Usually I will choose each word I type, but tonight
Tonight there will be none of that
I will just write and write
Because my heart dreads sleep, dreads the drawn out pause between beats
Reminding me that I am going to die
Already dead, inside a lie
There should be warning bells and blaring alarms
As I sit huddled over my phone and cannot think of one person
Whose favors I haven't yet worn out
Who I can turn to in my pain
Tonight I am alone
In my own two torturous hands
I am weary beyond sleep
And the only voice to hear is my own
Urging me to give and give and get up, because it's not enough
I am not allowed to break, or feel
But right now, I look around my room and it seems that one end has grown distant from the other
And as I sit in the middle of space
What can I say?

I feel like slashing my wrists with knifes
I feel like giving up
I feel like killing myself
I feel so powerfully alone it makes my teeth chatter

If you're out there, and you've felt this
I'm sorry
I'm here though
We can hurt together, be alone together
Tonight

a terrible poem about how i fell in love
when i was a child and i grew with it
like moss on an abandoned building,
and i stopped being a child but
i held onto it with the winsom that only
a fresh-faced little girl knew how to
handle things with care,
how to touch gentle, the only way
you can when your heart
has never been broken.

a terrible poem about how i write about
you every day and i'm not sure if anyone
who reads it knows what you did to me or why
i cry in airports and i don't think i can write
enough terrible poetry to explain it

a terrible poem about how i leave my bed and
i see my friends and i do whatever i think my
ribcage can handle and i'm not sure if its a desperate attempt
to forget or a desperate attempt to revive
that girl who knew how to
feel things without breaking her wrists,
how to love things without suffocating them,
how to touch gentle because her heart
had never been broken.

it has become less like poetry and
more like a confession,
more like if i dont get these words out
of my palms i will burn up under all
of my anger.
how do i talk about not loving you
in a way that contorts my words into
honesty?
how do i immortalize this pain
into writing to remove it from
my heart?
i come apart, i am
undone, there is nothing i can
say that will erase how you
felt,
starry eyed and drunk in the
drivers seat.
be careful, slow down, don't
stop
there is no pity.
i cannot force myself to forget.
all i do is remember.
all i do is not-forget.

I. watching a lot of sit-com television. i notice when the audience forces their track-laughter at all the bad jokes.
II. listening to music from the seventies. i had to get new music taste. all of my old favorite songs have your name written in the lyrics, i turn them off as soon as they come on.
III. reading a lot of poetry books. sometimes, people write things and i feel like they are coming directly from my fingertips, like they know exactly what you've said to me and how hard it knocked the air out of my lungs.
IV. writing. sort of. every time i try, i feel like it is more diary-entry and less poetry. i am scared that i made myself a new person and this one doesn't want to feel anything.
V. kissing people. i keep my eyes closed. this new persona i've adopted doesn't want to tell you what i think about when he puts his hand on my thigh.
VI. not calling. sometimes, i write out long messages and i do everything but press send. i feel like i have to record how many times i almost do, oh my god, i almost do, but i don't.
VII. talking about everything. i never stop talking, it is something you used to hate about me, something about a bird in my chest always trying to free itself. sometimes, i don't always say the right words. another thing you used to hate about me.
VIII. wearing everything but the clothes you gave me, everything but the sweatshirt i slept in while you were away, everything but the dress i wore when you kissed me first, everything but the t shirt i wore when you kissed me last.
IX. writing. sort of. writing about how if i had known that was our last kiss i would have dressed nicer, or held on longer, or not walked away, or kept myself from crying.
X. doing everything, absolutely everything, so i have no time to slow down and miss you. i haven't slowed down enough to tell if it is working. i can't tell if i am a new person without you or not a person at all.

Every day feels like an obstacle.
And I'm lost with every expression you make silently.
We notice each others indifferences but never speak on them.
We strike out of luck with every passing glance and every failed attempt to fall in love.
But I want to fall in love.
And so do you.
I hope.
I think.
I'm not sure.
And so we're hard to love when being revealed to vulnerability.
And I could carve out my heart just for you to carve out yours.
And we'd just be staring at each other unable to accept the responsibility of our hearts sensibility.
And fighting is pointless because neither of us want to be the reason for pain.
And we blur passive words like, "it's for your sake" or "I just don't want you to get hurt." When in reality we both know what we mean.
Because our indifferences are our similarities.
And in reality we just don't want to be hurt.
So we make ourselves hard to love.
Because maybe one day our worth will contribute to our happiness and not just for others.
But for us.
And one day we'll be able to feel that tingle in our skin when we touch.
But for now I'm hard to love.
And your scared of falling in love.

It's just like you told me,
The horrors of your dreams come true
Flooding my timeline
My days are now efforts to avoid drowning
So tonight, i'll nose dive into the hurricane.
There's no place to hide out here.
Both our hands are filthy and no one will touch us.
But tonight, i'll hold you close
And we'll fall asleep to escape our plight.
We'll live in our dreams, if only for the night.
If we could fly,
Then we'd fly south.
Away from everything,
Everything That threatens our happy future.
Pictures of dead decaying dreams.
Framed photos of this moment
Floating atop the mass dump of the times
We wasted.
The times we failed to spend in each other's arms.