Get skinny. Work out. Get a job. Figure out college plans.

We're in so deep.

Coral elbows and ceramic hearts, sculpted to intertwine, we build these bridges, these caves carved with mines, explosive.

Hi. It's me. I know we don't talk anymore, and things are really weird between us. But I miss you. I miss the moments we shared and the laughter we made. I hate this.

Because in my heart, you were already mine.

He's such a good guy and he's going to break my heart.

Such a fucking bonerkiller.

There are some things I'm not ready to admit.

I need to stop this. It's too much of a risk.

I had you yesterday, so stay still while I capture fragments of regret.

We're not meant to be. And that's okay. :)

I can't help but notice how well matched you are. Practically perfect for one another.

I am scattered amongst the ever-changing tides.  Leaves worn with the passing of days into nights and shed onto the ground. I am ready.

I was so blind to you.

Love bleeds. Constricts and contorts. Pulls me apart. Cringes.

Carbon and lethal, bleeding air and asphalt without a reign upon the ropes that lead us directionless and passionless.

Drained from these digital diversions that delude the illusion that we were anything more.

Confession: I doubt you will miss me at all.

Immersed in writing and mind don’t matter to ever return. Let these words swallow me whole, I will drown in rhythm and syllables.

I know it’s more about him leaving than it is me. I never mattered quite as much. Accepted with humor.

Guess who stands now, prepared and idly glancing around. Unable to be destabilized. Fermented in the cement tides of realization. I no longer need you.

Coming down, separating the tissues and spreading scissors, severing these strings that guided my motions for so long. I am whole, divided and realized. Devoid of need and reach. Individualized, cemented and saved.

She forges letters inside my wrists as though she were stitching up linens, a canvas of skin met with scissors and wet tapestry.

Sometimes I wanna cry, like I know it's over, but it really never began. Too soon, too soon, I repeat to myself. Yet the fact remains the same, an end was made without words.

I threw love at him. Scooped it up in all of its syrupy, unfound muck and tossed it his way. I suppose it was only naturally that he should return it with a rugged sort of rejection. It lingers. Scars and bruises those vulnerable places. Goodbye without an end. Wounds without healing. Dishing out remains. Ruins of seasons spent under his gaze and close in his arms.

I was frozen in the want the need that I felt for you. I allowed frostbite to encase me and separate me from the entire world.

Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.

Gorgeous and worthless. Funny isn't it?

Caught between defending you and hating you all the same.

Why do you do this to me?

I love his mind and I hate him.

In a lot of ways, I guess it never mattered to you. Whatever. I'm done, done, done. You keep pushing me away and pretending like everything's okay and become so completely self-absorbed that I can't handle it anymore. I'm done trying.

I guess our friendship ended at the point where everything become more important than our relationship and I guess that I just don’t fit into your busy schedule anymore and I guess nothing that we went through means anything and I guess that you don’t care anymore and I guess that you are just to chicken shit to say anything and I guess I’m a fool for trying to salvage our supposed “friendship”.

And for a moment, you were that sweet caring boy who I could never look in the eyes...and then you vanished.

It was a love song to our mutual hatred.

I could never be what you need.

He asked me what I sought after in a man. I replied all but the brutal reality. Truth is, what I want is you.

I'm OVER it.

Variety, influence, fluidity, vibrance, turbulence, accidents.

I'm not good enough for myself, how can I ever be good enough for anyone else?

Accepting failure is painful.

I keep telling myself that I should hate you, but I can't.

There's a part of me that still falls for you.

His words are like raindrops. Moist pellets that slip past lips and drip down chins, glistening and wet. Ruining and ravashing. Lifting and contricting.

To be skinny is to be beautiful.

Repeat until finished. Compute and complete. Purge from inside the ugliness kept so readily apparent.

Give me a fountain of cold, beatless breaths and heaving hearts.

I'm fixing imperfections and correcting wrongs until all that's left is pure perfection in nothingness.

I don't know what I ever saw in you.

It must have been difficult for you too, then.

I want to be weightless.

I want to start a band, become ridiculously famous, so that I can meet Robert Smith, have him do a song with me and inevitably fall in love with my charming personality.

Why do people reason that “love makes you do crazy things” like it makes up for all the stupid shit that two people end up doing?

The worst thing you can do is allow someone to become your everything.

I am...so glad that I'm over you.

Big was only beautiful in songs and soliloquies. Beauty in abundance is never real.

Desperately trying to convince myself it’s not my loss. But honestly, it is.

I don’t want anything permanent.

Sometimes, I'm so glad we were never together.

Here I go again, giving bits of my soul away, pushing my needs aside to please you.

I am an evil, evil woman. Don't be fooled by my shy eyes and hiding heart.

I gave up asking permission because I alone know what is right for me, or at least what I need to do.

Human emotion is confusing.

It's okay to have a weakness, is it not? I guess you're that weakness. I stumble and find myself frail under your air of unperturbed eloquence and decorum. You make me weak both near and from afar.

If I must, I will smother the flames and die behind a smile. Anything to blind me from what lies inside.

Boy, why does your smile never reach your eyes?

You have this amazing way of breaking my heart every day. Cliche-y, I know.

Once again you choose that derelict grandson of yours over me.

Liquid inside murky lungs, tearing me down. Will you ever let loose of the soles of my soul and release me?

