cheesee-cakee

[cheesee-cakee]

untitled ii:

i wish you were him,

i wish all the lovely words were his,

i wish the kindness and affection you felt for me came from him.

i long for his touch,

i long for his smile and laugh,

i long for everything he is.

i cannot forget his joy,

i cannot forget the love he gave me,

i cannot forget him.

it breaks me, knowing i wont have him.

it breaks me, knowing he doesn't think of me.

it breaks me, to know that his love, his joy, his smile, his laugh, his touch, his sadness, and anger are going elsewhere.

i'd love to bear his struggles,

i'd love to shoulder the pain of this world with him.

i'd love to take away every piece of agony that is embedded into his soul, and intertwine it with mine.

i want to kiss his eyelids, let them close, and let him know that he doesnt have to struggle anymore, i will carry his affliction.

i want to kiss every inch of his soul and write love letters on his skin

i want to kiss him.

i want him and only him, i want him to come back and give me a chance.

please i am ready for you,

i will sacrifice everything and anything,

please come back.

i desperately look for your approval,

i desperately crave your conversations,

i desperately crave you.

i wish he was you, and i wish you were him.

i have settled,

but if he came back,

my deepest sympathies and condolences to your heart.

[cheesee-cakee]

untitled i:

cut me open and take my insides out

take them all out

one by one

until im left with nothing

im left with nothing

[cheesee-cakee]

At least

[cheesee-cakee]

La bulimia no es una chica linda, con cabello largo de rodillas en el baño con una cara hermosa de tragedia. Es una cara de asco, con vomito en el cabello y en la barbilla y con la nariz sangrando. La Anorexia no es una figura delgada y tímida rechazando un trozo de pastel. Es vello creciéndote en la nuca, espalda para proteger el cuerpo frío y esquelético. La Depresión no es una modelo con maquillaje corrido mirando al atardecer. Es estar al borde de la cama a las 4 am, con los ojos hinchados porque no puedes encontrar motivación para cerrarlos. Las auto lesiones no son chicos tiernos besando las cicatrices diciéndote que eres hermosa. Son cicatrices horrendas que se quedarán por siempre y duchas que apestan a sangre. Los Ataques de pánico no es esconder la cara en el pecho de tu amado y que te diga que todo estará bien. Es perder el control, sentir que te falta aire. Los problemas mentales no son hermosos. No te hacen especial y no hacen que la gente se interese en ti. Son monstruos que que destruyen tu vida. Así que dejen de hacerlos parecer románticos, lindos, hermosos y dejen de promoverlo en el maldito internet.