And then the seams broke.
The fabric unraveled in ghostly shades
Of purple, red, and black.
The slaughter of sanity could never be more
******.

The blood of the covenant is
Thicker than the water of the womb.

I am one with the demons rampaging,
Tearing my mind to pieces.
And yet,
Pain has never been so sweet.

I'm barely worth a piece of pie;
An amusing chocolate, or maybe cherry,
Or maybe a new pair of ******* is
My celebration.

Are you out there?
That perfect someone.
Taller than 5 feet
With your disheveled hair
And your imperfect good looks.
I don't mean you pretty boys
I want the beautiful ones
With all the flaws.
Inside and Out.
I love your flaws
Will you love mine?
Do you feel pain
do you embrace it
and let it wrap around you with familiarity?
Are you open or listen to good music?
An avid country music hater.
You are out there
Perfectly Imperfect Boy.
Where are you?
Because I have yet to find you.
So you can kiss me unexpectantly
and make me laugh.
So you can break my walls
Piece by piece
Till I am nothing left but myself.
Come rescue me
On your black horse
In anyway you desire.

I hurt. I physically hurt from all of the pain in my mind. People never seem to get that. I am addicted to blood and the sting of the flame. I am trying to get rid of my twisted perceptions and heal my past wounds. I can't help when I cry, when I am in pain. It hurts to stand. It hurts to speak. It hurts to blink. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to simply be. I draw on myself when I want to bleed and all it results in is ink poisoning. The sharpie all offer my arms and legs symbolize what I want to do: mutilate whatever unscarred skin I have left.
My guilt eats me alive, not a miracle or cure in sight. I can't help the pain I am in. I regret so much, but want to live so little. I won't have time to repay for my sins. Won't have time to deal with the way I've lived my life. Won't have time to truly say what I want to say.

I am broken.
I am scratched.
I am scared.
I am hurt.
I am done.
I am suicidal.

I worry myself in every way possible. I worry others in every way possible. I've starved myself for days on end and then eaten everything I could because it hurts. I've tried to **** myself more than once in every month, and now it has been a year since I have. Tomorrow marks the day that I almost died. And I don't know if I trust myself with those numbers: 365 days ago, at 9:27pm I nearly suffocated.

I am done with all of the pain. It backfires and all I do is cause suffering. I am done.

I can taste the licks of flame in my mind,
Just barely; I cry. The sour flavour corrodes
My tongue, telling me I can't continue
To suffer the wrath. The scent kills me,
And I continue to defy what is constantly
Whispered in my fragile ears.
The sound of the bitter cackling of demons
Burns the wings of butterflies that inhabited
My entire body. The smoke from the charred,
Powder-white wings of moths,
Parasites, kiss the scares and open them again.
The desire to feel the pain consumes the spindly legs
Of butterflies trying to escape, nearly dead
By fire caused by my own hands.
My fingers shake, I am cold.
But my messages are not clear anymore.
I am no butterfly on fire.
They are all dead.

Stay. Will you be a penny glued to the sidewalk?

Can a leaf blowing away in the wind be a true metaphor
For the way you love me?

I wonder if your eyes will change and no longer see me as
The girl you see me as now?

I am scared. Terrified. Worried. I think, maybe, that you
Will change too much. That you will be a different person.
You already are. You're not the nervous boy I fell in love with,
But I love you now more than ever.

I just hope you can say the same for me.

I want to find my smile in you,
But I wonder if I will be able to.
We are both in so much pain
And it seems like you avoid our
Problems. Even though we need
To fix what has been broken.
Patch what has been leaked.
And heal what has been hurt.