I’d kill the child in me,

To save the adult,

I’d destroy the creative in me

To save the money maker,

I’d kill the emotions in me

To stop me falling in love

Anything would be better than this,

Yet I’m still here,

And you’re not.

Twenty five years wasted,

Twenty five years lost,

Twenty five years squandered,

Twenty five years missing,

Twenty five years damned,

Twenty five years done,

Nothing gained, that won’t

Be soon lost by an eternrity

That renders everything

In your life meaningless.

It wouldn’t matter if it was 5AM or 5PM,

I’d still feel worst for wear, and no

Short term breathless distractions,

No long term fixes, seem to work,

Coffee, alcohol, cigarettes, addiction

You seem content, where I seem

Contempt, to be broken down

And left alone, I just wish that

Death was the only place

Where loneliness didn’t seem like

Such a big deal.

Screeching breaks, short breaths,

Crying, screaming, cross words

Stories told about better days

About love, loss, and meaning,

I hate you, but not as much

As I hate myself as knives dig deep

Carving out words, to dull

old pains that should of been left

Alone, long ago, but those old

Wounds never seemed to heal

Twisted, contorted, broken wounds,

Glass shards sticking out,

Bruised lips, ice lined pavements

It’s cold out there, it’s freezing in here,

Warm showers, that burn frigid flesh,

Skin that shrivels and cracks revealing

The same old wounds all over again

Alcohol to warm the body, dull

What’s left of the soul, and distractions

To try and take our minds off

How little we mean in this world,

And stop us seeing how little

People really care.

If I could bleed a thousand other ways I would.

This pain is more than enough for one lifetime.

I wish I could break skin without leaving the marks.

Without the blood dripping. There is only so much mindless self destruction.

That one can do without leaving permanent marks.

And I don’t want my future to be effected by pains of my past.

If only death was an easy option.

About to bring in another birthday. Much like new year. I think 2014 is the year I’ll be made to feel broken. One of my mentors killed himself on his birthday. Such tragedy is only felt on occaision’s when we’re meant to feel important. Yet that self imposed importance is something everyone else likes to remind us of. But no one does anything. - birthdays have always been a great reminder that no one gives a fuck and so no one should - our happiness is no ones responsibility.

Just saw Passenger perform this. So much emoshun.

The things we resist most are
usually the things we need to do most.

Succumbing to fear, ignoring what you really want long term, leaves you unsatisfied, and empty.

You make me feel like I’m not wasting my time, you make me feel comfortable with fucking up, you made growing older feel less loathsome.

Bite down on lips to break skin,

The sweet torment of romance, 

Wrapped around a knife,

Carefully placed beneath ribs

Laid bare, with question promises

And when the blade breaks skin,

Those promises won’t matter

Love is dead, love is lost,

Love was never yours to begin with.

I learnt today my family are away for 10 days, the we’ll be back next Tuesday was, the one following my birthday, you know small fact.

It shouldn’t effect me this much, but I just feel neglected, not cared about, like no one gives a fuck, I feel like I could just disappear and no one would notice.

My presents were left for me, in my siblings post haste to get to their easter chocolate, they’d knocked them on the floor, and the wrapping had started coming off, and they were covered in ants.

I care about a lot of people, but I get met with excuses, I feel like everything I do is dragged out of the people I care about. And the ones I want most in my life, couldn’t give less of a shit, much like I probably do to them when things aren’t good.

I am such a piece of shit, I fucking hate my emotions. Just leave me alone, let me just be happy again, I don’t like this fucking feeling, I don’t like feeling at the mercy of something bigger than myself, it’s not fair. I just want things to be good again. And if they ever get that way, help me not be such a shit human being.

"The fact that you’re struggling doesn’t make you a burden. It doesn’t make you unloveable or undesirable or undeserving of care. It doesn’t make you too much or too sensitive or too needy. It makes you human. Everyone struggles. Everyone has a difficult time coping, and at times, we all fall apart. During these times, we aren’t always easy to be around — and that’s okay. No one is easy to be around one hundred percent of the time. Yes, you may sometimes be unpleasant or difficult. And yes, you may sometimes do or say things that make the people around you feel helpless or sad. But those things aren’t all of who you are and they certainly don’t discount your worth as a human being. The truth is that you can be struggling and still be loved. You can be difficult and still be cared for. You can be less than perfect, and still be deserving of compassion and kindness."

Daniell Koepke (via psych-facts)

"If I have written about you, for good or for bad, the fact is, I have loved you."

Eventide  (via fivefoottwoandbulletproof)