i love writing in a cabin
next to the warm fire
as the ashes blacken
and my hands tire
but there's always
warm soup
on cold days
as my eyes droop
and i know it's time
for me to sleep

the urge to somehow
**** myself painlessly
and allow
myself to walk around aimlessly
is starting to
creep up and up
as shampoo
dripped down from my hair
and i say to myself
when...?

snow is pretty.
why?
because
it falls from the sky
and pause
when it lies on the ground
i get drowned
in the endless white
where the light
ceased to exist

feels like everyone's
angry at me
but i ain't aiming my gun
at them
because I'm done
being mad all the time
and i just wanna have fun
so i felt light and happy
and went for a run
for the first time in a few weeks

to that one person
whom i spied from afar
i've fallen head over heels
for you.
i will always remember
the way you gaze at her
like she's the bane of your existence
while i keep on
thinking what would happen
if i were her

i have a nervous habit
of peeling the skin on my lips
like a jumpy little rabbit
and sometimes blood drips
and my fingernails are reddened
then i stare at my hands in fear
but my mind slowly deadened
and i won't be able to quite hear
the pounding of my hearbeat
or notice my bloodied hands