you smell
of old cigarettes,
****,
*****,
and sadness.

you haven't been
sober
in at least
two
weeks.

yet
all
you
are
is
talk.

rolling eyes
meet your
sense of
complacency
with the power of
a small child
versus
a
large
animal.

going double the speed limit
isn't cute,
it'll **** you
and you don't care.

you live in
a chocolate cave
with lemon rind
edging,
but it's littered with
tobacco ash
and
wasted youth.

when the only contact i have
with you
is at 3 am
when the world is
dead
quiet,

and i appear to be online,

i become curious as to
what is really going on.

what is troubling
your mind
to make you
feel
so alone?

what
can
i
do?

you smell
of old cigarettes,
****,
*****,
and sadness.

especially the
sadness.

we've already explored
every last inch
of the mall in town.

the one that isn't ******,
at least.

we've driven to every last store
and into the city
and into the middle of nowhere,
windows down,
radio blaring,
daylight escaping.

the grey stones,
the angels on columns
marking the presence of a child
or the presence of
a
scream
grow in size before me

you brought me here
to explore
the grounds

but really all i want
is a cigarette
and a glass bottle
of pepsi

but i don't smoke

so what is the point?

unease suffocates me
like a wire
about my neck

i don't even think
my blood
is blood
anymore.

scraped palms
and ****** knees
seep venom
and
lemon juice
and
peppermint

ice cubes
and
candy striped
lipstick
do
not
compel
me.

if i curl up
next to this
slab of marble,
and just sleep,
will
i
feel
like
i
am
home?

but i do not.

it is almost
the time
the gates
close.

so
we
leave,

flower
petals
and
oranges
trailing
be­hind
us.

so at what point
is this war?

the decisions
he makes

have very real
consequences.

we're setting
ourselves up

for failure.

i don't know
what i'm supposed to
think.

everything
is
a
mess.

should
i
be
scared
for
the
futu­re?

i mean
i already am
but like
what
do
i
do
next?

it's
solemn
out
here.

i cannot continue
to empty out
an already empty water jug

curled in the frosted grass
my skin is sliced
by a tiny sword
leaving this rash
of dots
all over my hands

hot air
and extreme defiance
has been coursing through my veins

i wish i looked as sick
as i feel inside
because then i could subsist on
giggles and green tea
and perhaps
blood transfusions
and
saline
and
exhaustion

peculiar creature
digs in the rocky earth
with a twig
meant as kindling

peculiar creature
is content
dwelling alone

like Pluto
once recognized
soon dismissed

i wish this
tea was spiked
with more honey
or more hope
or more self worth

i never understood the appeal
of flowers

or why
they needed to be given
in bouquets

peculiar creature
lights a candle
and prays
to nobody

peculiar creature
feels nothing
but
peculiar

oh dear
who
will
stop
him
now?

your walls of
salt and blood
beckon me back,
the fish carved into the ceiling
seem to say none
but
"welcome home, friend"

the bruises covering my arms
where the veins should be
tell your story,
my freezing blood
drums in my teeth,
i am unsure.

the white band around my wrist
is my only defining factor.

i am no different from the other kids
sick with exhaustion
and
sick with anxiety
and
sick.

cartoons from my childhood
are running on the tv
and the icy saline
creeps up my spine,
keeping my mind silent.

but really i am cold
and it is late
and i am tired,
but if i sleep
what if i never awaken?

it has happened before.

every time i nearly faint
the thought of going back
hammers my temples,
and i need the break.

but they are annoying
and the most dangerous places to be
alone with your thoughts.

am i insane for enjoying
being sick for a while?

but soon the loneliness
creeps back into my bed
and i cannot wait to leave

until i get back
and i wish i was alone
once again