Death is so close, yet too far.
I don't want it to be here,
Yet I need it to arrive now.
I want to see the people who used to make me smile,
Now I only see the ones who cause my pain.
The scars on my wrist tell a story I don't want to be told,
I am not a hero, or a broken girl.
The blood drips down my forearm and it takes my mind off the worries of the day.
I want to see the people who used to make me laugh,
They want nothing to do with me now.
They have moved on with their lives,
With either a family, or a new career.
They have no time to worry about the broken girl from high school, still stuck in one of her "phases".
I want to see the people who made me love,
Yet I am dead to all those people.
I don't see anything good in my life,
The red streaming down my arm just reminds me of the stresses I will be facing in the days to come.
I am told to " Get over it" And that "it will pass",
I've waited for it to pass for seven years.
I've held on this long,
But I don't think I can much longer.
I have stopped paying attention,
Stopped caring about my health.
Apparently I've lost weight
And I " Look good".
They don't see the bones pushing against my skin.
The hoodies I wear hide the pain they don't care to see.
I no longer have any meat on my bones
My energy is running out.
Death is so close
But it is too far away.
I've tried to see a therapist
It wasn't any help.
She didn't say anything I haven't said to myself
And I had more confidence when I said it.
I don't let people see the "broken" side of me
Or I'd be treated like a lost puppy.
No one wants to hear my problems,
It's not like I'm sick and dying of a disease.
"It's just a mental thing" One 'friend' once said
"Yeah it isn't like you are terminally ill."
Honestly I didn't know what to say,
Because I feel like it could be the death of me.
I can see the death getting closer
As the bullies words get stronger.
I was told "you're too fat" "lose weight" and "you are a far way from pretty".
I believed them
I took their words to heart.
I barely ate a bite
And barely listened to others.
They say words "can't hurt you"
But to me, nothing hurts more.
I am going to die of this disease
And no one has tried to stop it.
No one notices the signs
Or maybe they just don't care.
I look at myself in the mirror
The girl I see is a stranger.
She has bags under her teary eyes,
Her round face now looks like a skeletons,
And her once beautiful body is as good as dead.
The skin on her body is pale as the moon,
Her eyes are permanently red.
She's been this way since high school,
Yet no one gives a damn.
Death is so close,
And not as far.
One more skipped meal,
Or one more late night
Might welcome death into my life.
I've stopped eating completely
If that is what it takes to be considered "beautiful" Why not right?
I have nothing else to lose,
Well maybe my life but how much can that be worth?