2.39am

Underneath my skin
like a pin prick
growing to a clawing at my insides

I'm thick like tar and
everything is always wrong
words are wrong and
all the bruises collect and collaborate
to hurt me further

Just be perfect
just for a little while
an undirected request
but I need it


The house smells like Christmas
but I feel the cold seeping in
and the lights turning off


I'm like embers;
smouldering but dying


You're doing so well 
but there's cracks
and they look like chasms to me
where I can confirm my own worthlessness
and spit venom
whilst I hollow out my soul

You,
and I,
we just need to be perfect for a while.

Skin.

Swirling

circling

all-encompassing

darkness

Choking

bursting

screaming

failure

Desperate

clawing

burning

hatred

Notebooks

numbers

porcelain and

pain

I am pulling out my soul

and I wish it would come out faster.

Untitled.

Today I feel,
lost,
numb,
weary.
I spent the night with an explosion of pain,
in my heart, head, legs,
and I could feel my pulse in every inch of my body.
I was nauseous:
moving hurt, and staying still hurt too.
Today I am 147.25,
but I feel no joy;
I feel nothing.
Today I am broken,
but I can't cry;
I am empty.
I am alone.
I am cold.
I am crushed.

Sinking,
back into my mind,
being left alone with my thoughts and,
it's not what I wanted.
I wanted warm, soft sleep,
and sandwiches,
and sunshine,
and ice cream,
and photographs filled with light,
and nights filled with ideas and inspiration,
but what I got is,
nightmares with a dry throat and a ton of guilt,
emptiness,
fear of numbers,
a grey tint giving me a bleak output and a hand down,
a cloud,
hanging over my brain,
shrouding it.
I just can't seem to think properly.


And you,
you lift it;
for a moment, I get to feel right,
I get to forget it and sink into you.
The odd flash reminds me, but,
I am at home with you,
and sometimes
just sometimes,
I am perfect.


And this is why I don't like it when we have to leave each other,
because my brain hurts,
and my stomach aches,
and the warmth in my body seems to disappear.
I fold up,
collapse,
fall in on myself.


Some days I am okay,
but being alone is harder than it used to be.
You make colours brighter and feelings stronger and I don't know how you do it,
but I wish I could learn how.


I just need to keep busy.

Your love
seeping through the broken parts of my mind
trying to close the cracks
to fill the pieces that are void of sanity.
Secrets are meant to be kept
but I can't hide from you
and I can't lie to you
hurling out what's meant to be left alone
and it was more than ever before and it was easy.
The days are so hard having to feel this when I go over the numbers
that I set for myself
and I feel like I am being paraded around like a bad example for myself.
I can't bear the things that show me the truth
but I can't stop looking
and all I want to do is get the fuck away from myself.
I ruined myself, and I want to gain control again,
and by this, I will ruin myself a second time over.

I can't sleep because of the burning feel of failure.
The lack of control I have shown myself.
It chokes me.
It devours me.


I am so weak.

The numbers are sinking in again.
Sometimes the pangs are enjoyable.
I can’t stop looking at fragility, and the punishments have returned.
It’s hated, it’s welcomed; it’s taking over, and I can’t help but love it.
The total is all-important.
I know what it feels like to be wrecked by it, and I want it. I want to be consumed by it, and I guess that shows that I already am.
The sun lights up the leaves like fire: it’s so beautiful to be burning. 

Not quite all right,
I wanted it so much,
but then unwanted actions,
and it wouldn't stop,
only moving from where it wasn't wanted to shut me up,
dirty fingers covering my mouth,
an undesirable request,
and an inbuilt urge to continue to the end.

Gah.

Softly softly,
burning from the inside,
choking on the ash that is filling up my airways,
cracking,
spilling,
blood onto the carpet,
I'll open up my insides,
clawing for my heartbeat.


Tearing, wearing,
smiles instead dark clouds,
nightmares and ideas eating up my sunshine,
pressure,
fire,
fraying at the edges,
I'll scream into the darkness,
but it won't get any brighter.

Heart Burst.

The sound of your voice,
filling up my mouth with words that I can savour;
your bright eyes shining with sincerity,
sometimes I forget,
I let it blaze through me,
sometimes the words get stuck over your tongue and come out all wrong,
uncomfortable fires set alight for a second,
exhale them more clearly and I should have already known.
You're soft like the earth, 
invaluable,
all-encompassing warmth.
Things get misinterpreted,
and feelings burn, tangle, are misunderstood.
You take a piece of me and carry it with you.
Do you feel it circulating in your veins,
almost making your heart burst, like I do?

Wrong.

Everything feels wrong today.


I guess it's that low mood I get in when I've been drinking the night before.
I feel like I'm doing the wrong things;
that I should just go ahead and DO it, even if I'm not sure yet,
that I'm saying the wrong words,
that I'm not good enough,
that I don't try hard enough,
that I should be alone,
that I want to hide away and just sleep.
Do I disappoint you?
My feelings are all askew and I can't seem to direct them the right way; the good ones I know to be there the rest of the time won't stick.
And I feel bad about EVERYTHING.


It's like every inch of me is tingling with this feeling of wrong.

Perfect.

Warm sun seeping though the window
Creases in the bedsheets
and the soft sound of breathing.
You sleepily reach for me
and we lie
skin on skin
arising from dreams.


Steaming tea
and the sound of sizzling
and I'm always in my slippers
and it's fun to always eat the same thing
because it becomes something 
we just do.


