Why can't I be weak?
Why is it that I can't be selfish?
I'm the one who has to pick up all the pieces.
I'm the one who puts everyone back together.
But who's gonna put me back together?
If I'm supergirl, who's gonna save me?
What am I getting in return?
Who's gonna do something for me?
Because I do this time after time.
And when I wake up I have nothing.
And I am alone.
And I am in shambles.
Sometimes I want to be weak.
Sometimes I need to be broken.
And I want that to be good enough.
I want me to be good enough.
All of me.

Spill over the top,
let me drink your insides so they become mine
once more.
We were all the same once but that was before
our parents decided to donate fingers
to the place on their gravestones engraved
forever yours.

And I still see you sitting there
pipe in hand
burnt lavender floating through your veins
just how you floated through mine
every day when we were a lesser age.

You're the only reason I am,
and I am nothing.

I laid out a smooth brown blanket
to comfort the scales
flowing through my laptop speakers
five hundred and thirty-two times every second.
Two more times is disarray,
One hundred less leaves you crystalline,
like water,
pouring from the sink
into tupperware cups,
gurgling,
heated,
tea.
We both just need a little tea.

What went so wrong in your life, little rabbit?
why do my headlights beckon you so?

why do you long, long, little rabbit
to be swept violently undertow?

my heart goes out to you
i sigh
as the thought plays
behind my eyes

you furry little guys
coming home, beating wives
hating lives, thinking twice
living lies
you capsize

is that why
you want to leave it all behind?

life goes on, bunny buddy
take that to heart and grow

my night filled with swerving
and shaking & braking
ends more than
your "right now" problems, *you know

if you're still out
there and if you
still read these and
if you still remember
the password to my
private blog, if you
still have my diary
entry and that painting
that flask, that TV that
shirt, those jeans, if you
still remember me, my
skin, my hips, the way
i smile, if you haven't
erased me off your
elbows, brushed me
off your chest, wiped
me against your pockets
find my chapstick in an
old jacket and call me



hey, chris. call me.