I will chain smoke cigarettes until I can't breathe, cry until I pass out, or **** until I'm bruised, but I will never again take a blade to my skin.

I'm a little home sick
and a little homeless
never knowing where
I belong
anymore.

Sadness lingers
missing a home
no longer mine
Take me home
so I can see
a place
where I can be.

I wish I could tell you
that I understood your pain
but my neurons and nerves and thoughts
do not match your mind
but I think I empathize
or sympathize
I never could tell
and I never could understand

white sheets on thigh
can't move too high
blinds closed-shut out the sun
can't tell me our night is done
white sheets on thigh
can't move too high
drunk eyes can't tear-away from your face
   this     is    the     good     place

Recently,
I've begun to learn
how easy it is to die.

I can't look at the trains,
when I'm stopped at the tracks,
because I know it's what
took my childhood friend's light.
And the whistle keeps haunting me
and I wonder what his last thoughts were

I can't walk down the hallway on the second floor,
because I know that's where they found
my classmate dead in the morning.

And another classmate's death brings
fears of needles and dark circles
and looking dead while you're still breathing
and why didn't anybody notice?

As are most things
I am temporary
This flesh will decay
This laugh will become a whisper
And all that remains are the memories
As are most things
We are temporary
Our timid affections
These fluttering hellos
So let us feast on the present
gorge ourselves with emotion
And frame the things
we wish to hold close

I've conjured a clone
More successful, more attractive, more lively than me.
Taking them into my home,
I feed and take care of them, I polish their bolts and bits.
How I wish my bones could shine silver like their aluminum ribs.
I dream of being as productive and managing,
As talented, daring
Motivated, driven.
I sometimes get the urge to peek under my skin to search for foil bones,
But I crave more than the cold sensation of chrome.
   Tell me,
   Why do I feel this way?
   If I'm machine,
   Where will I go when you die?
   Where will I stay?
My dear friend, I do not have answers, I only have more questions for us to ponder.
However, I believe when I lay down to sleep
Your engine turns off,
And your gears stop turning.
When this happens do you imagine a dream?
Or do you imagine you are living?

you have given me
so much love
that my two arms
cannot carry it

so i have grown
stronger
to be able to
bear it all

i have come to accept
that i am always
full
of love
of hate
of anger
of pain

i am never
half way

i can never
meet you
in the middle

if you pick me up
and make me spill
i am not sorry