dont
get too close,
or the smell of alcohol
will rub onto you, the way
his presence already has.

dont
get too close,
or he'll abuse you
like he does drugs,
and me.

dont
get too close,
or he'll start a fire
in your heart, too,
made of gasoline and
my tears.

He is
No longer
A person
To me

As I sit here
And watch him
*****
Onto the floor

And it looks like
Alphabet soup...
But
Maybe it's just soup, or
Just Alphabet...
As he begins speaking
1, 2, 3s.  

And I have cried before,
For him. but
Now that I sit,
Eyes on his back,
Unspeaking
And still
.
.
.

I frankly hope he
Chokes.

will you talk to my corpse
after im dead?
.
.
.

ask me things like how
was your day?

tell me about
each and every
person
youve replaced me with?  

and ill have changed...
you know?

you're so quiet now
.
is what you'll say,
but i won't respond.

and maybe you'll cry?
the way i cried after you broke my heart--
into
p i e c e s

all while saying sorry and
what not?

and will you tell me the truth?
like the old days, when we were
kids

what caused you to do it?
ill think to ask,
.
but wont...

was it me?
or the first night
you went drinking?

or
will you just pretend that it wasn't
you
who killed me?

​
save me from myself
because i am slowly
but surely
killing myself
from the inside out
these thoughts, are so overwhelming
that living is frustrating and maddening.
but what hurts
is when you go tell someone your
feelings
they tell you, that your depression
is a “phase”
it’s not
I’m ugly, i hate myself
and unfortunately
i want to die

​
a handful of moments
i wish i could change
but i was taken away