I’m not so sure if the sky is actually dark.

Or if black is all I can see.

Sometimes I don’t know what’s worse.

Being completely numb..

Or completely feeling everything.

I wish I could explain how I’m feeling in words rather than my body just shaking.

I wish the sun would shine just a bit brighter so I wouldn’t feel so damn cold.

-Meds saved me and killed me

I’m drowning in you.

I sunk to the bottom and I pushed my feet off the sand, and made my way back up just to breathe.

Once I put my head above water,

looking for the shore,

The waves of you came towering over me...

And there I was. Hopelessly sinking again.

You said it would be fun to be able to dive deep with me.

But if I would have known that you would let the water fill my lungs the way it did...

I wouldn’t have relied on you to be the one to save me.

-I’m a horrible swimmer, but I thought I’d try for you.

You look deep into things.

You have to make sense out of everything.

There always has to be a reason why,

And if something doesn't make complete sense to you in the simplest of terms,

You pick at it to its very core..

I'm complicated.

There is no making sense of me.

And I found out the hard way,

That this is why you couldn’t love me completely.

-I tried being simple for you.

And you were cold.

And I thought I could heal you.

I thought I could wrap you up in my arms and pour my warmth into you.

I try to fix the damaged.

But you, you were past the point of fixing.

And I was to worn to notice.

-I tried to be your miracle

I want someone to find an interest in the poetry I’m reading.

I want them to ask all about it.

I want them to feel every emotion.

I want them to look at me and ask,

“Why does this sound so familiar?”

And I’ll whisper..

“Because it was written about us”

-The beauty in words.

I blame the media.

I blame the music.

For painting this beautiful picture inside my head.

Of what I should expect,

But I never receive in that form.

I blame myself for loving so hard.

And giving every inch of me away.

I blame the boys with the pretty eyes that stand a bit taller than me.

The boys that spilled red letters on me,

And left me with nothing but a stain.

-too good to be true