Baaaaaad Keeeeety.

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i watch water boil, when boys ask for my phone number
i give them the wrong last two digits, sometimes i chew
your name just to see if it still tastes like rubber and sea
salt, i don’t like how people look at me when i tell them
my sister is sick, frankly i don’t like when people look at
me at all, on Tuesdays i don’t take my sleeping pills and
instead have conversations with the moon, i tell him how
the shower water burns my skin - feels like needles on
my spine, sometimes i wake myself up at 3 AM and write
poetry on the back of old math worksheets, most of them
start with how i taste blood in my mouth, i drive to the
beach and don’t tell anyone where i am, i like how the
waves look like silk against the mint green sky, how the
birds fly like spears, how the air feels heavy and black,
how i have the option of being swallowed by the cold
and disappearing into dust, sometimes i convince myself
my soul has long left this body, i feel so empty i think i’m
– poems from my uncle’s grave (via irynka)
And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself. – unknown  (via irynka)
i felt my stomach shredding itself to pieces and burning holes where your fingertips had traced the skin and i think it was trying to forget you
it hurt too much knowing that i had stabbed you with my own two hands right in the heart, my hands that had settled on your chest and had curled your t-shirt bunched in my fist the way my fingers curled around your neck - that i had kissed when my eyes met him
and i’m tearing myself apart so he can fit me in his pocket while you’re stuck picking up your splintered bones and snapping your teeth back into place so that you can smile
and i had no idea that i could sweep you off of your feet like a tsunami and tear you all apart like a hurricane
i always knew my love was toxic but jesus christ i never thought i’d poison you
– cw (e-xultation)
1. He will tell you that he wants you and you won’t be sure which way he means, so you will give him everything that he can hold in his strong hands.
2. You will blame the nauseous feeling in your stomach on the winding road and not his profile outlined in the dark; you will be lying to yourself.
3. He will take you to look at the prettiest parts of your small corner of the universe and then you will be forced to go back down to earth.
4. He will kiss the freckles on your cheeks and pause his lips over your collarbone and grazing your neck with soft lips and softer teeth, he will etch this pattern into your skin and it will burn.
5. He will pour you shots of vodka and you will slur yourselves together like sentences.
6. You will feel like there is too much love for you to hold in the palms of your shaky hands.
7. You will fall apart.
– cw (e-xultation) “7 things you have to know about boys with blonde hair and white knuckles” (via cleabelle)

- Don’t act like that smile didn’t sin - my lips haven’t been bruised since you kissed them.
- Don’t grab coffee pots like your hands never traced the space between my ribs - I knew there was electricity in your fingertips.
- Don’t speak easily like you’ve never lied - I heard you say ‘I love you’ and I watched you drive away that night.
- Don’t walk gracefully with careful movements - I felt you trip and drop me and I SHATTERED.
- Don’t pretend you have morals - I remember you begging me to abandon mine.
- Don’t act like a model citizen - I witnessed you stealing every fucking thing i had left.

You don’t get to murder me and leave a good man.

– cw (e-xultation)
It’s 9:04 AM Wednesday. I’m in another lecture. The hall is cold. There are goosebumps covering my body. I am reminded of when we went camping that day and you forgot the matches; left to suffer the cold without flame. It felt a whole hell of a lot like this last December when you left me to pay the heating bills alone and took ‘a break’ from us. That Christmas I drank your peppermint tea and wore your ratty old T-shirt, covered in down blankets and stared at the corner where you put the tree last time; back when we shared something other than a bed.
It’s May now. I should be warm, but you still haven’t come back from wherever you went. I’m half convinced you’re dead. My hair has grown two inches. I’ve lost eleven pounds. My nails bleed a lot, short enough that I can’t make any use of them. My clothes are all grey, so I suppose nothing much has changed. I got waterproof mascara so that I can cry over you and still look like I woke up on time.
I bought a dress. I wore it to your funeral at the park where we met. I stomped on your grave. I am done mourning.
– cw (e-xultation)
my skin burns where you touch it and we blur together at the edges and when we pull away it feels like there are tears in my skin and all of me spills onto your bed and who knows if I will ever get that matter back inside of me and maybe that’s okay because if you want it than I don’t need it – cw (e-xultation)

