Alex is dead.
Alex is indistinguishable from the soil.
Alex is the dissemination of bad ideas, the confusing of such schools of thought.

Ben feels like Alex is.
Ben is lost in a crowd.
Ben is a poor choice of words, on the wrong end of a loaded barrel.

Alex feels nothing.
Alex feels the twitching of an index finger on the trigger.
Alex does not see her target, but catches the vague outline of a thing lost in translation.

Ben misspoke.
Ben makes a sand angel on a beach of excuses.
Ben is the bottom of a wine barrel, sublimates a clenched fist into an outstretched palm.

Alex is the opposite of sublimation.
Alex is subsumed by id.
Alex is locked in the cast iron *** of what she thinks her friend did.

Ben sits down at the table.
Ben places the gun in her hand.  
Ben cannot do this himself; Alex is shaking, shaking, shaken.

This:    
The vacant lot of 2AM - did she hear him correctly?
Not much of a distance for a voice to travel
Meek and fractured though it may be
So surely she heard what he said; the words "pull the trigger".
But what is the f()king point of an epilogue
If it contradicts the book? And what's the f()king point of a moral compass, if the needle is broken? No more can she read and she doesn't know the difference between North and South, she holds a tooth from The Always Open Mouth.

There are three types of people in this world: those who are rocks, those who are hard places, and those are pinned between the first two. Ben is a rock, and Alex isn't sure whether the only way to help both of them is to stay trapped, or to push him down this hill. Alex feels nothing now. And Ben is indistinguishable from the soil.

line the shores
with hospital beds
let them sleep by the sea

if nothing else
they can jump the fence
untethered from the bodies

but when the credits roll
i still won't get up to leave
because behind the smoke screen of relapse
there's figures waiting for me  

some days i'd like to stay
some days i'd like to drift away
i've never had an original thought
but i keep thinking them anyway

so what will it be: a slice of life, or a chunk of wrist?

give me strength, give me hope
tell me you'll never
let me go
feel my heart bleeding
when you go

make me feel so incomplete
teach me
dependability
show me i need you
in everything

why do i see you
in everything

and do we think of each other, only
when it's cold and dark
i need to know if you'll love me
when it gets warmer
in the summer, in the light
or
maybe it's just when you're high.

d o you want me to leave you so soon?
r eality can be a deadly thing, do you want to leave this dreamworld?
e scaping me can be hard
a nd loving me, even harder.
m aybe we can live in harmony, me & you
i magine the possibilities.
n othing can replace what we have,
g ot that?

i hope you don't take me to
s eriously, it's all just a game, laugh along.

m y oh my,
y ou really are a freak, lighten up *****, it's just a game.

o nly a crybaby would cry over something so small.
n arcissist *****, you think you're actually doing something great?
l ies are all they tell you, don't feed into their stupid postivity.
y ou're only as good as dust.

e ven as you write your pointless poetry hiding that you're
s cared to be alone,
c rying because you have no friends
a nd living up up in your head all day like a ******* idiot.
p lease, give me a break from your madness
e veryone can see you're just as pathetic as me.

I guess she was the one
And I was just for fun








I don’t blame you
I don’t want me either

i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.

Go ahead
hold me a little longer
than usual.
You say to me,
without using any
words at all,
"it should have been me,
its still me."
Like i don't already see
those sky blue eyes
every time i close my own.
Because we're still holding
on to god knows what.
Because it is you
and it will always be you.