Categories > Original > Poetry
I don't know
1 reviewThis doesn't really make much sense. I kind of lost track with what I was doing. Sorry.
1Ambiance
You never knew it would hurt this much.
You're shaking.
Can't think straight.
Lost.
Afraid.
Of what?
Yourself. Your family. Your friends. Of what you might do come three in the morning, when you can't sleep and you drank but not completely sure if you're drunk, hungry but will never let yourself eat, your arms are burning. You're only two or three days clean, you can't even remember. All you know is you can't do it for much longer.
You promised mommy, your best friend, your ex who still loves you, and your boyfriend. All with your fingers crossed because you know you won't be able to keep it for long.
You don't wanna be a liar, but you NEED to feel something normal.
Yes, it hurts, but it reminds you not everything is a lie. It hurts like hell, and maybe you're starting to like it a little too much.
Almost been two years since that dreadful day in the bathroom floor.
You were only fourteen.
Since you were twelve you tried to not start, knowing what you were getting yourself into, but then, for some reason you can't even remember, you stopped caring.
One cut.
A week later, two more.
Three days pass, you cut some more.
You get to the point where you think about it all the time, you can't stop thinking about it. No matter how 'happy' you think you are, parts of you are dying.
You used to think to yourself, how could people do that to themselves?
Now you wonder, how could they stop?
Can I stop?
Do I want to?
Then, you stop cutting, and eating.
Some boy called you fat. You'll never forget. He probably already did.
The doctor said you have lung/back problems because you're over-weight, and that's all it took.
You feel like you're gaining even though your clothes don't fit right anymore.
Your biggest fear is gaining weight and being fat again.
But you don't dare telling anyone. You tell yourself you're too fat to be anorexic.
Too weak to ever be beautiful.
You don't want to get 'better'. You wanna be perfect.
Skinny is perfect.
You start torturing yourself with sad songs and depressing videos. They trigger you. And you LOVE it.
Have you finally gone crazy?
Is this what it feels like?
All this confusion?
Or is that just the pills kicking in?
What happens when your mom finds out?
She got angry.
Called you selfish and stupid.
She cried.
She hates you.
You're grounded.
Can't see your boyfriend anymore.
Or leave the house for more than ten minutes at a time.
Would your life be so off track if you knew who you really were?
If you knew where you came from?
Too late.
You only get one life, and you think you already fucked this one up.
You're sorry.
You wish no one pretended they cared so you were able to go through with killing yourself.
You've given up, and you wish everyone else would, too.
You're shaking.
Can't think straight.
Lost.
Afraid.
Of what?
Yourself. Your family. Your friends. Of what you might do come three in the morning, when you can't sleep and you drank but not completely sure if you're drunk, hungry but will never let yourself eat, your arms are burning. You're only two or three days clean, you can't even remember. All you know is you can't do it for much longer.
You promised mommy, your best friend, your ex who still loves you, and your boyfriend. All with your fingers crossed because you know you won't be able to keep it for long.
You don't wanna be a liar, but you NEED to feel something normal.
Yes, it hurts, but it reminds you not everything is a lie. It hurts like hell, and maybe you're starting to like it a little too much.
Almost been two years since that dreadful day in the bathroom floor.
You were only fourteen.
Since you were twelve you tried to not start, knowing what you were getting yourself into, but then, for some reason you can't even remember, you stopped caring.
One cut.
A week later, two more.
Three days pass, you cut some more.
You get to the point where you think about it all the time, you can't stop thinking about it. No matter how 'happy' you think you are, parts of you are dying.
You used to think to yourself, how could people do that to themselves?
Now you wonder, how could they stop?
Can I stop?
Do I want to?
Then, you stop cutting, and eating.
Some boy called you fat. You'll never forget. He probably already did.
The doctor said you have lung/back problems because you're over-weight, and that's all it took.
You feel like you're gaining even though your clothes don't fit right anymore.
Your biggest fear is gaining weight and being fat again.
But you don't dare telling anyone. You tell yourself you're too fat to be anorexic.
Too weak to ever be beautiful.
You don't want to get 'better'. You wanna be perfect.
Skinny is perfect.
You start torturing yourself with sad songs and depressing videos. They trigger you. And you LOVE it.
Have you finally gone crazy?
Is this what it feels like?
All this confusion?
Or is that just the pills kicking in?
What happens when your mom finds out?
She got angry.
Called you selfish and stupid.
She cried.
She hates you.
You're grounded.
Can't see your boyfriend anymore.
Or leave the house for more than ten minutes at a time.
Would your life be so off track if you knew who you really were?
If you knew where you came from?
Too late.
You only get one life, and you think you already fucked this one up.
You're sorry.
You wish no one pretended they cared so you were able to go through with killing yourself.
You've given up, and you wish everyone else would, too.
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