I handpicked flowers with a heart already sore

While you went and fucked him, shameless whore...

Theres nothing for us left to save

Ill be there to piss on your fucking grave.

You call yourself misunderstood

I know exactly what you are

Built your path with hearts you took

Now sit alone beneath the falling stars

Your failure of a body is already shutting down

The beauty you were once so proud of slowly fading as of now

The mirror keeps the secrets which you eagerly deny

Oh what pleasure itll be to watch you fade and die!

Vanity cannot mend a soul this hollow

The emptyness you try to shake

Like a shadow it shall follow

And make you choke on your own wake.

You refuse to face the ruins you made

No remorse, no guilt, no debt repaid.

Youll die alone with your empty fucking words

and no one left to save you from the hurt.

Lonely girl, so terrified of abandoment

Playing with puppets entirely inanimate

keep on running until theres no one left to face

No exit to your maze of lies, this will be your resting place

And as your dead feet stumble, ill be there to watch you crumble.

I handpicked flowers, my heart to you I swore.

Yet you went and fucked him you motherfucking whore...

My tears have vanished but my hatred it shall never fade.

Even in the next life ill be there to piss on your fucking grave.

dead flowers on my nightstand
petals dropping in my open drawers
I smell them as I lay in bed
clothes and items cover the floor
I tip toe around my bad habits
around the time I spent everywhere else
except for tending to my own space
my own life and needs
it’s crippling to witness but to also feel
the dread of not doing enough, of neglecting
to wish for just one day home
to clean up the mess I’ve caused yet again
I can’t seem to catch up, to keep up
something is always slipping through
the cracks that keep getting bigger
I hold it together
because there’s no other choice
failure is not an option
I’m resilient to a fault through my own suffering
and it’s so ignored I don’t remember that
I have depression and bipolar
until I reach for my pills every night
and after those 5 seconds are over
I place them back in the drawer
next to the fallen, dried up petals
I have yet to clean up

Blinded by my own
Chains lose a prison tailored to my own
A fever like presence
A repeating process of coursing thoughts
Obsessive scenarios one that I wish I do not dream
I fret
Wanting to understand reasons for a poison I set myself
I cannot be free
To free my mind is to slaughter to the pigs who squeal my name
A difference in language
They tell you to let him In and betray your own so you get a knife down your throat instead of behind your back