Everything I touch,
Feels like a memory,
Of when you touched me,

Can I ask why you're still here,
Cluttering my mind,
Dominating my thoughts,
And making my body ache with longing,

Touch me,
Or walk away,

The choice is yours,

But I have no choice,

You have burrowed yourself under my skin,
And I can't find a knife sharp enough to,
Dig,
You,
Out.

I feel like I'm supposed to know how to handle myself but I don't

Sometimes I think about the night I attempted to end my life.
Sometimes I think about what things would be like without me.
Who would sit in my desk in civics class?
Would anyone look to God and ask why?
Where would my father, my sweet and caring father, be?
What about my grandma who sees herself in me?
And my mother? My brother? My sister?
What would they have done with my things?
Would they have left my room untouched, a shrine to a life cut short?
What of my friends? Of the boy with bright eyes that hadn't set on mine?
Would my so called best friend miss me?
Would I be worth his tears?
I wish I had the answers, I wish I knew.
But for now, I'll continue living.
And I'll continue being new.

It's kind of a head **** honestly
How I can love and love and love
And not stop
No way, no how
No matter how bad you've hurt me
It's funny, actually
How "just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin" (Frank Sinatra)
And I feel better
Inevitably, I just do

But you also tear me down
I want to die, but I want to live
*I'm trying

My bedsheets are soaked in memories and emotions
A stain of blood there, some drips of tears there,
A warm imprint of people who once held each other there
I put them in the wash, but they don't seem to come out