I don't know how to be whole,
to be put together,
every piece in place.
  I just don't.
After all this time
every fracture, every scar
is so familiar to me.
It seems so much easier
  to fall,
  to give up
to think I never failed
because I never tried
than to actually have something
  to lose.
To break one more time
would mean more flaws to be discovered,
more imperfections 
  glaring 
through the veneer.
I. can't. handle. it.
I'm not quite sure yet how to smile
  without the plastic 
despair injects me with.
How to breathe
  and keep breathing
instead of gasping, choking,
  always.
I build ugly words upon ugly words
over people's faces
to convince myself of my own
elevated worth.
  I am sorry.
  You are my completeness.
I ache to accept your love
in all its sincerity
  but do you love me
or the person I pretend to be?
Do you love me
  darkness inclusive?
If you knew,
really knew,
  the colour of my blood
would your heart still beat my name
or the pulse die,
betrayed by the paint over my image?
I want to be your everything
but too often I suspect
that you are being overcharged
and really
  I am nothing
at all.