If bruise were a colour

I’d paint my walls with it.

Some days they’d look like flowers
blooming beneath Winter skies
when the snow’s stopped falling
for a little while to let us breathe.

Other days, they’d be paint water
spilt on the floor and we’d lie arms
outstretched over them, staring at
the ceiling, soaking up our mess.
We’d make snow angels.

Then there are days when I could
stand so still, back pressed closely,
so hard on the wall and you wouldn’t
even see me. You’d pass by like the
breeze and I’d be the music sheets
fluttering quietly to the floor.

Your violin won’t be able to mask
the sound your fists make when
they collide with my ribs forever,
you know.


I just found my journal and I can not stop crying. This is the first journal entry I made to him. I planned on giving him this journal but I never did…

"March 26

Dear Liam,
I’m going to write to you every single day my Love! I won’t miss not one day in this journal. I Love you beyond limits. You are the oxygen that flows in and out of my lungs. I adore you. You are such a beautiful human being, you’re fucking brilliant. You make me feel like I’m floating in the sky. Oh sweetheart I love you. I love you. I love you. -Miracle”

After I read this My heart shattered all over again. I was so happy, so in love.

He can’t seem to look her

directly in the eyes because

if he does, he knows he’ll fall

and he can’t risk getting attached

because she already has too many

hearts at her beck and call.

I wish I didn’t fall into you.
I knew you were dangerous.
I was attracted to you like a moth to a flame.
I’ve been burned so many times but I never learn.
You were like poison to my lips and I felt the pain once yours pressed against mine.
You were like needles to my skin, making me spill red paint from within.
I ignored it knowing I was getting myself into.
I wanted to taste the danger once again.
The excitement running through my veins of the fear of getting caught at night.
The way I forgot I was a broken mess.
I lost myself within the maze of you.

You were always the incomplete puzzle.
You were a mystery that I could never figure out.
But maybe it was for the best that I didn’t mess with you again.
Because once I fell into the flame, I’m best friends with a broken heart and sad thoughts.
I should have learned my lesson.
I should have learned you were like a gun to my head.

—  I should have learned to not play with fire - j.d.d.
i’m not doing okay
when i say that i am living
i mean in the physical sense only
because this existence isn’t a life
it can never be a life because it tortures me
i sob out loud every single night
and i teeter on the edge of sanity
every day in school
playing with the idea of being honest
the way i promised i would be
but i will never say what they want
and isn’t it better to be blissfully ignorant?
—  every day is anguish and pain but my smiles are so much more convincing now that i know what clued you in last time (m.g.t)
I think you really are in love with someone when you no longer think of them when your head hits the pillow. Those months when you’re falling in love, you fantasize about his lips and the way her hands feel after a long day. But once you’re certain, that person just becomes inevitable. And you return to thinking about tests and grocery lists, and you simply know they will be there to remind you to study and whether or not you need to buy eggs.
—  inevitable love - n.m.
stop calling me beautiful.
my scars are not beautiful. i spent nights sobbing and dragging a razor over my skin because i could not cope with life. not because i wanted you to kiss my scars and make me promise to never cut again.
my body is not beautiful. i still starve myself everyday and i run until my legs collapse under myself. i have to be skinny, i have to be thin because i have always been fat. not because i want to be some girl who’s pretty enough for you.
my moods are not beautiful. i cannot control my euphoria or desolation and it’s not because i want to be like this. i want it all to end, i wish i could erase my bipolar off my mind. god knows i’ve tried but alcohol isn’t a memory wipe. i want to forget to make myself less miserable. not to seem more appealing to you.
my mental illness has nothing to do with you. hence why it is my mental illness, not yours. i am not some beautiful girl who’s broken and wants a guy to fix her.
i am a four a.m breakdown, i am a hurricane like no other, i am a death you could never say goodbye to.
i am not beautiful.
—  "but baby you’re so beautiful"

I wanted a good fuck—
and a table full of food.
I wanted to sing
over a glass of booze
in a dirty bar— and watch
the smoke leave the end
of my cigarette.
I wanted everybody
sitting down, with
bellies— full, and scarlet
cheeks surrounding smiles.
I wanted to walk-a-round—
my cock swinging
in the sun.