red-stained fingertips

!t's * ph*se, m•m

sixteen years old and i have had enough
tired, aching, and worn-down far enough

speak three words today,
then sleep three hours once i'm safe
otherwise, i might die if i don't compensate

i ripped the soles of my ancient converse shoes
it didn't stop me from still wearing them to school—
call my smudged eyeliner an aesthetic,
but really it hurt too much to wipe it

eat pizza rolls and mac n' cheese
just to feel infinitely more shitty

counting calories to cut out brian cavities,
but why is it so much damn work to get skinny?

petting feral dogs just to make them feel love
playing horror games until my eyes have bled enough

feeding my addiction of inflicting my own fears
eat pasta, chocolate, and cheap gummy bears—
i buy books just to wear the pages down with my tears

spend my days listening to teen suicide and crywank
i swear that it means nothing and i'm really alright,
except for maybe that panic attack i had just last night—
and i can't stop trying to claw the skin from my stomach
i mean, why make it so soft if i'm not supposed to cut it?

i made fairy wings as a distraction just to throw them in my closet,
and why is it that i have to keep coming out of the closet?
i saw a goth lesbian once when i was eight,
and that's all it takes to indoctrinate

all of the people I know are smoking pounds of weed,
and i guess that means they'll amount to nothing

painting my nails black just to scratch it all off
stay awake until morning just to get it all wrong,
and don't worry about the bleach you just bought
because now it's quirky to have asymmetrical locks

we say it's a phase mom because we don't want it to last
piercing my ears just to feel something again

play the knife song as though i'll return to 2010–
when i was just a child and i didn't have a head
when mom didn't call me bitch
and dad didn't say all gays should be dead

eat ice cubes and hoards of frozen grapes
as though that'll work to fix this

i kinda like the way it hurts on day three of fasting...

i want to buy a skateboard just to have a friend group
that understands all this anger and
depression—
because we are a generation with nothing to believe in
we are selfish and don't give a single shit about jesus

we've got no faith in anything, not even ourselves
so what's the point in staying in this hell now?

she vapes, he shakes, we all want it to end
claim that listening to trap metal means we must be reprimanded

because we all know that bert and ernie is the reason i'm a fag
we all know i'm a slut because i don't like my dad

and i cry myself to sleep because the tears are all i have...

wear stripes and cuffed jeans because we're all sheep
but i'd rather be their sheep than belong to the mainstream

cutting bangs at three am, waking up and regretting it...

eat the scent of dinner and a couple gulps of air
according to proana it definitely works, i swear!

and all along i am just sixteen years old
so much left to live and it's getting really fucking old

what's the point behind it all?
what is the point in anything?

this prose is 601 words long,
and now i'll have to get some sleep.