I have this lipstick.
It's burgundy,
My favorite.
You seem to like it, too.
Today it put it on,
Pretty and Perfect,
But now I have this feeling...

It is smeared.

He tells me not to worry,
But I can't help it!
I know
He tells me he loves me,
That I'm more important than the views of others,
But I know it gets to him.
It always does after a while.

I don't know what to do...
He keeps telling me "Don't worry about it."
But I. Can't. Help. It.
I can't!
I don't want this to affect us...

Please speak to me, Diary. Just this once,
Offer me solace.

Sincerely,
*Kestrel

I worry constantly that something will happen.
It isn't intuition, or abandoned hope, or a threat,
I just worry. It is because of experiences
In the past. They ruined me. Scarred me.
All I need to heal, is to know.
Know that I am okay, That I am accepted.
I still worry that this will affect us, but
I still love you. I will fight for you.
This might just turn into a love poem,
Though that was not my original purpose.
But things happen. It is inevitable, I believe.
Just like worrying. I can't help it. It is habitual.
And like writing. I cant help it if I write about
You. It happens. And it will always be a love poem.

They're back again.
I've used that line before,
But I can't help it.
They keep coming,
Keep trying to escape.
In my head, I scream,
Paralyzing them.
I think they're scared of me.
They know what is in my head.
The thought,
The wish,
To see myself dead.
I'm scared of me, too.
They try to run,
As I have done many times before,
But couldn't.
I can't let them escape,
Can't let them accomplish what
It is impossible for me to do.
They're all of the protection
I have against myself.
If they run, rain, fall,
And they don't come back,
I'll be empty.
Numb.

Unaware of your effect,
I welcomed it.
The kiss that seemed to solve
Anything.
Now that I know,
I'm addicted.
Your taste,
Your touch,
Your voice,
Everything.
And more of these
Are yet to be discovered.