better off here

Back against the door, knees pulled up to my chest, all the words I could never say pile up around me. I bleach my skin with ink and tears and catch my soul in stained glass bottles, hiding them away in shoe boxes under my bed. Writing letters to God on the wall, my fingers stained black with charcoal and sin, I learn that time does not heal all wounds and memories are not easy to live with; and you, with your beautiful lies and promises of better days will drag me straight to hell.