They say it's selfish
That it makes you a wimp
But they can't say that
Because they've  never felt it

It's like getting shot
Every time you wake up
Because you know
No one gives a ****

There are so many reasons
Why we take our own lives
If you think it's selfish
You don't want to die
You haven't been broken
You don't wake up and cry
So stop saying it's selfish
To take your own life

She wishes she could feel her hipbones through her jeans
But instead she rubs the bones in her wrist
A silent reminder of what she is working towards
A reminder of how amazing it will feel when the purity of her bones shines through her skin
Because bones look so fragile
But can bare so much before the break
And that’s all she's ever wanted to be
Delicate on the outside and strong on the inside
But somewhere along the way
She's gotten the rolls in reverse and
Suddenly she has become so weak on the inside
While becoming a mess of blurred edges and too wide lines on the outside

Wounds heal like
hell frozen over--
abstracted blood
never blends in
with the territory
fast enough.
Your long, sharp,
superintelligent
fingernails stake
their claim.
Always repeating:
'oh you poor thing'...
while picking away.