The sloppiest poem,
A few scant words,
Splotchy ink and
Crumpled paper—
It now lays flat
Behind glass,
Pored over
By scholars
And plastered
On tall windows,
Does it have value?
—Who is qualified to
Judge what is ‘good?’

I'll fight you to the death
Over every trivial detail
About things we can't unsay
Moments years have passed

I'll fight you till I bleed
If it means you won't leave

I'll fight you every day
For the months yet to come
Even tho you'll never be my home again

Its still contact
No matter where it lands

I wake up and eat
Take the morning commute
Stop and go
News radio
I get in the mind frame
The dusty factory mood
Cleaning and sweeping
Working the machine
On the outside I'm in keeping
with the routine
But Inside I'm weeping
Wanting to go to sleep
What goes on in my mind
I cannot say
Nobody ever stopped
to listen anyway
Just cleaning and sweeping
Washing the grime
I wish I talked to you more
But I never had time
Now I feel cheap
I can buy you bread
But I could never help with
what goes on in your head

Ouch
It's so **** painful

I don't know what to do
With the pain

I don't know what to do
With the knowledge that I did it to myself

My thumbs bleeding
Throbbing as if my heart was right in there
Yelling at me
Judging me for what I did

The worst part
Is the next time I'll see a bump
I'll just do it all over again
Until it scars my heart and my body forever

I feel guilty
But I know it's mostly his fault
I got it from him
He gave it to me
I know he doesn't notice
Or worse
He doesn't care how he impacts me

But all I can feel now is
Ouch
Outside and in

Its a rough night tonight
My head feels like it's exploding
My asthma won't let me breathe
Along with my anxiety

My thumbs hurt like hell
I feel much less when well
Nausea cause by none other than my thoughts
Just wanting to go to sleep