I Feel Fake

Mom walks in: why are you crying?

Me: life's hard

Mom: are you trying to be funny with me? *begins yelling*

Why thank you mother i think im funny as well :p

Pretty like tired nights

Pretty like dying leaves

Pretty like broken glass

Pretty like bleach stains on a black shirt

Pretty and fragile

Pretty and gone

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

Pov you went to select mental illness on character creator and accidently clicked select all whoops.

(Not all I guess. Just-- alot.)

Me in the mirror on a daily basis

Ahh no dont kill yourself ahhh you're too sexy

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

Why do I feel this bad

My parents are okay people

I have money

Education

Everything everyone wants

So why do I still feel this shitty

i wasn't meant to live this long and that's why i don't know what to do when i feel this awful

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.