Today is grandmother's birthday. I have to watch her deteriorate at an exceedingly quickening pace as more days pass without you here. To watch another human being fall apart and live with no life left in them is more excruciating than if it were happening inside of me. She refers to you as her baby boy, although you were nothing short of a man. 28 years old, decorated in art from your neck to your toes. But nonetheless, you wore battle scars in the form of collapsed veins and sleepy eyes as if you never got enough sleep. You were My JD, mine, JD. When I think about you, I am left with a hole the size of the Pacific Ocean in my chest, which is truly appropriate because I drown in your name. If you could walk into grandmother's house, you would probably drop dead again. Her entire property has become a shrine to your existence, photos are overwhelming the premises enough to the point where you could walk into a maze of JD. Grandmother has not removed your sweatshirt except to bathe. Although she would still wear it in the shower if she did not fear to lose your smell. Sometimes I catch her close her eyes and breathe in what's left of you when she holds the cloth to her nose. Grandmother is smoking again. Nicotine and tobacco smoke kills the taste buds on the tongue, but she tastes you every time she drags in because you, JD, are everything she is. Mother gave up her dreams to take care of Grandmother, Mother dropped out of art school with a full scholarship because her only art was the life of Grandmother. And you, JD, were selfishly stealing the life from Grandmother that Mother worked so endlessly to retrieve. Now, I am not accusing you of being a bad man, JD, I know too much of you to know you as a bad man. You were intelligent beyond belief, knowledge swarmed in your brain and I think that's why you were always so sad. The ****** was to **** the things inside of you. The methamphetamine was to **** the things inside of you. The alcohol was to **** the things inside of you. All I wanted to do was to bring those things back to life because you saw them as a burden instead of the gift that you could harness and control. You were a good man, you made bad choices, but you were never a bad man. You have been the only man to make me feel like a princess with just a smile. JD. I saw you in my dreams, and you smiled like you knew the whole universe's secrets and I believe maybe you did because you are up there in the stars. When I saw you for the very last time, I kissed your cheek and cried. My JD, you are still the only man capable of making me feel like a princess and prisoner all at the same time. Grandmother has shut off your phone so the texts I have been sending you daily are not delivering and soon someone will have your phone number and those texts will be sent to someone undeserving of your 10 digits, digits as in numbers or fingers? Either way, no one was ever good enough to hold your hand other than mine. I was never ashamed of you. I hope you know that because the last time I saw you breathing, I'm not sure if I told you any of this. I am unsure if I told you I loved you, but if there was any way to fill this Pacific Ocean raging in my chest, I would hope it would be because you visited me in my sleep for the rest of time. I would settle for never dreaming of another boy as long as you held my hand in my dreams.

She is drunk.
I am drunk.
This is not a poem.
She is beautiful.
I am not.
This
Is not a poem.
Tomorrow i will be sober
And she will want to be drunk
And this is
Not a poem.
She is leaving me
And i am not
And this is not
A poem.
She is crying
I am (trying) not to
And this is not a
Poem.
She is beautiful
And i am drunk
And this is not a poem

My mother always told me to be careful what i say in mixed company, for some words could offend one party but not the other. But instead of being cautious of the words i spit out, i am more scared of the words i swallow. I have caused a rip in the balance of life, taking years from others i am undeserving of. I should have died a long time ago, but instead i am here stealing oxygen from those who need it more.
I was told that when i sleep, i mumble incoherent sentences. But your walls hear what you say in your sleep, and thats where all the cracks come from. I have choked on bits of the ceiling that has broken off from my sorry language and i think thats why i wake up in fits of not breathing. That persistent feeling of falling is not an illusion, its God trying to tell me He wants me back, that i am not welcome in this bed, so Hes trying to find a way to pull me through my roof but He is not stronger than the forces of suffering. I am Suffering. I am the sacrificial lamb that must be given back to the heavens. I am the ambrosia stolen from the gods and they're descending to take me back.
Every ***** in my body has the natural instinct to survive, but my heart is telling me to escape, that it'll fight off the rest so i can do what needs to be done. My heart is the kindest of them all, it has met my soul that is too old for my body. My soul is crying out to the clouds, wanting to be released but thats why i have refrained from sticking that knife to my veins for nearly a year in fear of what i might let out. Sometimes its blood, sometimes its  pain, but sometimes its freedom and tonight i will be drunk in my liberation until God has seen my insides deflate, watch a sadness so heavy that it grinds my bones to dust. God does not know what this body is capable of, God has seen nothing yet.

