Vi know it looks like i'mV5 years ago in Scraps More Like This
s h o u l d e r s f o r e a r m s f e m u r s c a l v e s a l l l o o s e
from one another
like cylindrical beads on too-long string, like that bracelet i made you when we were three.
but these tendons are stretched and my bones are spaced out
only from holding on
'cause i can't give up on holding on to stop myself from
know i'm ontheedge
psycho-somatic illnessevery day i feel empty, like the car i found that had slid down a mountain, with the tree branches punched through the windows. it had been there for years and it never filled up, was always an echoing silence up there among the stoically mourning trees.psycho-somatic illness6 years ago in Scraps More Like This
my heart beats in my chest like a kick drum, cold and clanging and half-eaten with rust. my lungs are on either side like a pair of broken pigeon wings, blackened from smoking and just not giving a shit. my organs probably hate me like everyone else, and that's okay because they don't have to put up with me for much longer.
i write letters to myself, but they never turn out very well, or i forget to send them, or i just plain can't remember what i was trying to say.
if i were you, i'd stop crying in public bathrooms, and then coming out with reddened eyes and saying that your contacts were bothering you.
i don't want these memories. i never want to have another thought again. the bitter is so bitter i'll give up the swe
13 Reasons To LiveThirteen reasons was all it took13 Reasons To Live5 years ago in Scraps More Like This
For her to decide it was all too much
To decide to take her life
A thing you can't undo
If she had come to me
"Why should I stay?"
I would look at her and say
You have thirteen reasons
Give me thirteen reasons why you should
Thirteen is too small to count the times I have laughed.
Twelve is too small to count the books I have cherished.
Eleven is too small to count the things I would miss out on in life.
Ten is too small to count the times I've been proud of myself.
Nine is too small to count the "perfect days" I'll miss out on.
Eight is too small to count the times I have thought "I love writing."
Seven is too small to count the times I might fall in Love.
Six is too small to count the tears shed when I'm gone.
Five is too small to count my family.
Four is to small to count my friends.
Three is too small to count my future children.
Two is too small to count the second-chances I won't have.
One day is too small to be the only