How do you come to hate,
The ones you loved?
You don't.
They tend to turn on you,
Either that,
Or they weren't real at all.
I forsake any shard of regret I had,
From leaving you,
I regret any feeling I had,
From loving you.
If anyone lost here,
It was you.
Because you'll fall back into emptiness,
Trying to replace it with people,
But I, I will not.
I'll continue to cradle my own light,
Which you came so close to taking.
I'm done sacrificing pieces of me,
In order to receive nothing.

I sat in my living room, talking to Death
“Why are you not afraid of me?” he said
I looked him in the eyes and spoke
“I’m not scared to die — my heart already broke”

He gently lifted his head, and I saw
In his eyes, a pain — an emotion so raw
He looked at me and said through teary eyes:
“Once, my love, there will be peace and no more silent cries"

I cried and screamed, “Why not now? Why not today?”
He touched my hand and looked in a peaceful, kind way
“My dear, your life isn’t done, it hasn’t even really begun
You don’t live, but just exist. Please, my dear, try to live — I insist.”

Words, as beautiful as they are,
Can't capture the feeling of relief
After harming the skin you were given
By "God".
They'll never capture the guilt
After putting the tool away,
The feeling of being cared for while you clean your own cuts,
The promise of never doing it again,
And the betrayal of your own words

screaming,
all you do is scream,
i’m not good enough for you,
never enough.

i eat too much or not enough,
wrong clothes,
wrong hair,
wrong me,
all for you.

i can’t take this anymore,
please,
i’m crying,
breaking on the bathroom floor,
why can’t you see?

you told me you loved me
but love isn’t supposed to hurt,
not like this.

Sorry.
I’m not sorry
for being me.
Yet somehow,
I still find myself apologizing
…for merely existing.

❝Isn’t the ending of a lovely story supposed to have all the bad guys die? For example, you, or me…❞
there won’t be anyone left to tell the story.

Writing's worse,
Music doesn't work,
Talking to you helped,

I guess I didn't want to hear,


What I knew you'd say



Eventually

i don’t write about you
as often as i used to.
i feel sorry about that.
you still make everything
feel like a love story.
even when my hands shake,
even when the days are heavy,
you hold me like the ending
could still be happy.

i love you in quieter ways now,
in glances, in waiting,
in letting myself stay.
and that matters more
than any poem ever could.
but still, i’ll try to write you one
anyway.