(trigger warning- self harm )

"why are you so quiet?"

there's a garden of words sprouting in my throat, whimpering wildflowers and wailing weeds caught in my words. when i open my mouth, sickness spills out, off-key notes and unhinged melodies ripping my relationships to bloody rags. how can i tell the truth when so much is a lie? maybe i don't want to pretend, to be in the skin of a girl who isn't me. 

i tried to be perfect, picking pretty little poems and lovely lyrics from my lips. i wrapped wrong in ribbons, red roses on my tongue, and they dribbled to the ground in rivers of red. 

the thistles are cruel, writing stories on my wrists. i am left in the meadow, where the thorns drown my thoughts.