Give me a lie to stitch the ever itching wound.

Detaching and throwing old things away

hoping that this way

the old feeling of love

(my archaic love for him) 

will as well be thrown away.

Age 13 - "Things were fine, then I woke up." 

 Age 15 - "Things were awful even in my sleep." 

Age 18 - "I no longer sleep, afraid of nightmares."

Ribcage

I've been scared for so long.
I've been scarred for so long.
I am scared to the point I can no longer hold my pen without dropping it due to my shaking hands and shivering body. I can hear my own heart severely pounding - rather than beating - against my ribcage. It wants to find its own way out of my slightly withered body, among the crimson pulsing vein, ready to clog the sink and the tiniest fragments of myself.

Delicio-me em minha dor assim como alguém agoniza incessavelmente com o terror de uma veia recém aberta.

Wounded Child

A pale-milk and bloodstained child

hid behind white curtains pretending 

to be a ghost, because then maybe 

"they" would go away without hurting her. 

Little she knew about the death

she was about to face.

Little she knew about the ghost 

she would become.

There's someone in my head, but it's not me.

"I wonder how so much hate can fit inside a person; I wonder how I haven't flooded everything around me with hate."
"You already have, dearest. Everytime you cut, burn or punch yourself, everytime you starve or push people away, that is when there's no longer space for hatred inside yourself."