Under covers
touching me
I just want to be as 
close as we can be
with you looking down at me
and our bodies pressed together
and I feel perfect.

I wish I was extraordinary enough.

It was not supposed to be that deep.
It gaped open, pale and sickly, the sides pulled apart by the force of it all.
I could see inside, and it made me feel nauseated.
Seeping over the side, the colour spills out and for a second I panic.
I don't want to look at it.
It was not supposed to be that deep.

Fears.

So here are my fears, as they are now, written in the most inexplicit way:


Empty chasm.
Sides splitting.
Oppressive weight, and undeterred, panicked thoughts.
Pressure on the inside of my skull - what to do with it all?
Unfamiliar, terrifying, and just me.
Attacks, alone - how will I cope?
Will I manage?


Will it be without me?
The mood, the place, the effects of whatever it is, a split second's thoughtlessness...
Every muscle clenching, struggling to breathe.


I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

All This I Must Not Forget.

I feel lonely tonight, and I wish you were here.
I spent the last three nights with you, but you were distracted. It wasn't your fault; you needed to work, and I'm glad you did. I just want your company.


I look at you sometimes and wonder how I came to be so lucky to have you.
You ask me what I am thinking and I reply, "I love you," but it is so much more than that.
I am grateful for the way you interlock your fingers with mine, and the feeling of the harder patch of skin in the middle of your palm under my fingertips, for the softness of your voice and for your tenderness.
For the way you kiss me, and all the times you hold me.
For laughing at my ridiculousness instead of finding me embarrassing. 
For not ever shouting, for dispelling my worries, and for meeting any problems I have gently, and with reason.
For your intelligence, your thoughtfulness, your honesty, your brilliance, your humour, your calmness, and your ability to talk about anything.


I am not under the illusion that you are perfect. No one is perfect, but you are close to it. 
And no, I am not stuck in some little romantic fantasy in my head, seeing everything tinted with the rosy haze of love. I have loved people who are far, far from perfect. I am perfectly capable of distinguishing between good and bad. That is why I am so amazed to have you. 


Every moment with you I feel the need to capture, to preserve in my memory, to never forget. I need to remember, for always, that this is how it should be. Having it drilled into my head that I'm a bad person and deserve to be treated as such has had its effect. I have to keep reminding myself that going from such bad treatment to the opposite end of the scale IS something I deserve, and I should not feel otherwise.

Our feet always touching before we sleep if we are faced away from each other in bed.
Your lips on my cheek, my forehead, my nose, and my lips.
Your fingertips brushing my face.
Your fingers running through my hair.
The smell of your skin.
The warmth of our bodies entangled together under the covers.
Your smile.
The smoothness of your skin.
The way your eyes show emotion.
The feeling of you inside me, how you can be no closer.
Your look of concern.
The way you grasp me when you are sad.
Your voice and how it instantly calms me.
Your laugh.
Your sincerity.
The way you walk.
The sound of you beat-boxing.

The way you bite your lip.
Your skin against mine.


All these memories that I must retain.

They thought it was over.

They didn't think that the words would stick to the inside of my head like a sickly mess of syrup and tar.
The thoughts crushed my lungs silent and still.
They thought it was gone because I looked as if it had gone, with my smile barely cracking at the corners.
They don't ask any more because the words disappeared but my brain kept screaming obscenities at the inside of my skull. 
And I'm listening.


They thought it was gone because I was different, but half of me wishes so bad that I could get it back. I'm not really sure I want it to stay but...


...I don't want it to go.

You lay on the bed watching me as I was getting changed.
I was dressed only in a bra and your Long Johns. 
I looked up, and saw you smiling at me.
"What?" I said, biting my lip. And you replied,
"I was just looking at you, standing there, and even in my Long Johns you look kinda beautiful."

Chapters of the Mind.

My stomach clenches
tight as a knot
and for a second I struggle to breathe.
Wet sleeves,
tired eyes,
weary mind.


If you can't attach importance to happiness then I serve no purpose, and therefore am useless.


I have never wanted these two things more
and it's not even for me but I hope to be there.
I'll tell everyone I was right and that it had to happen someday.


You're so beautifully deep,
but so deep that the light can't reach the bottom
and the darkness is dangerous.


I am a cliché, and I believe in all the ideals.
They happen and they are fun.


I am acutely aware.
I am watching.
I am feeling.


It worries me that every moment is so fragile but I intend to keep them.
It feels like I'm walking towards the end of the world and I might just fall off.


I suppose the only thing to do is go with it and see what happens, and capture the sunlight amongst the rain.

Anagram.

Home: is it him; you? 
Such torn sky but I've long got air.


has exactly the same letters as:


I love you so much, I think my heart is going to burst.

I think.

I think I have nothing that interesting to say, and that you'll get bored of me.

I think I'm too angry, and that you'll resent me.

I think I'm too anxious, and you'll grow tired of my worrying.

I think I'm too stupid, and one day you'll realise that I'm inferior to you.

The Cutest Quote.

The Photography Postsecret Project - please take a look.

Two years ago when I lived in America I posted a message on the PostSecret Myspace page, asking for help on a project I wanted to do, which was to illustrate people's secrets with my own photography. Within two weeks I had received over 150 text messages from people all over America. Until now I haven't had time to start this project, but here it is in the making. All images are subject to copyright© Sarah Frances Young


It would be wonderful if people could look at my photography work. These are secrets from recently, and from America.

http://thepostsecretproject.blogspot.com/