Project

Part 1; Growing Pains

12-5-16

I want to die so much. I want to tear my body apart. I am a bomb self destructing. I wish I could just fucking kill myself already. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I'm so sick of staying alive for the things that leave me. I hate this feeling. I am so bitter. I hate all of them so much for leaving me and being fine without me and I'm falling to pieces. I'll never be okay. I'll never be enough for anyone. I'm just a fucking disaster. He's never going to come back. Please just stop believing him. You can't keep getting your hopes up. You know you only have a few weeks left to live. Stop hoping that someone will save you. No one is coming. No one cares about you.

8-24-16

slaving away every day

how do i say "i miss you"

without coming off as selfish

promised you a space you could be safe

but don't look under the bed

where i keep razor blades and band aids

red lipstick to match the blood dripping down my arm

look away so you can pretend like i don't exist

vodka in the fridge

too forget burn marks you left on my soul

that day you touched me for the first time

that day you begged me to come back to kiss me one more time

chug the vodka and disappear into the mist

to forget that the last time we spoke

i didn't kiss you good bye

because i didn't know you'd only been telling lies

"i'm not going anywhere, i swear"

and i haven't seen you in weeks

i don't think you're coming back

and i'm sorry i took you for granted

because now you're lost in whiskey

and i'm melting in anxiety

you're never coming back home

because you think i don't know

anything about your pain

but i watched my mother die

every day and she's still sad

don't ever underestimate me

because i made a home on bathroom floors

and friends with ghosts speaking through the walls

and i know its time to let you go

but i still keep hoping you'll come back

so i can say goodbye the way i was supposed to that night

7-3-16

Rain pours on the window sill

The same songs keep playing because there's nothing new to listen to

There's a feeling like I need to puke rising in my chest

A feeling like my muscles contracting

Palms sweating

Wrists itching

I'm fine

Panic growing like a vine through my lungs