yournoone

The pieces fall apart every time I leave your presence The shards of who I am send me running from the present. You have left me, so alone. My sweet music is now lacking all its tone. You brought me cigarettes, made sure I ate my dinner. I bloomed so beautifully, but now I'm growing thinner. You have left me, so alone. I keep calling, but you won't pick up the phone. I gave you all of me, thought it would make me better. Now hidden from your gaze, old wounds begin to fester. I have left you, so alone. I am drowning, but you won't pick up the phone. I won't forget about all the things we did together. You'll know you're in my thou

 I walk through your doorway and my broken pieces suddenly glimmer in your light. They are no longer shards of who I want to be, but beautiful pieces that fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. When you hold me, I can feel your warmth coursing through me. If you hold me too long you will bring my insides to a boil, and all my thoughts and feelings will bubble over. This is what you do for me. You make all the little pieces fuze together, until I am glowing with light. When I leave, every inch of me begins to slowly pull apart. With every step that carries me away from you, I forget another part of who I am. I am disassembling myself f

You cut me open with your eyes Flay me, display me For all to see my insides. You rip my mind out with your gaze Screw me, undo me Destroy me with lies. I grab your hand and pray aloud. Save me, embrace me I'm yearning for your touch. Instead, you pull away from me. Your lack of love is what hurts most. I'm empty, I'm starving For you to fill me up. I would be satisfied with coal. This cold is unnerving I'm waiting for the fall. I grab your hand and pray aloud. Save me, unlace me. I'll show you all my scars. Instead, you pull away from me. You strip my skin off with your eyes. Flay me, display me For all to see my inside

Dinner is sitting on the kitchen counter, getting cold. I'm ready to eat, but it's against the rules that I no longer am allowed to set for myself. Instead I will sit and remember what it feels like to eat my own body. Chomp, there goes my finger. The cartilage from my nose crunches between my fangs and I am glad that I can no longer smell that extremely tempting Chinese food sitting off limits on the kitchen counter. I want to go take a look and see what used to smell so good, but I have eaten off my feet, and I once saw in a movie how painful it is to walk on bloody stumps. It is long past time for dinner, now. It is long past the time for

I I am tired of this blizzard I am tired of being a strong strong tree that barely blows in the wind I am tired of this existence these shackles around my ankles this struggle this fight. II So I travel back to smiles and butterfly houses back to times with no hurting I travel back and as I go I can feel the burns and scars disappearing. My hair becomes full and bouncy again my back unbruised. My tears dry up before they spill over, and I can feel my skin Become thick with color again. As I travel backwards I feel myself become whole. Growing into a person I never knew existed. III But even as I travel back I re

The words get caught in the back of my throat And make me gag. I stick my finger in Just a little bit deeper (Just a little skinnier, just a couple more pounds)... And the words surge out. I am dead, dying, long gone. I am rotting. Disappearing. Waiting to no longer be seen, And craving to be seen. I am an exhibitionist, I am a pervert. I am a nymphomaniac, and a slut. I am pathetic and have no self control. Yet I am well disciplined. I am kicking and fighting against everything around me, And passively letting my life spiral out of hand. I am empty, But I am complete. I am alone and surrounded by people who care. I am lost

I called it. September. It’s that time of year again. The warmth tricks you into a false sense of identity, The cold hits you like the door on his way out. Voices fighting, empty and Without any comprehension of the depth of this matter. I gave him my heart on a silver platter. I only hope he isn’t hungry for more. There is not much left of me, Or so it seems on these cold September days. The sky weeps for my losses. Now the winds are chillier. The shock from the cold has warn off, And my frostbitten anger weighs down my limbs. Letters don’t come with Christmas tidings. At least, not any tidings I want