(AN- Tw/self harm/suicidal thoughts)
The beating in my chest quickens when I look at you,
You dark pools of hazel that I could lose myself in,
Looking at your overwhelming beauty,
I could almost forget the surrounding white noise.
Almost.
There are parts of myself I struggle to admit exists.
There are parts of me that are so dark and twisted that I could make a horror movie out of my own brain,
The parts of my self that tell me that life, no longer has anything for me, nothing remaining for the lonely girl with her nose in a well worn book,
Nothing to reveal itself for the girl in long sleeves in
One hundred degree heat,
Nothing for me.
I'm spinning and it's a constant headache,
I'm on a Ferris wheel and I could wait, in pain, or fall to the ground below.
I try not to be a cliché depressing teen,
But damn, those stereotypes certainly came from somewhere.
These pieces of writing aren't particularly for me,
Or about me, at that,
But I'm spreading my truth.
I'm spreading my pain, with a hope that this nagging weight that pulls my head down, will one day cease to exist.
But you. My beautiful angel. You ease the pain;
In return I ease yours.
You kiss my face and tell me I will be okay.
But you see,
I struggle to believe the truth.
One day my rotting brain and heart won't appeal to your soft hands and warm voice.
Your soft lips will no longer yearn for mine against them,
Your hands will fit better in someone else's.
But for now,
I will enjoy the time of ripening,
Before I rot.
Like my mind below.
