Thorn To My Rose

If to love is to rest then I will perceive death for you.

For what greater form of rest do we know than to lie in the cold, dark earth forever?

Losing a friend

Ask me where it hurts

Everywhere I'll say

Ask me if I miss you

Everyday I'll say

I want to kill myself just enough for you to visit. Atleast then I'll get to see you somewhere that's not just my dreams.

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.

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.

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.

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

Broken mosaic

Broken like a mosaic, this grief is beautiful.

Cold as a grave, this silence is peaceful.

A pain drenched tartarus was what made childhood.

A longing filled asphodel is what makes life cruel.

Sinister evil spirits, they whisper in the dark.

Cold harsh voice, it will shatter up your heart.

The silence kept saying with such delicacy.

But mind kept begging for sincere secrecy.

So close your little eyes, home is full of ghosts.

Hide your own self, it is terrifying to be known.

Shred your skin, once again you'll be filled with relief.

One last cut; an eternity of sleep.

Green eyes

Green eyes more altering than the phases of the moon itself.

Warm green of honeydew when life strikes with kindness.

At crucial times, a poised snake; cautious and still.

A lurid shade of poison ivy, a secret to unveil.

A sea green touch when victorious. A glory to be held.

A lover's touch, an emerald flush. A fondness to be felt.

A steady green of summer leaves, at humour and sheer delight.

Anger darkens them cold and harsh, to the almost black of woods at night.

An endless chase of grief and despair, a helpless shade of teal.

A bleeding heel and olive green. Your eyes they haunt me still.

he called me neurotic

but what i think he really meant

was that the roots of my anxiety

are growing deep within my head

-

sometimes my thoughts run far

away, escape all rhyme and reason

the seeds of logic overthrown

by the fruits of anxious seasons

-

i just take my time to breathe

and think up a solution

i take a minute and i trawl

through the depths of this pollution

-

poison planted in my mind

by words and dirty looks i catch

in a net of pure self hate

in which fearful thoughts hatch

-

he called me neurotic

and sure, ill take it on the nose

my garden of fear and self hate

truly needed that last rose.

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(photo via)