dissecting the self for strangers;
an ugly kind of exhibition.
"too personal! too much!"
my inner self screams.
and yet it is something I need to do,
to purge these demons by commemorating them as art,
to make sure I remember to forget.

it's just like me
to lose touch
forget where i am
and say too much
reality so jarring
but i fail to hide
a mixture of insecurity
and fragile pride
i want to be happy
but i want to be right
i mean i don't want to
say it's all been a lie
just so damaged
that i can't tell between
my intuition
and the intrusive thoughts always plaguing me
and i'm sorry if it feels
like i'm closing in
i know that i
can get too intense
i'll just stop explaining
making no sense
like i said before
we're better off as friends :/

no one loves me
but they claim they care
if they really did wouldn't they see

i am falling apart
fragile to the touch
yet they keep on pushing me

closer to the edge
and they think i can take more
so they push farther till i'm at the brink

it's like they know i can't swim
but they are going overboard
and they'll be suprised when i sink

If time is healer
As they always say
Why does  it still hurt
After all these years

The loss of love
Is never replaced
No love is the same
From another’s face

Each love is different
None are the same
So the hurt from a lost love
Still feels fresh through all time

I  took  my wrist  and  cut  myself,
just  to  open  up  to  you.
And you  watched  my blood  as  it  touched  the ground.
I  waited for  you  to  move from the miles  you  put between us.
I  hoped that  you would come help  me close my wound.
Instead,  you  pretended  as  if  you  did not see  me.
And you turned around and walked   in the opposite direction.
Adding more distance  between  us.