You caused a dive-bomb reaction in the pit of my stomach.
10 days until you're gone.
In ten days you could fall in love
if you try hard enough
in ten days you could get addicted to something
like nicotine or your hands on my waist
in ten days you could learn a new language
and whisper it on the crook of my neck
like every night when you told me
me pareció mi hogar en ti
which roughly translates to
i've found my home in you
i am constantly trying to convince myself
that you can't make a home out of a human being,
but when i'm lying in my own bed
i can't help but catch myself saying
"i want to go home"
there are still nights that i lie awake and wish you were next to me
although the love you had for me died
as soon as you found Rachel.
I have always felt like a girl,
but around you i felt like a woman.
you made love to the curves on my hips
without ever having to remove clothing
and i had no idea that fingertips could cause liberation
until you kissed mine.
As soon as your lips touched my skin
i knew i would dream about you for as long as i live.
You always had what i needed,
drugs, alcohol, love, emotion, friendship.
Every day for years i would make my way to your house
and you would have a the drugs waiting for me
and as soon as i felt i could fly through the clouds
i ended up swimming in your body
unable to force myself to stay above surface level
because you always drowned.
The screaming matches that were produced
about you wanting to die
scared the living hell out of me because
i realized i was not enough for you.
you told me nothing was sacred,
that no spine was too straight to snap into submission,
that every layer of skin could be clawed off,
and that's why you feared the scars on my body.
Your first stare was a look of horror,
but then it was a look of love and you knelt down next to me
and kissed every inch of my body and i thank my body
for learning how to thank yours.

In ten days you will be gone,
and you can never love someone as much as you can miss them.

You were as stealthy as a slow gas leak, by the time i knew i was in love with you, i had succumbed to you. You were in the drivers seat of my car lighting a cigarette with the windows up so i could breathe you in. I quit smoking so your secondhand smoke was all you would allow. I watched as you brought the cigarette to your lips and dragged in as if your life depended on it. It was your third one today and i told you that you should stop, maybe breathe me in for a second. Do you know what i would give to become second hand smoke from your lips? All you would have to do is kiss me and i would vanish into thin air, become a noble gas in the periodic table but there is nothing noble about the element of disappearance. I have been shrinking away from you ever since you held my hand in that convenience store a year ago. I'm trying to convince myself to get over you because all i am to you is someone to **** slowly through your second hand smoke. I never knew I could get so addicted to nicotine until it came from under your tongue. When you're gone, it's hard for me to breathe which doesnt make sense because when youre here my lungs are filled with your sweet black tar. But you will be gone for months when you leave in two weeks. You said you'd write to me, but written words can't carry your second hand smoke. You can't build a home out of a human being, but that doesn't mean i cant find a home in your bed.

The problem with being the strong
one is that people forget
that sometimes you
need a hand
to hold
too.

I have never felt so alone
or distant from the human world
in my entire life.
I don't have my life together
and the more i try to grab at the seams to pull it together,
the faster the stitches break.
I look like i'm playing a game of Jacks;
i drop the ball
and i see how many things i can grab
before the ball bounces back down
but i've grabbed too many things
and they're falling through my fingers.
I feel like a torture victim
with a wet cloth over my face
and pouring a gallon of water on me,
sputtering water out of my mouth and gasping for air.
I don't belong to anyone;
no friends
no love
no one.
I am a nomad trailing through the west
stopping at the villages for food
and then continuing my uncertain journey
almost hoping to die so this will be over.
I think a lot about killing myself,
not like a point on a map but rather
like a glowing exit sign at a show that's never been
quite bad enough to make me want to leave.
But i keep telling myself that
the sunrise will come
all i have to do is wake up.
But that's the problem,
i don't wake up because i don't sleep
and when you don't sleep you can't have dreams
and you always promised me that you'd see me in them.
But now
i close my eyes and think of you
i imagine what you look like in your sleep.
They say that when you can't sleep
you are awake in someone else's dreams
and i'm hoping that's what caused the insomnia.
I feel detached from my body
almost like a zombie that feeds on sadness and pride;
i can't swallow back either of those
long enough to tell you i love you.
This journey has gotten too terrifying to continue much longer
i apologize for the short notice
but i think i want to die today.
The show might finally be over,
everyone else seems to be getting out of their seats to leave
and i might just have to follow.