I didn't think this was possible.
I think I've cried out enough hopes and dreams to fill a bucket list.
My bloodstained knees and scarred thighs of a diminished past may be the saddest story
these brown eyes have ever read.
The brown in my eyes hasn't been quite this sad since 8th grade;
the brown in my eyes hasn't ever been this faded before.
They're almost as black as my heart feels.
I don't know how to feel when my heart is screaming to hang on to every last bit of hope
while my head is just begging for me
to give in to the devil that has me chained to this f***ed up thing we call life.
It's true, you know, when they say actions speak louder than words
because the marks that line my skin speak a hell of a lot more than my mouth
has ever uttered to any soul.
Even with a personality made up of medications and anxiety
and thoughts built up in a tidlewave of depression,
I just didn't think it was possible
to feel this way.