Sad truth

The sad thing,

is that no one will

love you through

your vulnerability,

they do not see the

bottom of the bloody bathroom floor,

or the tears that wash away

with the cherry red sap that envelopes

the ground underneath your

idle bones,

as you stare aimlessly into nothingness,

They do not see the hysterical wails,

and the longing for a secure pair

of arms to scoop you up and tell you it is okay,

No one recognises that waging war in

your mind, and exertion in your body,

they only want you around when you are sunshine,

when you can give them

something worth being around for,

Oh, the tales of a society that tell you they care,

when all the while you dissipate even further away.