i stand on sheets of ice,
my cheeks the cold air bites
i wonder what happened;

to lead me here tonight
in the absence of the light
alone, and unhappy

there is no end in sight-
no land, safe and dry,
to rest my weary head on;

only coldness, and the quiet,
and my sadness, like a giant
what have i become?

it's been months since everything shut down
months since i had an excuse to dress up
and i've been aching for a reason to put on a suit-
but not this.
never like this.
because i have to relearn to tie my black tie,
over a black shirt
under watery eyes.
it's been months since i dressed up,
years since the last funeral.
goodbye, friend.

i'm tired
i'm so ******* tired.
i didn't ask for any of it-
not the scars, not the pills,
not the anxiety
or obsession
or disordered thoughts
i never wanted this.
because when you're thirteen
you don't think that within the next three years
you'll have four mental illnesses.
nobody ever predicts that they'll have a collection of cuts,
of failed recoveries
and subsequent relapses.
nobody wants to be a burden.
nobody wants to be trapped in their own mind
and i can't tell if it's depression,
or the eating disorder
but God, i'm exhausted.
i don't want to carry this anymore.
(i never did.)

i am still learning to love myself,
and this body
that has brought me through everything
(scars & all).
i am still picking up the pieces,
finding parts of myself
i thought were lost.
for the longest time,
i thought I wouldn't make it-
sometimes I still don't.
but I am still here.
still breathing,
as much as it may hurt.

i give so much
of my love to the world
that there isn't quite
enough left
for myself.

i want to die.
i don't think
that i'm worth it
i know
it's not true.
i am a failure-
the voices in my head tell me
blades drop
and i listen
i love you,
people say
but do they?
the scars help,
i think
and as blood falls
i regret.

the contrast
between skin
and blood
is like night and day,
if only night
was red
running down thighs
and day
was tarnished
and pale.