The only time I feel alright or even remotely close is with you in my arms watching the smoke from the cigarette fly around the tops of the ceiling. Both are killers, but **** would it be bliss to die like this. Can you tell me why you could quite possibly be the only reason I can stay sober right now, because lately I crave the little pink pills that make my world blurry but I'm okay right now here with you.
The only time I don't feel so ******* alone is in this big bed where we remain silent because there's absolutely nothing to say other than this is right. Maybe it isn't right but who ******* cares because I'm not cutting and I'm not downing and I'm not drinking and I'm not smoking and I'm not trying to test my life but only trying to test you.
Kiss me. Just kiss me for a second, because that is the only time that I am safe. I would compare you to something home is suppose to be but lets face it, that's nothing but screaming. I guess that's what my head does when I'm right there beside you though.
So tell me we will be alright for 3 more nights and you can go back to pretending you love him or trying to figure out what ever the **** he is even in this for.
The only time I can hold my composer is with you. Here or there it doesn't ******* matter, just with you. All I know is I don't feel like I need to reel my way to death and maybe that's something dark or maybe that's something beautiful.

I am an empty body. No one will fill me again. So I'm filling myself with 15+ pills and cheap alcohol. I guess you could say I'm playing with my life, maybe I am. Maybe I'm trying to see if this ******* higher power will take me instead of healing me. I can't tell if that's what I want, I don't really fully know what I want anymore.
Death just seems so easy for a living dead girl, it's just a little more darkness and a few more goodbyes. Who would notice my absence? I suppose I don't need to tell anyone that I'm leaving. It could be easy. I could leave and everything else would fall into place, yes? They could be happy together. He could get his closure. She would get over it in 6 months tops. It would be okay. Everything could be okay, because at this point I know I can't be.
*So take me I'm ready

The kind of girl to down shots of ***** and strangle your name on other peoples lips.
The kind of girl to keep you up at night praying to a god you've never believed in just for him to look over his creation once more, she can't love oh Heavenly Father she can not love. Let her love me.
The kind of girl to kiss after every accidental 'I love you' you managed to cough out in ****** words because God knows this kind of girl is the kind to run when spending the night in his bed gets brought up
The kind of girl to dig her nails into her own skin to keep from killing everything she is, everything she's feared she could be.
The kind of girl to dress her curves in all black and leave her lipstick stain all over your shirt

I can count on my fingers the boys with rough hands traveling up my skirt with their tongues down my throat that only knew how to destroy girls. I can close my eyes and see the girls with soft skin that smelt of cheap wine that spoke the sweetest words to me, but only wanted me as their secret or play toy.
I have started to self destruct, beating my fists on walls until they turn black and blue because I can no longer stand on my own with with these hollow bones and broken lungs.
I try and not think of you when the chorus picks up in that song or when the sun kisses the sky goodnight before it sleeps or when I'm staring at the bottom of the bottle but you're there you're there you're there
and there have been pills and pills and pills prescribed for my failing heart, but I've been smoking my cigarettes not giving a **** about the bomb about to go off inside me. My skin has become tighter around my chest, counting ribs like the days you'd told me you'd stay.
I fell for you again but I am always the other girl I am second I am last I am nothing
I find love in straight lines and giving away the parts of me that should only be for you or for me but my body is not a temple and you are not going to worship it, so why should I?
My first meal in weeks was a bottle of my moms prozac and I found myself behind the wheel driving past the bus stop where you first told me you loved me, not realizing what those three words meant to me. Why my foot pressed down on the gas and why I turned down your street will always make me question my sanity, but I closed my eyes until I heard sirens and your voice whispering my name.
I miss the comfort in your voice, but if you look at the moon and think of her too, leave me at the side of the road like so many before have because I am tired of being the other girl and I am tired of feeling trapped in three words that mean far too much to me.

Its November 26 and my mom still hasn't noticed the empty bottles of Tylenol and Ibuprofen under my bed. Those pretty much became the end to hunger pains when I stopped eating. Its not that I don't like my body, I don't really have a way to excuse myself for fasting at all. I guess eating just became another thing I was disgusted with.
Its November 26, in 28 months my dad will be out of prison. I wonder where we will go then.
Its November 26, no one can say they love me without a "but" or apology following it. I guess nothing changes, so ill just change myself.
Its November 26 and I've given up on cutting and moved onto bigger and better things. Why hurt myself when I can down a bottle and avoid scarring? Works for me.

It's November 25 and I'm wondering if I've become less vacant than I was two months ago. I still drift off in the nothingness of the white walls. I still black out during my showers, then find myself laying the tub. My bathtub has become a safe haven to me. That's ironic, you know? 2 years ago that was the spot I tried to open my veins and watch the demons spill. I'm still worrying about the downfalls of tomorrow and if it's worth waking up anymore, but at least I can smile again. That's a start.