"There is no poetic beauty in pain."
I am learning this slowly.
My hands still shake when it's past 2 in the morning
and breathing isn't easy most nights.
I am not poignant with my words
and some days it's hard to get out of bed.

This is my adolescence:
A tangled mess of dismantled almosts
and empty promises scribbled messily on the back of restaurant napkins.
It's stolen kisses in sleepy coffee shops,
failing chemistry,
driving recklessly,
and staying up late on lonely nights to watch the sunrise.

There are days where I'm convinced life shines
with a brilliance unknown to me,
so I continue on and live for those days.
Those days where breathing comes a little easier and I remind myself
that everything happens for a reason.
I hope you find these days where all you know is basked in a vibrance you've only read about.

Live for those days.
Live for me.

you dont understand
and i cant explain

this house is toxic
but I can't keep away
it tears me down
only to build me back up
and repeat the process

it's filled with memories
of my past life
and it only hurts to be here
suicide attempts
and lost friendships
fill every room

how do I escape this house

Want to be together but alone
Though your heart is made of stone
Couldn't share with you my thoughts
You were never that sure about
Your feelings , always so insecure
Used me like a stepping stone
So let's pretend and remind ourselves
That our need for love has grown
I kept saying " If you go, please let me know "
I want to move on but you keep holding on , dragging me along
It's just a make believe , why can't you see
You don't love me.

She was an evil stepmother.
In her old age she is slowly dying
in an empty hovel.

She shudders
like a clutch of burnt paper.
She does not remember that she was evil.
But she knows
that she feels cold.