you walked swiftly in and out of our lives
and left footprints along the way.
The alleyways you danced through
and the homes you left your mark in
all mean something to this world.
You smelled of ***** and cigarettes
your teeth were stained yellow
and your gut told war stories
of nights you've spent dealing with your mania.
You lost your best friend
and then you lost yourself
I don't think you were ever the same after that day.
Always a black sheep, sitting in the back seat
waiting for the car crash to come.
T-bone you straight to your heart so no more pain is felt
and that's what happened.
Your heart gave up around the same time you did.
Didn't let us know the infection living inside your bones
how your lungs were rotten and hallowed out
because of all the things you tried to keep down
because of all the things you washed down.
I think this is for the best-
the hands became too heavy to hold your heart
and your body followed suit
it's not a full house without you in it.
The humor never left your side
even when the gray went from your hair to your face
you still spoke like you were on a stage
like you had to prove to everyone
you were still worth something-
that you were something aside from family.
The black sheep that lost a chance at a heard
when his companion shed their skin for salvation
and took the kin along with them.
This doesn't feel like the reality you were in-
I still think it a dream sometimes
and but I know you have found your happy.
The same thing that took your love away
took you away
and I'd like to think thats irony at it's finest
but it's really just a sick twisted
twist of fate we have all fallen dizzy to.
Wake me when this ends-
remind me everything will be okay again.
We were hesitant to invite you to family events
because of the drunken nights you drove away
when you probably shouldn't have
but thanksgiving is coming and you won't be there..
Thanksgiving is coming and you won't be there.
I'm still trying to convince myself I am awake.

I would like to wrap my words around this page-
outstretch my arms so I can hold up the stage below me
tell it-
tell everyone
things will not be this bad for too much longer..
But I've never really been much of a liar
just a melancholy toned razor tongue
with a quick wit and keen punchlines
I am all and I am nothing in the same breath.
Breathe. I try to track how many I take
but there's too much breathing and not enough oxygen
these arms are now making me choke
held too tightly around this stage
that has become my throat
these words are slipping
they have become my will, my oath
my proof that something exists
and as it is all drifting and drifting
I am reminded-
nothing does.
My mind plays tricks on itself
my left brain likes to tie a lasso around my right
until all of the creativity is squeezed beneath my toes
under a microphone,
in front of a laptop,
for everyone to see
and laughs when it realizes this is all I have.
Then my right brain retaliates
excellerates into oblivion
and becomes one with my anxiety
it speeds up everything in my thinking process I own
until I am the one-
spinning and swerving and crashing
until I am the one-
manic and crying and thinking about death
and it laughs when I'm clutching my legs again
when it thinks it's won the battle
and see I wake up everyday and fight.
There is no beautiful music to play-
no genre to this madness
You can spin me like I'm on a record player
and watch me slowly turn.
There is no going backwards for me
only forward and repeat
and my history sounds a little like
a skipped disk in the CD slot
because you keep replaying the same parts
over and over and o-over and o-o-o-o-ver again.
This cycle plays on repeat for days on end
until eventually everyone gets tired of it
and it's thrown away-
These arms let go.
I am left speechless again.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting
for the soft spoken tap of the keys to reel me back in
whispering a string quartet of desire and longing
only to watch my mind begin the game again.
Gaining only scratches on my surface-
Skip me.
I don't wanna play anymore.

Saying I love you just hurts
its a void that can't be filled within me
because inadequacy has made me numb again
it has made you numb again.
So I settle for never being yours-
I settle for the freedom
you have mapped out in your veins
they travel through your skin
like roads you have yet to take
and I wonder if you will bring me with you..
But I already know the answer-
love is never enough to rid of these worries
you carry with you like luggage
and I am the worst kind of baggage.
People search a lifetime for a love like this
I have searched for 18 years
trying to convince myself it is real
but I have discovered just like everything else
it is eventually masked by the pain
and thrown away for self-preservation.
I am too selfless
maybe it's because I have little self worth-
spending too much time
making sure others do not feel the pain I do
but when it does come
this pain of mine-
no one knows how to react
they stand there because
this is not what they expected.
Leave me be if you must-
wander to places you will never see
follow the roadmap inside your arms
and the signs within your eyes.
I will never be fine
but I was this way before you traveled through me.
I was just a destination you had to reach-
another point on your map.
You always knew you weren't gonna stay
and I guess I was the last to know.

I fear closeness.
I fear close knit and tongue tied
I fear you and I.
these days I think myself
into a coma more often times
than I am actually awake.
The thought of mere interaction
shakes me to the core
and I don't want to find myself anymore
because I'm terrified of who exactly I'll meet.

I am hanging at the edge of your lips again-
realizing what it is I have made you feel
which is less than nothing, but also everything
which is eggshells and self-preservation
and a mindset that is filtered when I am around.
I would like to know you too-
but I am afraid we will not connect
as good as we did once.
I often find myself missing where we were
even if it was disoriented, at least it had a name.

Often I fear I am too much-
too dysfunctional, too erratic
to ever find love the way I would like.
Looking into the mirror
the reflection I see reminds me I am something.
Here. Present.
That if I try hard enough I can get to where I need to be
and the sun is shining and my mind is free again.
Until the moment comes to where I am low
and I try to look at myself in the mirror
tell myself I am something- Here. Present.
but all I seem to see are the tears
and the smeared makeup-
all I seem to see
is the past that keeps repeating in my mind
the memories that my retinas like to replay.
I guess I'm not over it.

