nineit's funny how carefulwe are aboutdamaging ourselvesproperly
sixhe plucked six white rosesfor meand even though they'll diein a week,it's matchless to any other gifti've received
fourteenthe cake is underdonerunny and lukewarmbut if i layer the frostingthick enough, no onewill know the difference
thirteenmy heart is not withered,but you can see thehatchet marks, the spotswhere lighting struck.it grew up crooked, and ihaven't pruned it very well.it's wild and overgrown with weeds
tenI've politely declined deathfor maybe the seventh timebut he's a rather persistentfellow; he never lets myfingerstray toofar fromthe trigger
twothese scars will meltwith time, but the emotionsare forever branded tothe hour that birthed them andthe strangers they belong to
nostalgia is poisoncall me a hoarder if youwant.i steal memories fromnettle-strewn alleywaysand crystallized diningrooms,collect them inkisses and nasty littlescars.i can't seem to partwith them, no matter howseverely they threaten myhealth
ugly/beautya goddess taught me how to carvehighways into my arms, but she neversaid my blood would cease flowing. soi washed my veins with ink and lead,turned my sorrow inside out, and neverspoke to her again.
Self-destructionyou do not knowfresh out of the wombhow to tear yourself apart.you know how to respirateand nictitate butyou are not taughtto want to spill thefew calories you just consumedbehind a locked door on thecold tile floor.no one tells you thatfilling your lungs with taris dangerous. or howsipping away at Smirnoff can'tnumb the screams inside yourhead forever.you receive nowarning on how addictivecarving your own scarsor charring your skincan be.and no one mentions howphysically taxing it isto talk with a loaded gunbetween your teeth.you aren't born self-destructiveit's a diseasecommunicableand deadly
.eyes of ocean, deepshifting tides of storm mystiqueupon sands that speak-of molded dreams; distant reachnow falls upon what it seeks
sewingyou can cut yourselffrom on personand stitch yourself toanother, but the oldcloth will alwaysbe there
Defeating a Mental Disorderthe sludge in my frontal lobes isbleaching white; a clear photonicpuzzle of what my thoughts usedto be. my mind feels about fivepounds lighter without the constantbombardment of negative chemicalsrushing through mushy grey matter.if summer were a medicinei'd take three doses everyday,injecting raw sunlight into myveins and swallowing your smilewith a heavy glass of water.my demons won't freeze, perhaps they'll burn
numb.i'm left standing in the rain,holding every death like a bouquet of flowers,but damn aren't these daisiesbeautiful?
Mother's Dayeven though i wasa stain to you,you still chose tocherish me, and i'msorry i tried destroyingwhat took you nine monthsto perfect.
fivemaybe if i tear out myveins, replace them withflowers, stitch myself up withlace and ribbons, i'll be pretty
...and everytime i flipthroughthese empty pages,alli can seeare the blankstares glaringbackat me.[i have nothing to say .]
...i stand facing the windso i canfeel the world hitme at a 1000milesa minute,to provei can take a blowstronger thanyou.
.as if murdering a suicidalgirl would make you a killer,if anything - - -- - -you're my hero.
Untitledhave you everasked yourself ifa daisy ever wonderswhy it can't be arose?
.all i am isa cracked piece of porcelain;the fallen china dollat the bottom of yourcloset.
rain.i still have buckets in my roomfrom when you poured your heart out.plastic pails full of pain and loveand lust and tears and names and smiles.i don't know why i keep them...maybe i hope one day you'll come backto claim them.or when i'm being really dumbi let myself hope that you'll come back anywayfor me.
Elephants, coffeepots and second chancesI remember that conversation we hadabout the meaning of eternity how longhow long can it lastone single bladeof grassone fragilesnowflake.Even your smileshining at me from a picturelooks different everydayI remember the clouds that morninghow you saw an elephant, how we laughed because to me it was clearlya coffeepot.But in the end even the addicted pachyderm disappearedlike our laughslike our promises,everything lasted enough for a memorythoughenough for us.I don't knowhow can I ask you a single day now if an elephantstands between usif last time we talked you weren't there.Among withered grass, water, pachyderms and coffeepotsI think it's clear,tomorrowthen tomorrow again,what eternity really means.
midnights always last longer than they should.i spend sleepless nights in my roomstaring at your picture on my mirrorand wondering why on earth someone as beautiful as youwould ever love someone like me,but then i rememberyou don't.
NothingI heard someone sarcastically sputter,"You are what you eat."But hearing that sole sentenceallowed me to finally understandwhy I amwhat I am:Nothing.
right now it's raining outside.i take the things i loveand hold them tight like a rose beneath my fingers,my knuckles manage to fade a whiter hueand slowly the petals bleed,and i'm left with the crumbled thornsof painful regret.they would have been better offhad i just let themgo.
when all the world is sleeping. i have midnight talkswith the moon over a steaming cup of chamomile tea & although he never responds i know he always listens and that is all that i need
you're so blind.here i am drowningand you have no idea what to do,you're so lostand panicking.why don't you take your handsoff my shoulders?
oneeven the golden memories go sour