Torn up inside

You have skyscrapers built within your mind and graffiti painted across your skin; you are as beautiful as an eclipse. Your eyes are the color of the smoke that plays against your lips; perhaps you are drained but colorless does not mean lifeless; please don't begin to slip. You don't have to be as you have been, just don't go blind. It's a shame what you had to leave behind, but at least you are no longer confined. You are free in your own mind. Now roses match the flame in your cheeks and the sun comes down to kiss your neck, but that kind of love doesn't come by week after week. You have a hard time letting love in, afraid you'll cause some other wreck. You pretend you are paper and blood is your ink, using your blade as a pen.

But I'm proud: you no longer down pills to make yourself feel alive so congratulations for your revive, just be careful not to fall into that demon's arms once again. It's Russian Roulette and you can't win. One last thing my darling: don't forget to take a deep breath; I don't want to see you go back. Back to being on the verge of death.