I am proud to have been hurt—
Fallen, cracked, bled,
And cut.
I am proud.

It made me strong,
It made me wise.
I am thankful for all I’ve been through,
For it’s only a journey—
To nothingness.

This chair is oh so familiar,
Propping my arm up,
The same as it always does.

The nurse arrives, needle in hand,
And removes a unit of love,
Filling that same plastic bag.

I know where my love goes.
I see it arrive, every time.
That nurse, needle in hand,
Sends my love along your veins,
To your heart.

The transfusion never takes.
At least, not from you.
Your cold body never warms.

My love will never work
Because your heart is dead.
And mine cannot pump for two.

It’s easy to get addicted to smoke,
while trying to write words that provoke,
hoping they won't be taken as a joke.

It’s easy to love when you feel you grow,
as the saying goes: if you know, you know.
But don’t forget—everyone leaves, though.

It’s easy to justify the world’s wrongdoing,
lost in the brothel’s ancient ruin.
Is that another pill you’re chewing?

It’s easy to lie with your mouth shut,
avoiding the truth you once brought up.
Now, death’s the only thing you stare at.

The easiest thing to do is flee,
lay blame upon the nearby tree.
But tell me, does that make you feel free?

Hey you,

I hope you’re not sick of hearing from me.
I’ve been writing letters to you in my sleep.
It seems your last reply got lost in the mail.
Or I probably just forgot the return address.                                                  
Again.­

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?
I’m not quite sure anymore.
I’ve never seemed to be able to keep track.
I think I’ve been stuck in this sort of -
loop.

Have you ever felt like that?
Spinning over, and over, and over,
and over.
A record on repeat.

Anyways, I miss you.
I’ve been trying to call, but it’s kind of funny –
it never even goes to voicemail.
It just keeps on ringing.
Ring. Ring. Ring.

I guess your inbox is full.
All those missed messages from me.
You’re probably just busy.
Again.

I should be busy too –
But of course, I’m not.
Again.

I guess I’ll go and write more letters in my sleep.
Wait for the lost replies –
Ignore the tears in my eyes.
Keep playing that record on repeat.

I know you’ll be home eventually.

Love you always.
Sincerely, me.