every drink to numb the pain
drowns His voice
dulls my hearing
callouses my heart
for how can I raise my hands
to receive, to worship,
when they are filled with a pint?

I have to wash the dishes before I write my suicide note.
Put away the clothes on the chair. Water the plants. Feed the cats.
Find a lighter that still works.
A sweater that doesn't smell of smoke.

I need to taste summer fruit with juice running down my wrist and chin.
Walk into the river until the current holds me steady.
Touch someone's shoulder and not let go too fast.

I want to hear a stranger laugh like it matters.
Carve initials into damp wood.
Keep a secret rock in my pocket until it's smooth with worry.
Dance to the music of thunder.
Converse with the beetle on my window.

I need to read the last page of a book in the sunlight.
Collect bones, shells, cigarette butts. Proof I was here.
Take a bus to nowhere just to come home again.
Tell someone I love them and mean it, even if they forget.
Kiss someone I don’t love just to feel the weight of it.

The words taste like rain on metal.
I’ll take a photo of myself and delete it.
Count the cracks in the ceiling.
I leave the door unlocked.
I crumple up the page.
For now.

Well… here we are again.

I went out for drinks at the local pub,
thinking maybe I wouldn’t be invited
because you’ve been happier with other people.
And I know you’re happy with them…
but I feel like a dog chained to a post,
no sign of its owner ever coming back.
Left behind by you. Again.

I’m sad. I’m angry.
But more than anything
I’m numb.
Numb to what I give,
numb to what I am.
Because you’ve shown me, time and time again,
that I contribute nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

I’m useful when it suits you,
and invisible when it doesn’t.
Used when it’s convenient,
discarded when it’s not.

My chest aches like a wound,
a pain that refuses to heal.
Do I really mean nothing?
Am I even anything at all?
What worth emotional, monetary,
Do I hold in your eyes?
Maybe something,
Probably nothing.

You’ve shown me in your absence of care.
And now, worse
You’ve crossed a line.
That I thought friends at least
Would never cross

You hurt me. Physically.
I showed my best friend the bruises.
The one person I trust most in this world.
They were outraged.
I cried into the phone
as their voice cracked with anger for me.

And I am terrified
terrified you’ll do it again.
Terrified the bruises will grow into something more.

Maybe that’s all I am to you
a bag to be punched.
A thing to dig your nails into until I bleed.
A stool to climb on,
a vessel to pour your relief into.

Every time I ask
to share something,
anything as simple as a film,
or a meal,
you say you’re busy.
Already have plans.

But then I see you.
See you watching a film,
ordering food
with someone else.
Someone new.

And I’m done begging.
Done giving willingly,
When I only see you in scraps,
in borrowed moments,
in the silence between your excuses.

I’m mourning a loss
That hasn’t even been buried yet.

I’m close.
So close to walking to the river,
Again.
To swim into the void,
to sink into the end that should have come
long ago.

These last few years
the best and the worst
will have been my everything.

And maybe in my absence,
you’ll finally gain something.
Maybe then,
I’ll have been worth… anything at all.

Maybe…

Your future shines bright from the heavens
I wish you'd see it for yourself
But instead, I watch your sad eyes look back
on pasts and regrets
and also continue on with a smile

an angel and a devil materialize on each shoulder,

standing beneath the stage lights,

empty-mouthed, waiting for a whisper of a line,

but who is to say what’s wrong or right?

i know I’m not.

their playbook dances in my head,

so if not me, then who?

n.h.