a depressed girl's guide to shitty poetry

no one.

and suddenly no one knew.
about the fresh cracks on the skin of her thighs and the tears that burn her cheeks.
no one knew that the previous night she hugged her pillow and cried so loudly she was sure she'd woken the whole neighborhood up.
or that she'd lay down her life for anyone who asked. life is useless to her, after all.
no one knew that she would give her everything to the boy that treats feelings like a light switch, and no one knew that his rejection to her offer to give him her everything felt as if her lungs were being spread open and flattened.
and no one knew that after all of this, she would still give him her entire brain, heart, and soul if he'd even implied that he wanted it.
no one knew how the taste of his lips is what helped her run at the earliest of sunrises, and that she ran harder when she remembered swallowing his breath as he kissed her harder.
no one knew that once she would get over him, she had sworn to never feel this way again. she'd rather die than give someone the entirety of her like she did him.
no one knew that she'd planned to kill herself tomorrow, and that instead she'd given herself a taste of death: that the taste of death is the only thing that keeps her alive. the cracks in her skin ooze life, and suddenly she can breathe a little easier. if it is the taste of death that keeps her alive, then she knows that she must lick her lips and taste again.
so, no. no one really knew.