i liked you because when you spoke you said
things like “blue busses remind me of Easter”
and “God lives inside the walls of art museums”

two days before graduation you picked me up at 4 AM
and we drove down to Michigan, I told you about my
sister and you told me about winters in Connecticut

when i left for college, i wrote you three poems and
handed them to you in white envelopes, you gave me
sea shells you found when you were thirteen and alone

he tastes bitter and i still think about your laughter
i wonder if you look for the moon on broken nights
because my skin burns when strange boys touch me

when i received the invitation to your wedding,
i took a shower and boiled myself into patches
of pain, then i called and said congratulations

she looked beautiful at the wedding and i got
drunk off of red wine and told your mother how
you used to cry when people called you brave

we talked once, you told me you haven’t read
my poems yet and asked if i still had your sea
shells, i told you i was supposed to be in white

i moved to Australia and three years later i
received an apology letter from you which
i burned and then wouldn’t sleep for weeks

i still think about you on nights when my
husband is sleeping and my black lungs
want cigarettes i promised to stop smoking

i saw you in my dreams last night, you
were kissing my neck and stroking my
thighs and i woke up crying in sweat

i went to your funeral last Thursday night,
you were always talking about Autumn so
i didn’t think you should have died in winter

i cut my hair short before visiting your grave
because i didn’t want anyone to recognize me,
i left your sea shells and cried on the way home

– confessions from my alcoholic mother  (via irynka)

Painless ways to kill yourself.

i. There is no painless way to kill yourself, someone, somewhere, will feel the pain.

ii. The internet says, “sleeping pills, you will fall asleep and never wake up! You won’t feel a thing!” When that is a lie, your stomach will turn to fire and your throat will fill with the taste of your own stomach acid. You will drown in your own spit. That isn’t even the worst party, it’s when your mother comes home from work. She will walk through the door, and call out your name. She will call and call and there will be no response, maybe you’re in the shower? Maybe you’re asleep? She will walk up the stairs, knock on your door to receive no answer. When she walks in she will see the lifeless body of her baby girl, lying on the floor. Her heart will stop but she will run to you with shaky knees, touching your face that is now still and cold. Her body will be on fire, and her throat will begin to tighten, the sharp pains in her chest will feel like knives in the heart. That image will kill her more than her own death, it will haunt her living years each night. She will no longer be alive, but just as dead as you are now.

iii. Years ago, your father showed you the gun safe he kept in the house in case of emergencies, you knew the pass code, you knew how to shoot and loud, at least you had an idea. They say a bullet to the brain will do the job.. So one night, when your father is fast asleep, you will be down the hallway staring down the mouth of a gun.
One, two, three..
Your father’s heart will jump and his body will follow, the first thing he thinks of is you. He will scream your name and run down the hallway and bang on your door. It’s locked. His knees begin to feel weak as he bruises his body trying to knock down the door, the first sight he see’s in blood splattered on the wall. At that moment his breath began to stop, and his eyes wandered to yours. Still open, but no more life inside your shell. He will drop to his hands and knees and scream why, why, why. There will never be a day he won’t hate himself, for keeping a gun in the house, for not making you happy, for not knowing. He will live a life without a son, live a life with an empty space. Live a life of hurt, and hatred for himself.

iv. You may think that when you’re dead and gone you will not be hurting anyone. You may think when you slide a blade across your wrist, you’re only hurting yourself. Yet I have learned that is not true, it’s not. The person who will find your body, the one who see’s the cuts, their chest will feel tight and they will feel like it was their fault for letting it get this far. The only mark you will be leaving on them is pain, hurt, and the question why? So please note this, there is pain in every suicide attempt, every death, every cut. You are not only hurting your life, but others too. Because you are cared for.

i.c. // “There is always pain in death, maybe not felt by the one dying, but felt by the lovers of the deceased.” (via delicatepoetry)

"I feel like I’m slowly rotting inside everyday even when I smile to hide it. I hate myself.” (r.i.d)

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