please don't take it from me
it's mine

when it's dark
when i'm lonely
it's all i have

the pain
the blood
the marks

there is no substitute.

just let me have it
in secret

you don't have to see it
you don't have to know

what i do when i'm alone,
it is my business
it is my body.

just let me have this
just let me cave in to the urge

let me hurt myself.

what am i meant to do
about that ball of sadness
that dwells in my chest?
that spreads through my body
rendering my limbs heavy,
so that i can't move?

someone tell me
how to make it better,
how to make existing
not hurt so much.

most people can exist like
a rubber ball;
floating, bobbing around in the water,
unaffected, intact.

i exist like
a paper boat;
floating fraily,
until I wither and sink.

She looks like a happy girl.
A kind girl.
A got-everything-she-wants-in-the-world girl.

But maybe she's a bruised girl.
A scared girl.
A scars-hidden-under-her-sleeve girl.

Maybe she spends every day
Hiding her hurt til it goes away.
But it never does,
It only grows,
As she suffers more and more relentless blows.

Maybe she waits
For someone to say (and mean it), to say:
'Are you okay?'

Wake up.
Hit snooze.
Wake up again.
Drag myself out of bed.
Wash my face.
Stare at my reflection.
Want to be someone else.
Cancel my plans.
Check my phone.
Go back to bed.
Watch Netflix.
Waste hours.
Feel like ****.
Miss him.
Look at the clock.
Forget to eat.
Wish I wasn't here.
Consider cutting.
Draw on myself instead.
Waste more hours.
Consider running.
Go back to bed.
Try to distract myself.
Still feel like ****.
Want to be someone else.
Miss him.
Wish I wasn't here.
Want to be someone else.
Want to be with him.
Want to feel happy.
Want.
Want.
Want.
Nothing happens.
Nothing changes.