I have nothing to offer anyone, I am only a bandage for those around me.

I hate being alone.

I'm always the nice girl, never nice enough to date.

I trust you more than most. I must admit you hold my heart within your palms.

Massage the abrasions with flicking tips of penmanship. Sweet, swift utterances find me once again. Reminiscence of feathered words sung through letters and words written over keyboards.  I am shivering within the ribbons of wild desire to breathe again.

Inhale through bent lips. Teeth grinding through wax pallets. Exhale internal bits. Inhale death in each breath.

What really sucks is that you never cared enough to try to make me stay.

It’s like we brush shoulders. The contact is brief, slighted and swiped before the mind makes anything memorable out of it. Our lives collide on angles, sweeping and diving across one another but never completely meeting.  

Suppose I found someone who makes me strive to be a better person. Someone who cheers me up when I’m down. Someone who engages me in delectable conversation. Someone who is extremely physically attractive. Someone who makes me feel right. Someone who I relate to. But suppose that person doesn’t want me around. Consequently, I am made to feel worthless and insecure. Despite everything, I want to believe your precious words because without them these clouds dangle and drag me down. The silence speaks for itself, so am I to believe that none of it is true anymore?

I want to achieve greatness. I want to succeed. It is a product of the perfectionist within me, but I need to become better and I want to be improved. I want to find myself as no longer nothing.

I want to slip apart from these careening veins and swing from spools of linen and asphyxiation.

We became parallel lines. Once, we met and intertwined, so aligned...and eventually and subtly we divided in distancing lines remaining on the same plane but never colliding or combining again, merely dancing in the atmosphere that always seems to linger after something significant ends.

You don't notice.

It is hardest to be happy for someone you love, while they are happy with someone else and without you.

I was never good enough.

I know you want this, this fair weather friendship. So I’ll let you have it. I won’t drop to my knees to save you. I’m done. I won’t let you destroy me.

I’m awfully awkward and nowhere near eloquent. I’m weird and not so subtle. I dive in too quickly and drown in the recess of air. I’ll push you away when you’ve become too close, and I’ll bury emotions beneath the sand. Regardless, you won’t find another person quite like me. I will defend, protect, and provide for you until my limbs let out and collapse. I’d never lie to save myself, or at all. When your spirit has crashed, I’ll be there to scoop you up, and mend your soul. I extend myself with bruised wrists, prepared to take on everything. I’ll do my best to make you smile. I’ll go crazy with you and create amazing memories. I try my best in everything I do. Is it so wrong?

Drowning in the abscess of beauty. His voice with its swollen, melodic drone, lulls me into a subtle surrender. The ordeal is almost over. I can surpass the pain, if only for a while. Please remind me, how the pieces fall together when internally pulled apart.

Playing nice, pretending not to feel. Though it hurts when you went away, I stay a while and mind my own business.

Somewhere over the rainbow. Behind the trees, inside the city. Behind the dumpster, inside the alleyway. Cries, endless cries. Soft, pebble echoes. Lingering.

You weren't supposed to get under my skin.

I miss you tremendously.

More than I should. More than I would ever wish to, more than what is proper, more than I can withstand.

There’s a noose around my neck and if I could vomit thought, I would drown in the recesses of ideas and convoluted nonsense, metaphors for restless sadness and epitomes of heartache.

But I was never breathing, always choking, inhaling stale oxygen. Stepping on the overpass, verging upon impact with the earth floor.

I have to find a way to let this go. I can’t let this continue to kill me. But how can I overcome it when I can’t get closure?

I don't feel numb at all. I feel dead. Hollow. Defeated as fuck and crushed. And I still care. I care to the tiniest bits of existence. I care and it doesn't fucking matter. I'm so naive and overly sensitive and fragile. It's stupid.

As a child, I frequently had asthma attacks, sending me to the hospital. I would cry out, whimpering as I did, “My heart hurts.” I feel a heavy twisting amongst my heartstrings that is weighing me down, gutting me continuously. My heart hurts, but it isn’t asthma. My heart hurts and it's because of you.

Blend in with the wall. It is better this way. Words formed from her lips can’t slice skin and deeds done by him will not reach here. It is better to be unseen. Stitched lips leave remarks concealed and skin healed.  

Never let anyone get close: Advice to myself that I have failed to follow. The knife slices me every time I fail to follow this, and find myself alone, adorning stitches born from wretched emptiness. Vulnerability is scary. Terrifying. Every time I allow a person to enter my world and become a piece of my life, I am returned with abrasions and afflictions.  With attachment follows abandonment and that is something I should never forget. Nothing lasts. Those who can hurt you, inevitably will. I foolishly allowed myself to believe that maybe I was worth a small while. Foolish indeed, because everyone leaves.

If I meant anything to you, then you wouldn’t allow the events to turn this way. You wouldn’t let me slip away. You would wonder, try to reach me, or show a ounce of concern. But you don’t. Because I never meant anything. Everything ends, everyone leaves. I was foolish to believe it could be any other way. I am nothing.

Ideas, or at least, pieces of ideas, swim inside my mind. Everything is so disorganized and out of reach. I’ve been pulling at figments of yesterday for ages now it seems, but the world around me is so fragile and grains of life fall through my hands like sand. The sea crashes against my memories, submerging me in tangles of what should have been.