i miss you,
not because you left,
but because we don't talk how we used to
I enjoyed being uncomfortable with you

the background music plays,
it goes like this:
i want to die,
i want to die,
i want to die,
and that begins to be more
interesting than the film

love is about the quiet moments
the moments between breathing and speaking
it is about just holding someone
not talking
not speaking
just holding them

But it is also about the things you don't say
the shame that pours across your face
as you look at your loved one
the chasm that the things we don't say make
is the one that will cut deepest.

she choked on the petals
while the rest of us
savored their sickly sweet taste

i like how you keep the word 'suicide'
locked up as if its for my own good

its a fun way to remind me, that i am a broken peice of furniture
that could crack under the weight of any one thing

i take my ant-depressaints dry
the move down my throat
unwillingly
chalkly in my mouth
and sticky in my throat
sticking there.
taking it dry is a punishment for taking the pill at all

when your heart is thumping
out of your chest
leaving brusies wher the thumps
falls on your chest
and your wearing the peices
it can't hold on your sleeve
you begin to wonder if this love,
this heartbreak will define this year
if the sorry they tell
will come to ring in your ears
an echo to cooling of the choles
will the sorry come to burn in your throat
with a sting you can't shallow
like the depression pills you take dry