A masquerade of perpetual fear,
          for all steps were in unison.
For who would misstep with
         unkept flames catching
                        each indiscretion.

Hollow melodies capture the soul,
           bounding it with this dance
of the dead, neither a  choreography
         but a chain of resonance
        where bones scrunch in fatigue.

The hell fire ball, where all burn eventually,
        Singed gowns, and suits charred.
But the devil is in the details,
and we shall dance till we bleed of die.

           Perfection is a demon of fulfilment...

She says she is sorry
For being who she is
When she all she wanted to be
Is someone who feels
She tells you that she is sorry
Because she knows it is a lie
She couldn't feel sorry
Even if she tried
'Never feel remorse
For the things you've done
Don't tell them you are sorry,
You might as well be gone.'
Her words are true
As the world is round
She wishes that just once
She wouldn't apologize
For being who she is.

But she spits the words
Because she has been *******
By words that she has said
That make her look her very best
'I'M SORRY,'
She screams
As the blood becomes tears
I'm sorry I'm not who you want
I'm sorry that I'm not perfect
I'm just so ******* sorry
That I am not who you want
Because god forbid
I was my own person
Instead of just your little toy

The only reason she says sorry
Is so that you won't **** her
For being who she wants to be

⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicidal ideation and self-harm ⚠
~
A note to any friends who read this post: while this poem is written in the present tense, please be aware that it is merely a memory I write of--not a present circumstance.

~
They say

cut

d
o
w
n

the

road

if

you

wanna

off

yourself

not across the street

but
  

         I
                          
                      j walk,  slashing
                                                 ­    d
                                                        i
     ­                                                     a
          ­                                                  g
             ­                                                 o
              ­                                                  n        
     ­                                                              a
                                                                ­      l
                                                         ­             

onto thighs like lightning bolts

                     caught in the storm
                                   of this limbo
                                                           ­     cuz
                                                        ­              i don't wanna live
                     but
                            i don't wanna die


either.

She paints with watercolors because they bleed all over the paper
like the feelings coming out of her mind bleed all over her arms
like the words shouted at her bleed all over her heart
She wished one day to paint with acrylics
they were simple and quiet
they colored inside the lines
they didn’t bleed
but who cares anymore?
She’s already numb to it all

When picking a rose,

choose the one with the most thorns. 

Once in your grasp,

close your hand with all your might

because you must learn to bleed

if you expect to be your own remedy.

I am nothing
without a soul
just a hollow shell.

I am nothing
without my thoughts
just a fool on the line.

I have nothing
left to give
I am just running from myself.

I wish I had something
left to hold on to
feels like I'm drowning in the sand.

I feel nothing
running all alone
till I bleed myself dry.

I am nothing
without you
I wish you could've stayed
I don't know where you're gone.