I would like to marry someday-
have kids and show them love,
show them happiness can exist
and that marriage isn't a death sentence
that love is not just a word
that it is everything.
But I find myself sitting here
on the bathroom floor
waiting for the shower water to warm
just the way I like it
and I'm afraid that's how my life will always be
waiting for things to be consistent
and manageable
just the way I like them.

But then I feel the water and it's cold-
someone used up all the hot water again
or maybe there's no propane.
Either way I'm cold,
either way I'm cold.

I really ****** myself up this time-
blood dripping into the palms of my hands
I started laughing through my tears
couldn't wipe them away
too busy trying to stop the bleeding
this broken heart has made scars again Mom-
but everyone around me is too busy to notice
or maybe I've just gotten better at hiding them-
hiding them behind this smile I like to paint
but see I never thought I was a good enough artist
the silence and the solitude like to tell a different story.
I turn the page,
watch as the silhouette of the last
makes it hard to read in between the lines-
too many pages of me have been unturned
too many chapters that go unread
there's a lot more to me than just a synopsis of this facade.
I click my tongue-
I make touch each one of my fingernails
Seems I am here, cognitive.
But from the view out of my retinas
all I see is blurred vision
a skewed understanding no glasses could fix
my far-sightedness in people has made me blind
there is no side to this story that can be unseen
expose of me, decompose with me.
I would like to waste away with you
but my views are too backwards
and it seems I am lost once again.
Reality makes me feel less real than dreaming nowadays
everything feels like such a dream
but most of the time it's just a nightmare.
I sit back and wish to drink this ***
the kind that's red and has little danny speaking tongues-
this lightbulb burnt out,
the hallways are lined with red
and nothing is shinning anymore
it's no longer a diamond
it's just all Kubrick zirconium.
watch me like your favorite novel
read me like your favorite movie-
never let me disappoint
but someday soon you'll get tired
and you'll pick something else
to fill the void of convincing yourself you like change
but nothing feels as good-
and the cycle repeats.
I would like someone to never tire of me
but these eyes have made way for more tragedy
and the bags under them make way for travel.
I will paint a smile upon my face,
tie a t-shirt around the open wound
so I can maybe stop the bleeding
and I'll pick up this part of me
place it upon my shoulder right where there's a chip-
because that's where it fits
that's where my heart is.

I'm waiting in the Starbucks line-
Homework due in an hour.
I realize my clothes don't match.
I also realize this is a lot like
what love feels like.
A letdown.
A constant urgency.
Insecurity that a deadline will not be made.
Making small stupid decisions based on your addictions.
Then the coffee I sip tastes like ****
all because the line to get it was super long-
too much ice and not enough coffee.
I drink it too fast and it makes me sick-
I'm thinking it was because of the pills
not so much the coffee this time.
And I continue to think about love.
How I never want to take that many pills again.
How I never want to play tic tac toe
with every negative emotion I have
I don't think I ever want to find love again.
Because this type of destruction should not happen more than once-
but to me, it's happened more than that.
Even the worst things in history are often repeated.
That's what being in love with you feels like-
A used history book too worn and used
to even show any inherent value-
But you love history and what it has to offer.
So you tape back the broken spine
in hopes of salvaging what you love so much.
But it's never enough to make it readable
it's never enough to use for notes later on
or to read your favorite chapter
and all you can think about is how wonderful it once was.
When you were pulling back each page
so filled with joy about what the next had to offer.
You had a lot to offer-
but all you saw was your broken spine
and torn apart pages.
I wrote my name inside the front cover
etched in pen so everyone would know it was mine-
but I guess my name faded and now it's all just smeared ink
you can't even spell out what it says anymore
maybe because I lost myself inside of you.
I'm again looking at how my clothes don't match
and how much time I took to put this outfit on
but the lighting in my room is dim
and when the actual sunlight shows more things
than the darkness of faded counterfeit wattage
you start to see the things you're missing-
like yourself.
You would like to send someone out to find you
maybe your parents or your friends
but they're all too busy in their own lives
so you look for yourself-
by yourself
and you wonder how you got this way.
How two nights ago you happen to be the same person
you were six years ago-
even the worst things in history are often repeated.
I'm starting to think taking this medicine
wasn't such a good idea.
But the only reason I did it in the first place
was because of how crazy I felt with you.
I didn't want to be crazy anymore-
I wanted love to work for once.
I guess you can't teach yourself something you've never seen
like how I taught myself to swim by watching my brother
and I taught myself how to tie my shoes watching spongebob.
No one ever showed me love-
no one ever put on that play for my young eyes to see
so now I'm searching and searching for something
when I don't even know what the **** I'm looking for.
I think I would rather look for myself instead-
I'm sure I never want to look for love again
but what happens when I try to love myself?
How can you achieve something so foreign?
God could be a fat, black, lesbian jew
and how would we know, we've never actually seen God..
That's kind of how I feel about love.
It could be a giant hurricane destroying everything
because that's the only love I've ever known.
I can read about it until my eyes are heavy-
I can watch it in movies until makeup is stained on my cheeks
but none of it ever means anything to me
in a world where I never mean anything to you.
Love is kind of like starbucks-
it's convenient because it's everywhere
and everyone is waiting in line to get a taste
most of the time it's not what you expected
and it's usually just bitter-
but sometimes you get lucky
and everything is sweet-
the way you wanted it to be
until it's empty.
I am empty.

I've wanted to die since I was Seven-
see everyone always told me things would get better
that as time passes so would the hurt.
But it's now 13 years later
and the hurt is still present.
Still painted across my face
like this smile I wear
to show everyone how ******* good
I am at faking it.
My whole life has been a fiction novel at my lips-
the happiness has always been just a white lie.
If time heals all wounds
why am I still in so much pain?