nothing changes
if
nothing changes

I long to crawl from my own skin.
An emptiness consumes me from within.

Far and wide, I search for a home; a prison it is to exist within my own bones.
A gnawing begins to fill my brain,
maggots and vermin lead my mind astray.
I long for the day I am severed from myself.  

Suffering, I sell my soul
to gods of worlds old,
just to breathe a life free of the suffering that is me.

why does this happen every time
why are there so many happy families just not mine
why have i lost the one thing i cant find
why do i have a broken mind
and broken home
and scars from being left alone
and a fear rooted so deeply in my bones
knowing that i haven't grown and that ill be
6ft under with a stone
that says failure

I am a writer
It is an art
No matter what they say
I create

My pen flows
and my wrist goes;
Writing
words no one will see

My hands shake
eyes tear
wrist bleed in lines of icy scarlet
I am a writer; my cross to bear.

If i loved you
I'd give you my hands
my sacrafice for love
my words would be yours

Like Van Gogh,
I would bleed
for; the one I need
to need me.

Even if you burn my heart
until there's nothing left but ashes,
I'd still adore the flames
that ignite us for eternity.

Perhaps, the one sole star
that we wished upon as kids,
wasn't ever about the glowing speck
in the seemingly endless sky above.

All it took
were a few wakeful nights,
to realize--
it was, and always had been,
you.