She sat in her kitchen in her underwear, eating left over Chinese food contemplating when life got this hard.

She couldn't remember the feeling of skin against skin or lips against lips. She couldn't remember the heat of someone else's body touching hers or if there was more than just involved.

She sat there with a blank piece of paper and a purple pen in hand... Contemplating if she should write a poem or her final goodbye note.

She couldn't remember a time where she didn't feel undesirable or ugly. She couldn't remember a moment where self hatred wasn't causing nonstop fear of being alone forever.

As she sat there in her kitchen, eating leftover Chinese food, staring at blank papers she started to cry. She started to wonder when things would eventually look up.

I would happily suffer
   because of how much I love you
I will put myself through misery
    just so you feel no pain
I would walk on flames
     and put them out
         so you can walk through
I will drive myself insane
     so you can have no part of the blame
I just wanna believe
        that you love me
               that much too

Can you hear the waves?
Crashing through the caves,
Every inch, every glimpse,
There's a jinks.

Can you feel the air?
Touching your svelte hair,
Maybe it touched your heart,
Like you're a subtle art.

As they say; seasons change,
It will quickly rearrange,
No more waves for you to hear,
The change you always fear.

As you roam your eyes,
You'll remember that time flies,
You wasted the moment,
You never noticed even one movement.

Wait for a falling star,
Wish rather than putting it in a jar,
You will start to appreciate everything,
**When everything becomes nothing,

With each passing week the world gets heavier.
Knees start to buckle underneath all the pressure.
Lost in crazy thoughts of death and self-destruction.
Only here out of a sense of guilt and obligation
to my family.
Because they deserve to be happy,
and they deserve better.
And the last time I tried I couldn't pull the ******* trigger.
Coward.
I can't allow myself to leave my parents mourning
and so I sit and wait while the sand keeps on pouring.
I'm just turning pages until I finish the last chapter of this story.

wax-coated tables
sealed with stains of
vinegar, cheese
and questions from my father

what is his story

Behind every story
there is struggle
betwixt highlighted glory.

snowy hills,
mountain peaks,
laughter.

there was a drain
******* it all away
as if today was always
a black and white yesterday.

and so I brought red into the equation.
a knife-
bringing dormant veins
to life.

silence is the loudest
silence is the saddest
alone and dragged
unwillingly
down one-way streets

chemicals misfiring.
They don't understand
development of false wiring.

The blueprints had shined-
there were smiles in between the notes.
The eights were serotonin,
the wholes were adrenaline.

Silence still screamed.
When nothing speaks for years,
the crust rusts eyes
like the underside
of the old Ford
in dad's shop.

Beats,
kisses,
*****.

The rust spread north
as my extremities
fell to the ocean floor.

I fear I cannot float on
any longer.

Somewhere between
pills,
plastic,
a princess,
and polycentric support
was the epicenter.

It tasted like fudge
on a warm winter evening
by the fireplace.

The silence still screams-
I doubt it will ever cease.
But the secret is always knowing
that the sun still shines during sleep.

this is where he lies;
this is his story-
betwixt his struggle
love,
art,
and
invisibly,
blinding glory