Remember that blue heart we wore on our wrists every single day?
It was a symbol of our bond.
Blue, blue, blue, the color of loyalty.
Well, Blue Ink Fades.

Repost if you have lost a friend.
Please comment! I love to read any thoughts you have on my poetry, or poetry itself as an art. 

If you just looked in my eyes
you'd see
the
  s
          u
        I
               c
                **   i
           d
                           e

You say nobody cares so what is the point?

Honey, if your reasons and points are built on someone else caring you will run out pretty quick. If you care, that should be enough.

You say you don't care though. You say you don't care about anything anymore.

If you really didn't care about anything, you would never wonder what the point is and it wouldn't hurt so much when you can't figure that out.

i bruised my knees
and inflicted scars
upon my skin

but nothing can compare
to the pain
caused by him.

—*indialev

The Girl who reads.
That’s another name for me.
 
The one who is kept content
By reading fictional lives.
 
From Harry Potter to Cather in the Rye,
I read.
At the parking lot. At home.
Under a tree, or in the library.
You’d find me,
The one who reads.
 
Call me a bookworm,
Since I am.
Infinite words captured in my mind
Caught in the neurons,
Waiting to be known and learnt.
 
I read within reason:
To dream. To imagine. To hope.
 
I read for the emotion I won’t get in reality no matter how much I plead.
 
Reading builds up tension
And the urge to finish.
Not aware what’s on the other side of a page
Can **** someone within.
 
To be engrossed in a book,
Shutting the world outside,
Hearing nothing but words,
While patience is on the edge
Waiting to fly.
 
The despair that fills you
When you realized a character died.
The one you loved, the one that was fun-
The one you wished existed.
 
Or maybe the romance,
As you realize who your perfect one is,
Your “meant-to-be”,
Doesn’t exist either.
Never will.
 
You cry, you scream,
You sigh, you dream.
 
When a book is not found,
You are in a Trans, a pensive mood.
A profusion of questions bundled in  your head-
Who? What? Where? How? Why?
And all you can think about for the rest of day,
Is going back to bury your nose in a book,
To find the secrets it refuses to tell you.
To find the treasure between the lines.
 
Call me a book freak,
I won’t deny it.
I’d be complimented, actually.
I can’t help these numerous words
That keep spilling out.
 
But I know I’m not the only one.
Heck, I know I'm not crazy.
 
I'm not the only one that sees
The irony of life,
Innumerable paths,
The alternative
And countless paths.
 
Reading helps you learn this, not only academics, not matter what people say.
 
Reading, to some, is to live.
Reading, to some, is to learn.
Reading, to some, is Cloud 9 when things get really bad.
 
To me, it’s my everything.

every day is a constant battle but im always looking for just one reason to get out of bed in the morning

i dont usually find it

there is two much and still not enough and i cant say im isolated but its almost worse being alone in a room full of your friends and family knowing they couldnt give less of a **** about you and whether or not youre about to crack

i cant take the lackofvoices in my head anymore

three days of the week i cry myself to sleep and the rest im silently screaming until i have no oxygen left and i pass out choking on the words i wanted so desperately to reach anyone whos willing to listen

im always disappointed when i wake back up

there is no longer any reason four me to brush my hair or put on make up or eat or sleep or starve or be anything but the worthless shell of a human that i am and i dont deserve the well meaning but empty condolences of the few who care and have stayed through all my **** thank you guys but its a waste of time i'm drowning and i dont want any of you jumping in the lake to save me youll just drown too because  its not water its quicksand

i dont think i could take it if i was the reason our skeletons rested together under the soil i meant only for myself

i hate everyone and everything five times more than they hate me and if thats not enough then i hate myself as well and i guess that means that the whole world could burn and id just laugh because the fire tickles compared to what i do to myself

there is no reason to punish me because i doubt you could do anything to make me flinch

six hours of the day i spend losing myself in poetry and books and music but that is my only escape i wish i was someone who could drown themselves in ***** or drugs but getting drunk only makes me sick and i still have too much **** pride to go out and knock back more pills or smoke things that will make my head float

so much and so little to do  with so much and so little time

there are seven cuts on each of my arms one for each day of the week that i think about killing myself and i swear i didnt do that on purpose it just happened that way and i wonder if thats what my entire life is made up of only those words 'it just happened that way' so now there are fourteen more cuts to add to the countless scars and im so ******* sorry i cant stop but i dont think you people know what it feels like for bleeding to feel better than not

would you believe me if i told you this was one of my good days?

I feel so happy.
Being with you everyday.
By my side please stay.