I watch you breathe. You sit there by the window every night and wait for it to rain when it's 40 degrees outside, because that's how you always were: always waiting for a miracle to happen. Almost everything you've wished for is make-believe. You've got skinny hands, and your eyes are see-through. Mirrors do not astound you, not since fifth grade anyway, when the rooms always echoed with your laughter and the murmurs of people around you, always blessed at the sight of you. You've kept your lovers waiting, and all their hearts ever did were shrink, for you were never able to give. A morning spent alone is a morning not wasted, then explain to me why you're constantly seeking shelter in the arms of everyone.
"Be a good person," you say. "take your medication. The noise in your head will not die, but sooner or later, your thoughts will be out of focus."
I swear I've done it a hundred times. I've bathed in their "coping strategies", but I've never believed there was anything to cope to. So the days go by, and I watch the sun rise, and my skin is warm with a scintilla of faith.
I remember what it feels like, to shiver, to sweat, to snap at the sky and know in my bones that it's useless. I remember the vomit, the screaming, the anger, and the drowsiness. I remember being laughed at in a room with no one but me.
And here I am, a flash of a memory, bursting with remorse, and light goes through me.
I can still hear my name being called, and my heart still keeps pounding when I'm surrounded by people. I am still afraid, reaching out, looking at en empty sky. I still lose my head, and life seems almost impossible at times, but I am tired of sitting by the window every night, waiting. And heck, I think I'll go make it rain, because I don't believe in miracles anymore, I make them.

If everything is quiet and still, then why am I dazed by how fast the earth is spinning?

Brush your lips against her skin. Sweat, breath and minute after minute you find her weeping. What's wrong, honey? What went wrong? Was it the way you held her or didn't you hold her tight enough? 

You see her through the smoke. One step closer to her and Death will laugh at you. Damn, not this time. 

She Paints you a picture of a rose and you just smile and think it's nice. How nice, you never know.  

Sleeves pulled up, hair pulled back. Wash out the memory and wash it away. This can hurt for only so long. I, who walked straight into the storm, remember pieces of me being taken away at noon, and spoiler alert: I survive.

It's alright, ma.

The pills will be out of my system later

But you won't

You won't.

I wish I loved myself enough

To not die for you

But it's alright, ma.

I'll rise again, some other time.

I'll live.

It's alright, ma.

The blood and the vomit

I can wash them all away.

I will rinse myself in sunshine

I will bathe in all the things you never told me about

I am not entirely sober

But it's always alright, ma.

You've raised me

And I am quickly falling apart.

But don't you think I will stay in pieces.

I hold myself together

Better than any person can.

I paint my own skies

I paint my own body

I become colors that don't fade

I burst with life

Even after I've lost parts of me.

I am still here. Complete. Content. Completely content.

.And I'll live