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What am I?

A strange thing to wonder

I'm the anger of my father,

And the silent cries of my mother.

I'm the broken pieces of childhood,

Of a once happy daughter.

Alternate universe

In an alternate universe

I am 14 and alone in my room

And my hands havent harmed myself yet

If I believed in god I would ask him why he did this to me.

But I do not.

If I believed in myself I would ask me how I let this happen.

But I do not

The grave that I call my home

Where love doesn't exist.

The monster that I call my father

For whom peace doesn't exist.

The demon that I call my mother

For whom compassion doesn't exist.

The nightmare that I call my world

For which I dont exist.

The despair that I call myself

For whom joy doesnt exist.

The curse that I call my life

Where living doesn't exist.

Thorn to my rose

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In a room full of strangers, our eyes met in secrecy.

With that striking smile of yours, you simply just ended me.

Gently whispered words killed me more than any poison could.

Loved you way too fondly than any lover ever should.

In frightened voice and shaky hands, I was scared to lose you.

In granted lives and afterlife, I was never meant to have you.

What is life anymore, if not just the absence of you?

Had to watch you bleed to death, what is even left to lose?

Once again in life I am terrified to let you close.

You were my known ruin. A lethal thorn, my gentle rose.

I want to kill myself just enough for you to visit. Atleast then I'll get to see you somewhere that's not just my dreams.

What can life offer anyway

That I can't have with you in death?

What feels more like home anyway

Than it does besides your grave?

The worst thing you ever did was to make me believe I could be loved

Losing a friend

Ask me where it hurts

Everywhere I'll say

Ask me if I miss you

Everyday I'll say

If life is a cold, harsh night

You are the moon that makes it bearable

For what other thing would thrive?

Even in the most monstrous forms of dark?

If to love is to rest

Then I will perceive death for you.

For what greater form of rest do we know?

Than to lie in the cold, dark earth forever?

If to long is to grieve

Then I shall make home of a funeral

For what harsher grief it is?

Than to irreversibly lose someone