What Can Life Offer Anyway

The grave that I call my home

Where love doesn't exist.

The monster that I call my father

For whom peace doesn't exist.

The demon that I call my mother

For whom compassion doesn't exist.

The nightmare that I call my world

For which I dont exist.

The despair that I call myself

For whom joy doesnt exist.

The curse that I call my life

Where living doesn't exist.

Tw: self harm, ed

Alternate universe

In an alternate universe,

I am 14 and alone in my room,

And my hands haven't harmed myself yet.

In an alternate universe,

My mom isn't emotionally dead,

And my dad isn't the monster yet.

In an alternate universe,

I still have her by my side,

I haven't screwed everything yet.

In an alternate universe,

I don't flinch when I look in the mirror,

There are no scars on my thighs yet.

In an alternate universe,

I still eat like a normal person,

I haven't ruined myself yet.

Alternate universe

In an alternate universe

I am 14 and alone in my room

And my hands havent harmed myself yet

Tw: eating disorders and self harm

The monsters in my head. They won't leave.

An empty stomach. A grave where I live.

Scars on my thighs. A strange relief.

A disconsolate existence. A sigh of grief

My shattered childhood. It haunts me still

Whimpers of pain. A broken will.

Venomous family. Full of greed.

Begged you to stop it. It never did.

I don't think I could ever stop writing completely.

permillion44

If I believed in god I would ask him why he did this to me.

But I do not.

If I believed in myself I would ask me how I let this happen.

But I do not

You were scared to ruin me

I assured you that you wouldn't

The unsaid truth was this:

I was already ruined

Long before I met you

Long before I knew how to love

And even before you became my home

.

But you left and it felt like death

Everyone said I'd get used to it

The cruel desire was this:

I don't want to get used to you

I don't want time to heal me

I always want you to be

An unbearable ache that kills me

.

My mind is being held hostage by you

And even in grief you feel like home

The maddening question is this:

Will you love the monster in me?

Will you love me at the end of the world?

Will you simply just love me?

Tw: self harm, self loathing

A girl lies on her bedroom floor.

She bleeds through her eyes and cries through her veins.

I watch her helplessly and let her fall apart.

Everyday she fights long lost battles and dies gruesome deaths.

Her life is nothing but a grave full of dead hopes.

I watch her and do nothing.

Perhaps because there isn't much left of her to be saved.

She is covered in bruises I don't recognize her anymore.

I watch her with curiosity.

Her eyes dark and cold like the night itself, she reeks of misery.

A home full of ghosts, none of them remotedly as dead as her soul.

I watch her mercilessly.

After all that's what monsters like her deserve.

I say, and I stop watching her.

No part of her deserves to be loved.

I say, and I step away from the mirror.

Sometimes I want to go back and hug my younger self, and then I remember I’m still her and I’m still deserving of that love

What a subtle form of self harm it is to love you.

Such a gruesome death to die.

What a comfort it is to be to be loved by you.

Such a torment it is to be not.