I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t write.

hopehandwritten:

I’m sinking in this pit of loathing
Trembling with disdain
Wishing you were here
But fighting thoughts of concern
For I don’t know what’s happening—
These words beg to make sense…
Yet what really is the point anymore?
Penis.
There’s some poetry for you.
I give up today—
Bring out the rope and blades.

Till’ death do us part…

          even if we’re not married…

                    yet

thegirlwhowearsforever:

I think the world

Wouldn’t miss a beat

If I raised my arms

And dropped my feet

beyond words

astahfrith:

you are poetry
personified
you need not mean anything
to anyone
but yourself
to be beautiful

ladyfunnybones:

I want to
cry until I am
empty

left unfeeling

andrewwrichard:

I care. Sometimes that’s my problem. I care a little too much. I would go to the end of the earth to protect the person I love and I feel like 90 percent of the time it’s not reciprocated  It makes you feel a little under-appreciated, but most of all it makes you feel unloved. 

I wish I was ignorant,

so that the world could never hurt me

bipolarbacon:

Love when lost
does not often
leave a scar
it leaves a 
hollow space
for a greater love
to grow in.

I do not fear death,

the darkness taking over my mind

the numbness of my body

Instead I fear pain,

the thought of you leaving clenches at my chest

each breath shallow and constricted

hands begin to shake

and my mind seeks the darkness