My parents warned me about the drugs in the street.
But never the one with blue eyes and a heartbeat.

laying in the leaves
on the forest floor
outside of a
suburban neighborhood

i am partially high
and closing my eyes
to avoid the brightness
of the sunlight

for what does the
sun mean
if the leaves still fall,
and what purpose
do my feelings serve
if you do not
feel the same
anymore

i thought that maybe
drugs
alcohol
tears
blood
would finally
pack up the last
few pieces
i had left of you
and sweep them
away
like the leaves
i am cradled by
as the oncoming
breeze
of fall
descends upon
the trees

but the high
makes me feel
lower,
and the buzz
just rattles
the crude stitches
i had hand-sewn
onto my heart

i am drowning
in what is left
of you,
even though it is
only a puddle

i am only
awake
enough to feel
the pain

i drunkenly mutter
i loosely scream
i silently cry

no matter
what state
i am in,
whether i am
solid
liquid
wasted
trashed

there is
still
enough of you
left in me
to make
summer
freeze over
and my
heart
stop
with the sudden
change
in temperature

A letter to The Child Whose Life I Shaped

I pulled that trigger.
I loaded the bullet that changed your life.
Did I think?
No.
I was purely trying to save my own life.
No.
I don’t know where your doll is.
No.
I can’t help your dad.
No.
I can’t get you out of that dark room.
I am so sorry.
I mean,
sorry won’t bring back your doll.
Sorry won’t take that missile off course.
Sorry won’t make the men stop “visiting.”
Sorry won’t do a **** thing,
I can never take back my actions.
I know that I broke you.
I flipped your life upside down and turned it inside out.
I don’t know your name.
I don’t know your favorite color.
If I could go back,
and get to know you,
your favorite food and how old you are,
maybe I would have laid my life down for you.
It is too late to do that.
Too late to save your parents.
And your doll.
And your childhood purity.
No.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know that I was shaping your life.
No.
I just didn’t want to know.
Didn’t want to think about it.

Sincerely,
The Man Who Drastically Changed Your life

He was like an angel that fell from heaven


*But so was Lucifer

I'm drowning in the stiff upper lip silence of the room draped in black.
Mourning, they say. Mourning for loss. Sorry, they say. Sorry this happened.
She was young, so vibrant. There was light and life and joy in her eyes. There was so much for her, they say.
But I saw the way life embraced her and left her skin greying and her breath ragged. She wasn't okay and there wasn't anything vibrant about her and when I begged her to talk to me, or not to me, but to someone, to get help, to please keep breathing, she refused me.
Why was I the only one who saw her fall to pieces?
Why didn't they help her?
why is she gone?
I don't understand.