Sick To The Soft Of My Bones

I’m not sure where the illness ends

Or where I begin

And thats a harder pill to swallow

Than the three bottles of antidepressants I took this morning

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I Hope She Makes You Miserable 

Lipstick stained cigarettes and old bookshops will remind you of me even if you can’t remember what you’re remembering. 

Skin to Skin

He gently stokes the skin along my neck.

He does it in a way that was never meant to be erotic

but rather like a father trying to sooth his child to sleep.

He kisses the top of my head to remind me once again that he is here.

That I am here.

It’s easy to forget every now and then.

I press my head deeper upon his chest.

Here things seem slow and calm and real.

He moves his face toward mine and grazes his lips upon my forehead.

Then my cheek,

and pauses at my lips.

He glides his finger over my mouth and I pout so we’re closer.

Sometimes skin to skin still doesn’t feel like enough.

His lips meet mine and they dance slowly,

gracefully.

In a way I didn’t think it was possible for me to move.

He tastes of the wine we had just finished

but I guess I was still craving it.

 

Mirror: Part One

I stared blankly at the mirror across from my bed. My face pale, my expression flat. My hair fell loosely to the sides of my colourless cheeks. I brought a hand to my lips, slowly they were chapped, and I recalled a time when I would go out and paint them a bold red. Now a faint pink sits upon them like they want so desperately to be loved again but they are lacking the strength. I can see my ribs beneath my skin, pressing, screaming to be let out of the home that is destroying itself. I lean over the side of my bed and pick up my boyfriends t-shirt and let it cover the sight of flesh and bone, it was making me ill. It’s also the only piece of clothing in my room that doesn’t reek of tobacco. He never approved of the habit, but it kept me sane for a little while. I looked down at my legs, red lines across thighs from a night when I prayed, if I could only kill the worst of me, I could be better. I lean over the bed again and grab my cigarette carton. I haven’t left the house in about a week, I think. I’m not sure. I haven’t been keeping track of the days, or how many cigarettes I smoke a day, but someone must be replacing packs when I’m sleeping, I sleep a lot these days.

When I Tell You

When I tell you I am sad,

I am not asking for you to understand.

When I tell you I am sad,

I am not asking for you to fix me.

When I tell you I am sad,

I am not asking you to feed me compliments like I am a child knocking over a sippy cup.

When I tell you I am sad,

I do not want you to tell me everything will be alright.

When I tell you I am sad,

I want you to hold me. Listen to me. Just be there with me, so I am not alone.

Remember

  1. Don’t kill yourself. It will be messy and your sister will cry. It is not beautiful or brave and even if it was, you won’t be around to see it.
  2. Washing your hair is a chore but do it because you always feel better about yourself when you do.
  3. It’s okay to stay in some nights.
  4. He will break your heart, but he’s just another boy who finds it hard to deal with Mondays. so in a month you’ll wake up and not even remember that little scar on his chest.
  5. Don’t fight your demons. They’re trying to teach you lessons.