Paradise

Sadness is.

Sadness is realising your broken heart isn't just broken, it's vapor that someone can just come along and breathe in, taking away every piece of you and making you into what they deem beautiful.

Sane.

They'll take you, but they cannot break you any more than you have broken yourself.

No boy with eyes that remind one of hot chocolate and warm mahogany fires can change the basic, chemical compounds of a painfully elaborate ruse of large shirts and baggy pants and long sleeves rubbing against new cuts and playing with sickly looking greenish mashed potatoes and lying on the cold, dirty, cracked linoleum floor in a puddle of her own tears. And angry red slashes on wrists, and the sadness that was held in each of the purple bruises that littered her perfectly imperfect face and icey blue eyes that reminded a certain boy of frozen lakes and clear skies, and dark circles under those eyes that were cold, but not hateful, with words that were a symphony of melody and beautiful harmony.

He could never change the fact that you are just a girl who's father was an angry drunken junkie liar, and though he is a terrible father, you are a daddy's girl.

You will always be a depressed, stressed, hot mess, who enjoyed the burn of alcohol in her throat and the feeling of numbness that came with it, but hated hangovers.

He can only cut you up, liquify you and make you into the shape of what he deems as beautiful.

The girl with food in her stomach and white teeth in her mouth.

The girl who eats the sickly looking greenish mashed potatoes.

The girl who laughs along with the giggling girls.

The girl who falls for him.

That boy.

His warm brown eyes now remind her of being ignored and tearful goodbyes.

The boy that looks like kindness, but smells of cigarettes and mistakes.

The boy who's voice is sweet and silky, but sounds of deceit.

The boy with the blonde curls are unruly and untamed, sweeping over his pale forehead, giving him a boyish look.

The boy with the brown eyes that once reminded her of hot chocolate and warm mahogany fires that burn a little too bright.

So it is best to just hate him.

That boy.

Parker.

He is not trustworthy.

He is a liar.

He is a cheat.

He's fat.

He'll use you and abuse you just like everyone else.

Chew you up and spit you out because he's a glutton and you just aren't tasty enough.

So trust me, the girl with the pale skin and bones sticking out every which way.

The girl with a huge smile and dazzling white teeth contrasted by blood red plump lips.

The girl with a stomach so small, it's concave.

The girl with cheekbones so sharp, they are nearly cutting at my flesh.

Because I am your only friend.

The only one that will never leave you.

Because, dear Paradise, can't you see.

The place like your name can only exist for people like you, people like me.

Though food is sweet.

Revenge is sweeter.

And Death is sweetest still.