and i'll laugh at you from the top, boy.

Shiny, pretty boy,
living a life of women, of money
of night melting to day in the sheets of a
woman that you paid for one night.
of love, of lies, of something to fill the void
created in your easy, simple life
where mommy and daddy held your hand
and you ran away from the shelter and now
you're crawling back on your knees
because the silver spoon is melting between your corroding teeth.

reality.

this is just a body,
and these are just a pair of lungs.
this is just a heart
that doesn’t really mean much
if it’s never been
given away,
kept.

these are just feet
and these are just hands
that don’t create
but feel every bit of you
that the brain in this body
loves
so much.

these are just eyes
that see your form crawling
towards me in the middle
of the night
and these are just ears
that hear
your sighs.

this is just a mouth
that spouts useless
words and some hopes
of the soul
which is what matters
feels
breathes
beats
tastes
loves.

veins.

I feel the whisper of your hands
on my skin,
and my blood
boils in my veins
that ran cold
under hands,
shaped with lust.

Innards curl
at the thought of
your scent,
your touch,
how you felt when
I was trapped in
the cage of
your arms,
pleading silently
for you to love me,
don't touch me.

And maybe if I'd learned
that I was loved,
I could have
prevented
everything
that I can't regret,
because the false
emotions
played on my soul
made me smile
as I shivered
under your touch,
mistaken lust.

Memories play
like movies
where the girl
screams in silent
horror.
But he tricks her in
his disguise
of romantic
hero.
Don't be a
hero.

Pray to your
God,
on your knees
on twisted sheets
where sin seeped
into your soul,
into the core
of the heart
beating frantically
in your chest.

You will
be clean
again.

the lies.

Tell the truth or tell nothing.
Secrets build up in my throat,
burning,
aching,
until lies spill from lips like
ashes from cigarettes.
Keep it private,
dirty habit.

Emotions ripple
like ribbons from a child's toy,
but faces remain
emotionless,
cold,
empty.
Mouths move too quick to
catch lies,
like dreamcatchers,
catch nothing.

Untruths become truths,
as you become your
lies.
Uncontrollable,
unstoppable,
earning bruises like badges
in each game you play.
And win,
liar.

Bloody nose,
purple skin,
flowers decaying behind the ear
of a girl
with hopes.

the truth.

The truth is that I’ve never told the truth,
never have I ever been honest with you. Until now.
The truth is that flesh hides in mirrors,
and the grief laces my memories together
in a flawless,
broken,
scream.

The truth is that I’ve told you this story a thousand times,
in a thousand different ways,
from a thousand different people,
with a thousand different pasts.
But we are one and we are nothing alike but in the end we are all
tombstones,
in the tall grass,
forgotten before we had the chance to really live

And the truth is that I float above reality,
and the picture in the pocket of the boy
is a secret girl he never really knew
with broken hopes,
brittle bones,
paper skin,
bile.

I am disconnected from the world,
numbered days to be lovely and I will give anything
to be noticed in that invisible kind of way,
and I will give nothing if you
notice me.
don’t.

I will decompose into bones in the place you left me,
where “too late’s” meet misery,
and suffice to say this is the end of me,
broken bones,
bile in the bowl,
a paper cutout
of a girl you thought you knew.

The truth is that I always told the truth,
but you never heard my
whispers,
screams,
murmurs beneath the sheets where I
gave everything
and nothing
that would last you enough
to remember me when I am a
tombstone
in the tall grass,
a memory.

The truth is that
I am right in front of you,
screaming.

where are you going pretty girl?

you used to be so innocent and pure

god, i don't know what happened to you.

i'd say it's growing up but you're just a baby

just a baby in a mans bed.

love you to the bones.

Credit to maddyheartshoney.deviantart.com

i like to examine my body in the mirror, trace my ribcage and my hipbones, lay on the floor and watch my body cave in. sinking, sinking, sinking...thin. i like to count my ribs one by one and see them through my shirt. they are a sick feeling, a pretty feeling. human bodies can be so weak and fragile. i want to be loved for more than the bones that aren't enough for me. but if i'm not enough for me then will i ever be enough for him? i want to be perfect for him but i want to be perfect for me first. selfish as usual. my mind is a scary place to be sometimes - my thoughts are sick and twisted and the kitchen in my home doesn't know my name anymore. i miss you too.