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.