Shut Up, I Know Others Have It Worse.

kinda tired fighting for a life i don’t even want

every year i reach new lows and wish i killed myself earlier

"Are you ok?" I'm actually tired bro. From the bottom of my heart I'm tired

I have this silly little feeling in my chest that's making me want to die

i just wanna fucking slice my wrists till i bleed to death

I cant fucking do this

Like I cant handle anything

Idk what to do

I cant i just cant I csnt

overestimating how much you mean to someone really fucks you in the head

i’m not getting better anyways so why not get worse

Wilted Flowers

They’re pretty, but I’m afraid to touch them— I know they’ll crumble the moment I do.

I think they’re beautiful. Beautiful because they don’t last. Beautiful because they’re broken.

And I like shattered glass: the way it reflects anything you shine on it, the way I can see myself in the pieces— not whole, but fragmented.

I know I’ll bleed when I reach to touch it, drip the contents of my heart across smooth faces and edges that seldom forget.

And I like coffee. I drink it with cream to soften the bitterness. But I never add sugar— too much sweetness makes me sick.

It keeps me up when I should be asleep, telling secrets I should’ve kept, dreading the grinds at the bottom of the cup.

But I guess some things aren’t meant to be held for long— they bruise, or cut, or run out the moment you reach out to hold them.

I don’t mind so much.

Because wilted flowers aren’t soft... but they are pretty.