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Literature Text
the boys that care, you put them aside and leave them to rot.
you let them smear their compliments like an ugly undercoat while you scour the rest of the room in search of his eyes,
he only looks at you because he's never felt alive and you're the whore before, you're just the before to the after. and you are nothing in his eyes because you are a tester and he doesn't love you, he doesn't have a clue what that is,
the boys that love you, you curse and swear at them and tell them, they don't understand
and you can't love them because you can't stand how hideous they look and how they won't leave you alone but you realize you are so alone. you reach in the dark for the memory and find yourself as just another passing through, you remember you're not enough for the one that makes you smile, you realize that you're nothing,
and this is when you want to run, you want to leave and just start all over but your predetermined path is set in stone because you are so, so scared to crack the mould and you are so scared of doing this alone, of walking in the unknown and you wish he would be there, the one that was different to everyone else because he told you he loved you and he was the one who got so close to you, you could have sworn he was a part of you.
but you shrug it all off and look to the sun, till the rays blind yours eyes.
you look to the sun and you can't see a thing,
you can't see what you've become, but you feel it in your veins.
you let them smear their compliments like an ugly undercoat while you scour the rest of the room in search of his eyes,
he only looks at you because he's never felt alive and you're the whore before, you're just the before to the after. and you are nothing in his eyes because you are a tester and he doesn't love you, he doesn't have a clue what that is,
the boys that love you, you curse and swear at them and tell them, they don't understand
and you can't love them because you can't stand how hideous they look and how they won't leave you alone but you realize you are so alone. you reach in the dark for the memory and find yourself as just another passing through, you remember you're not enough for the one that makes you smile, you realize that you're nothing,
and this is when you want to run, you want to leave and just start all over but your predetermined path is set in stone because you are so, so scared to crack the mould and you are so scared of doing this alone, of walking in the unknown and you wish he would be there, the one that was different to everyone else because he told you he loved you and he was the one who got so close to you, you could have sworn he was a part of you.
but you shrug it all off and look to the sun, till the rays blind yours eyes.
you look to the sun and you can't see a thing,
you can't see what you've become, but you feel it in your veins.
Literature
realized I was not a masochist
as I stand here, suffocating, I wonder what’s next.
will I make it out alive?
what do I look like?
are my lips swollen?
do I still have lips?
what are lips?
-
I am leaking raindrops and dripping tonight’s dinner into the living room below me. I am bleeding tears out of my mouth and puke from my eyes. I swear, I can’t stop bleeding, but I’m not bleeding blood- I’m bleeding purple pigments- I’m bleeding bags under my eyes; I’m holding these bags so tightly in my hands that I’m bruising sunsets under my eyes, and he just watches me in the sky.
I tell myself to set. just set like a sunset; just fall
Literature
living in your lies
dear girl—
it’s like you don’t even know you anymore. and when people talk about you, it’s almost as if you have no idea who they’re speaking about or whether any of what they say is true. it’s to the point where you started avoiding mirrors or catching your own eye in the reflection of windows, because you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. maybe your hair’s a mess and your clothes don’t match, but at least you can keep pretending that you’re not uncomfortable in your own skin. you’ve become a stranger and it scares you since you’ve always been most afraid of the things you don
Literature
we're better off pretending
this is me telling
you that we'd be great if "we"
didn't include "me"
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that there is nothing left here.
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