You don't hurt like me.
There was a time I thought no one did,
A selfish time I thought no one understood,
And he was dead then.
No, no, he was not dead, because I made him live on.
Every action I took was reaction to his.
He is dead now, now that every breath I take does not belong to him.
And I still cry.
There are tiny holes in my veins,
There are swallowing pits of darkness in me.
And I still cry.
I still want to rip apart everyone I love,
I still whisper to myself things I'm afraid to say,
I still hear voices and I'm not getting better.
I'm still fucking crazy.
I think of my flesh rotting away to expose my cracked bones.
I think of my mind deteriating faster than my heartbeat.
I think of dying and how beautiful that is to me, and I think of how twisted that is.
And I keep thinking.
Before I know it, I'm sending regretful texts to the person that loves me most,
Saying sorry.
"Babe I'm sorry."
"I love you."
"I never wanted you sad."
He won't understand till the morning...
Tylenol and Advil and Aleve all feel the same running down my throat.
There aren't enough down yet when he calls, I have to stop.
This isn't fair he was supposed to be asleep.
I wasn't supposed to hear his voice.
I don't deserve to be in love with him.
"Whats wrong."
What is wrong?
What is wrong with me?
Why can't I even tell him I feel like I'm dying?
Why can't I even pass out from all the pills?
'Babe I'm dying...'
I want to say it.
I want to choke out the words and let them be my last.
But thats not fair.
Oh no, he doesn't deserve this.
I finally get him off the phone, and sit with my head over the toilet.
'Make it quick.'
I do.
I always do, sputter up and go.
Its quite nasty seeing the pills, half disolved in stomach acid.
It's such a strange form of alluring.
I'm such a demented person to be sitting here, watching my possible death, waiting for this to end.
I want to sleep.
I'm not supposed to let that happen am I?
I'm not supposed to sleep after that.
But look at me crawling into bed, emotionless as ever.
Why don't I feel anything?
Why am I so damn calm?
Help me. I think I've lost my mind.
And the incesant whispers make me shiver as if its cold, and I feel warm breath on my neck that makes me want to do this all over again.
'You're fine, don't be an attention whore.'
I am.
I'm perfectly fine.
What am I still doing up?
My three friends are flooding me with messages I don't really want to answer, but peace of mind.
He calls again and I say the same things I always do.
"I'm just tired."
I wish he'd stop worrying.
I'm fine.
I don't want special attention I just want to disappear.
Somehow after all this he's hung up, and a few messages later I'm going to sleep.
I don't dream, just sink in this really deep black.
The blackest black I've ever seen.
I wonder in the morning if I died.
Am I even alive now?
Maybe.
Does it really matter?
