Take me back to yesterday,
where the grass was noticeably greener and the water was warm to the touch.
The trees stood tall, and when you looked up the Sun spilled yellow happiness straight down your throat. No worries about choking, because dancing with the Sun was enough.
Reverse the clock,
and let me live in a fantasy.
Please, oh please
don't leave me here to be.
I can't deal with it here today.
I can hear all of their negative thoughts screaming at me as I walk past and as I walk away I'm struck by lightning, as punishment from the Gods themselves, forcing me to sit and listen and listen.
My only state of euphoria is thinking back to when the Sun was setting and the air was breathing cold, but there wasn't a care in the world.
Take me back to yesterday,
where my breathing wasn't staggered,
and I wasn't constantly looking for my lighthouse.
Thirty shiny stars, and a single dull dime.
Tell me, please, that when I go, it will all get better.

I've try my **** hardest to feel loved, accepted.

I lead people to fall in love, and leave them because I can. Even though I promised them different.

I complain about boys, but the boys aren't the problem it's me. I'm the one who makes these problems for myself because it's easier to push everyone away and deal with those consequences as they come, rather than to accept my forever fate. I say it's because I'm young, I can't find the one. I know all the right things to say, so they'll stick around, even after i've left them in the dust too many times, but I do know not to say love. It confuses them, and me.

I know love isn't in my heart, never has. Heartbreak started before I was born. When my father didn't want me, my mother couldn't have truly wanted me, after all she was 16, everyone around me was burdened by me before I even opened my eyes.

I hear it a lot, "you look, remind me of your mother" "You remind me so much of myself" "My mini me" You have the same issues, depression, bipolar, trust issues, and failure to commit, it's pretty insignificant, but it's lurking there, in my head. Scratch that it all races through my veins, and I'm surrounded by it, as everyone I know is infected by it too.

It commitment even real? As far as I know, it's something I couldn't even imagine. I have these people trying to get at me, claiming, "Let it be just me and you baby" but every time I fall for those lies, I can't help to start chasing a different one, more and more.

Picking up that bottle seems like second nature. Along with my issues, I was blessed with addiction, that's racing through my veins more than commitment isn't. I'm told not to let it get out of hand, after all I've seen what it does to people. But I can't help but find myself longing for the next time I can feel the warmth of that liquid as it slides down my throat. Longing for the next time I can place that skinny piece of paper between my fingers, lighting it as the smoke slithers down to find my lungs, inhaling to insure it's doing it's job, then exhaling to see the smoke dance around the air that's consuming me. Longing for the next time I can feel happiness. Longing for the next time I can punch something to release my anger, because we all know I can't do it creatively.

I sat there, silent tears falling off my not high - not sharp- cheekbones.
I sat there while you continued shoving yourself father down my throat.
            Did you know I was crying? Would you have cared?
I got up, and he looked at me sympathetically. As though he wasn't screaming at me, "You know you want this." "Come on. No one will know. No one has to know. It'll be quick."
            Did you not get the hint when I began lying there lifeless,
            almost, close enough? Did you not think to stop when I said
            no? When I couldn't find myself to look at you while you were
            committing your act? Would you have stopped if you could've
            heard my thoughts?
At least he had the decency to drive me home, this time.

I attempt to wash him completely out of me.
Scrub every inch of body because His hands have grazed over it all.

I fill the bath up with bubbles so I can't see my body's black and blue Bruises and scars that run so deep.
He likes to touch me with his rough hands. Feel me for what I am,
just another warm blooded girl.
But tell me what can I do except let it happen?

And then I turn the lights off so I'm left just to think.
Think and think until my mind goes blank,
And that's where I like it so my mind won't make up crazy stories like Real love and happiness.

My tears fill up the bathtub so I don't need to waste our water,
I spend my time crying until my eyes can't handle another tear.
My fingertips begin to wrinkle up,
So I drag myself out.

Motivation just seems to hurt more than his hits to my face.
I get out dry myself off and set my face in a clean coat of makeup like He likes, but not too much because I just look like a cheap *****,
and not too little because He tells me I look not pretty.
I put on that dress He tells me He just loves,
because it shows Him my curves, and hangs down real low. He knows it's just for Him.

I get out of the bathroom and am greeted by my love,
He's not red with horns and a flaming torch,
But I know for sure it's Him.