Pretty like blood in snow
Pretty like feathers in a vase
Pretty like dried flowers
Pretty like art of bones
Pretty like decaying fleah
Pretty like rotting stones
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
My existence feels wrong. Like I wasn't even supposed to be here to begin with.
“I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.”
— Neil Gaiman, The Sandman
The fear of abandonment isn’t just about people leaving, it’s the gut-wrenching belief that you aren’t worth staying for.
They say go to therapy
It'll help
Then why dose every therapy session end in me wanting to kill myself more
My younger self would be so disappointed that we’re still here
You ask why I didn't reply to your text
I wanted too
But the weight of a conversation felt impossible to carry
You ask why I dont text back
I tried too
But I was scared id say the wrong thing
You ask why I never tell you things
I want to
But im scared you'll hate me for everything I do
You ask why I dont talk
I tried too
The words couldnt seem to come out
You ask why I dont wanna be your friend
I want to
But I couldnt handle you leaving
So I left first
Me in the mirror on a daily basis
Ahh no dont kill yourself ahhh you're too sexy
life fuxking sucks man he him/ I post shit about my horrid mental health. and write potery. general tw of my blog
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