boyfriend of nine months who really doesn't deserve a ******, selfish, proud ******* like you hanging all over his ***** of a girlfriend. But **** all of you. **** every last one of you who broke every bone on the way to my heart in every direction. ******* because I can't even focus long enough to finish a **** writing, because pain of another direction hits and I end up going that way. ******* for making me full of a hatred I didn't know existed. For shattering me in a way that makes it hard to breathe when she says your name, (your first name, the one I'd breathe against your shoulder, the one only I was allowed to use because you didn't want anyone else calling you by it, too personal.) Because the last time she said your name, it was because you used your rare phone call at basic on her and it hit so hard I vomited. Because I didn't know you could puke from mental anguish. ******* for teaching me all the ways a human can be destroyed. I pray to anything willing to listen that you both feel it someday.

"You're not as submissive as I expected you to be. Typically, girls do whatever I tell them to once I put my hands around their necks."

How many other people...Have you allowed to lie next to you....In that ******* bed...

Please come back. We'll watch stupid movies and eat tacos and drink slushies again. We'll hold each other and I'll use your blanket so my scent lingers after I'm gone again. I'll rest my head on your chest again. I'll apologize. I'll make you coffee. I'll call more often and pay more attention to you. I'll pause my video games when you call. I'll talk on the phone for hours with you and hang on to every word. I'll kiss you longer and hug you tighter. Just please, please come back. Please.

"You're beautiful" isn't the compliment that it used to be, you know. Because what happens to beautiful girls in this world is anything but. Your beauty is used against you, used to target and mark and blame you. "I couldn't help it, you're so beautiful." When they touch you without your permission. Girls hate you because you're beautiful. Men turn their sickness on you. You're scarred by the greed of someone who wants to touch you and thinks they can because you're beautiful, scarred by the envy of people who can't look like you, who don't realize what beauty really does to people. They notice you because you're beautiful and they don't care about anything else. You're just a pretty doll that they think they can play with anytime they want, that they can blame their actions against you on you because you're beautiful. Because "I couldn't help myself" is said in a way too complimentary tone from someone you didn't want to touch you. Sometimes you just want to take it all away. Shave your head, burn your body. Waste yourself away into nothing, till there isn't a trace left of beauty to blame. Till you're invisible and not worth targeting anymore. But there will be other beautiful girls for some sick **** to target and destroy. Someday, you're all going to destroy the beautiful girls in the world. You're going to destroy all of them and complain about it. Because how dare they take their beauty away from you? Even though you're the ones who ruined it. Ruined it for everyone and made all the beautiful girls destroy themselves to get away from you. Make girls afraid to be ugly because you're all focused on the beautiful girls, when really, you're the ******* ugly ones. Punish them for not being beautiful. Punish them for being beautiful. Punish them for everything because you can. Say what you will, but beautiful is twisting. I've ceased to make sense. I'm not sleeping right. I'll make this make sense later, maybe. Or maybe I won't, because even as I write this, I'm afraid of not being thought of as beautiful. Because you're punished either way, and is it better to be targeted than ignored? I'm trying to remember when I was the ugly duckling kid and nobody talked to me, versus now when I'm targeted for destruction. I don't remember what was worse. I don't remember, so it scares me either way.

and now that i can no longer stand myself, i find solace in you.

dark eyes and dark hair and long legs and artists hands, all pale skin and a lanky figure stretched across my couch, gesturing and laughing and resting a cold arm across my shoulders.

tips of fingers tracing across my own flesh like slim ice cubes, soothing and tickling at once, and my pulse finally slows and i get lost in someone else for awhile.

you plan to get high on easter and nearly every other day, you rarely speak but let soft touches and tight hugs convey what you can't say.

you told me you had never loved anyone and may never love anyone, and your favorite memory is of a cat you had as a child.

you smiled, but your eyes were black holes.

I love you, and because I do...I want you to find someone who loves you as much as I do—more, if possible. Because you can't love me, because you don't want my love, don't want me. But I love you more than anything, enough to let you go if you ask, enough to stay knowing I'll never be your person, enough to be your friend when it's killing me, enough to wish you a love that's legendary with someone you love back.

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.

why don't you realize that it doesn't matter to me how much light is in this world? it doesn't matter that stars dance in the sky or that the sun shines down or that there are a million different colors here. it doesn't matter that the moon reflects off the water, rippling along the surface and softening everything. none of it matters because you are not here to share it with me. it doesn't matter what all the world has in it if you aren't here to hold my hand and walk with me.

But I am happy in my own skin. Small frame, full, pouting lips. Flat stomach, toned thighs. Thick, waving brown hair and almond shaped hazel eyes. Pale skin and cinnamon shaving freckles. Long nails that chip often. I am a short girl, but I am not childishly built. I am not stick-thin, but not plump. Boys say I have "real" curves- crudely deeming them superior to what they call "fat girl" curves, not noticing the aggravation their casual mockery of another women's body invokes in me. They touch my hair without my permission and leer at my chest. They laugh and compare me to a cat when I swat their hands away and storm off. They all want to call me kitten. Well, this one has claws.