this is everything i didn't say

eighty-seven

so i'm waiting around for it all to happen again

because that's how it always works, so why wouldn't it stay that way

it's confession time: it's been years since i knew what it was like to have lips that weren't scarred

this isn't a metaphor, this is me finally admitting what i've done

this is the bloodstains on my pillowcases that never came out

and the memories of all the salt i wasted pouring in my own wounds

and i wish i was kidding but i'm not and i promise you it burns worse than you'd expect

it's never having perfect lipstick because my lips are permanently swollen and screwed up

and i can't ever forget

this has been on and off since before i even knew what depression was

and it's only ever gotten worse

so i'll smile because i'm fine now but inside i'm terrified

because who knows when i'll wake up next with bleeding lips

and have to remember how to hide the aftermath

compulsive // k.

(im fully aware this is crap and i apologize this is more for me than the public)