march 5 2018.

12:53 am.

I wanted to start writing again

I couldn't think of what to write about.

But the only reason I stopped writing was you.

The reason I'm writing again is you.

I fucking hate you with every ounce of my being.

I don't feel anything anymore except hate and anger.

You took my life away & somehow you keep finding more of me to take away.

This isn't a poem.

What you did to me isn't fucking poetic.

I could have been happy.

The only time I'm content is when I'm alone in my room listening to music.

Living in fear is no way for a 16 year old to live.

Sometimes I want to swallow every pill in the cabinet.

Sometimes I want to run into a busy road.

I scar my face & arms because I don't know where to put all my hurt.

No one is here for me when I'm bad.

I have a lot of fucking problems because of you.

Sometimes I doubt what you did to me because I don't want it to be true.

I have no one to talk to but myself.

I talked my damn self out of anorexia & suicide but I can't talk myself out of this.

{copyright 2018 madame-santana.}