dinopigsfly222

I remember telling someone once that you weren't what I wanted, because for a while there, you weren't. Until one day you decided you could be everything I wanted- and more. And for a while there, you were. My emotions mattered. My heart mattered. My words and mind mattered- if only for a brief time, because two months and one drunk night- one fucking hammered night later, my body mattered. My lips mattered. My thigh and my breasts mattered- and you never felt a thing you said. You always responded with, "I love you." You always told me you missed me. You always said I was the one you wanted to be with, and you never wanted things to change.

I was wondering if you thought of me, because I tend to think of you. I know you've said you hate me, and it's been a year or two. But sometimes I just wonder if you give credit where credit is due. I mean, I seemed to be your best friend, and I know that you don't care, but remember every single time I told you I'd be there? You used to run and hug me, but now you stand and stare. I was with you when you cried, and I wiped away your tears. I was with you when you screamed, and I talked away your fears. We thought that we'd be best friends for many many years. Now you say you hate me, and I honestly don't care, and I will keep in mind the

Through the scars on her body or the tears in her eyes, you never stopped loving her. You never stopped seeing through the lies of "I'm fine." You never stopped holding her when she cried or when she said she had had enough. You never told her it would be easy to fix her or her broken heart. She never told you of the mix of strange emotions and voices in her head. She was broken inside. After the scars on her body had worsened and the tears were more of waterfalls, you stopped loving her. You stopped caring about the lies of "I'm fine." You stopped holding her when she cried, and she had had enough. You let her build up walls. You stopped t

What is the point in hello, if you will always say goodbye? What is the point in walking, if you will never be able to fly? What is the point in smiling, if there are so many times you will cry? And what is the point in living, if all you will do is die?

Fear in everything I do. Every breath. Every move. Every single step I take. Watching as the fears grows, as it holds me back: drowns me even. Laughing as I struggle, as I wait to be saved: to have my fears erased, and to have a light shown in the dark.

Sometimes I wonder if my peers see the same image: the same image of myself. Because I have always wondered, how is it possible for them to see a beautiful image of a strong girl held together so well, yet all my reflection shows is a retched image of a weak child bursting at the seams?

What is the point in hello if you will always say good-bye? What is the point in walking if you will never be able to fly? What is the point in smiling if there are so many times you will cry? What is the point in living if all we will do is die?

"Just one more cut," as these wounds grow deeper. "Just one more step," as the mountains grow steeper. "Just one more lie," as the fake smile shows. "Just one more night," as the tears start to flow.

Screaming on the inside. A part of me has died. You smiled as you lied: As I sat there and cried.