I have days I wish these pills
would have never entered my throat
and then days where I wonder
if I could possibly function without them.
I'm tired of being off the rails so often
that I cannot find where I'm going.
You can try to put yourself into my shoes
but I've been running around looking for another option-
they would be too worn out to trace over your callused toes .
Stopping is not an option for me
there is only forward, and on and heading in a new direction.
This life for me has never equated to complacency
or consistency or anything in relation to repetition.
I have no cards to play in that regard
no, not anymore.
The hands have all been dealt wrong and I have lost too many times.
Swallowing my hell whole in hopes to fill this void within me
this never-ending shame of guilt I have put upon my shoulders.
I can only be strong enough to hold myself up
but everyone around me wants my shoulder to cry on too
and I can't give it up anymore
it's too busy holding the things up, I try to hold back
so many times the chip upon the left one
has turned into a crack right down my middle.
As I am staring at myself in the reflection of the tinted glass
my smile makes a mockery of my current travels.
It reminds me that even the best things you can miss,
even the best things are sometimes almost too worth it.
My eyes meet in a mirror and I'm having a staring contest
with someone I don't even recognize anymore
where is her full cheeks and dark brown hair.
Where did the sunset in her eyes go? Away-
just like everything and everyone else does.
Stop staring for two seconds
place yourself where you are.
Do not look back, do not look too far ahead.
Just watch where you're going,
distraction can make you lose yourself.
Keep going-
you cannot crash when you're not in a vehicle.
Keep going-
until your soles are worn and you feel your feet are tense
from trying to put the broken cloth back together again.
Keep going-
you can get new shoes on the way.

I hoped I would be okay-
I realize hoping is all I ever seem to do.
Repeat each line until it sounds good enough,
none of them ever seem to.
The formation is the same
like the kick-drum rhythm that encompasses
each stanza until you can tell-
fully, which writing is mine.
I'd like to think it a stamp
or a sign of some sort
where I sort out my mind
instead of snorting
or taking scissors to my wrist.
You can kiss your own skin
with a blade only long enough to realize
how badly it hurts to bleed
how much worse the warm water feels
when you're showering at 2am
trying to wash away the nightmares
of the one who used to take advantage of your youth.
I'm not asking for an apology letter from God-
just some sort of proof he exists
and when I asked him one night
why I ended up the way I did
he never really responded
I don't think he knows any better than I
and that's the black sheep epidemic-
we expect our problems and issues to have a reason
we disregard their existence like a disgrace
that cannot be seen in public.
But I will stand in front of a jury of my peers
and tell them I am not guilty for who I am now-
only a mere accomplish in life's premeditated ******.
I will serve time anyway
I'd like to think this life now is that punishment
but I know I still have hell to pay.
Pay homage to the broken home
she doesn't live here anymore.

I broke again today-
and then again by starting another poem this way.
I wonder when the repetition will stop
and the consistency will start.
Frozen in time-
constantly running into this art form
face-first and feet last.
I am head over heels again
but not in the romantic comedy kind of way.
In the way that my head travels faster than I can catch it
these emotions flee past me before I can process them.
Frozen in time like I am an old desktop computer
waiting for the signal to go through-
just waiting for that connection
that eventually gets lost in space
and you are defeated by technology again.
Well my mind is the processor-
it has malfunctioned for the last time
and I cannot compute really anything anymore.
I am alone-
a hard drive that only contains one component,
you could try to fit more on but there is no space left.
Nothing left to secure me
and you didn't eject me properly this time
you took me out before I was ready to disconnect.
Now I slow you down-
every time I am used for your gain.
All because your unwarranted rejection
caused a malfunction in my process
so now I am the one slowing down.
They tried to fix me.
But I just won't work anymore.

My heartbeat ticks like a clock on most days
the pounding of my chest reminds me I don't have much time left
I start to wonder why being shaped like an hourglass is such a good thing.
We are always running out of time.
So much so that we don't even count when we reach a mile-
in high school they train you to keep time
but somehow you always end up running and running away from it.
Other kids shamed you for not completing the mile fast enough-
but your body thanked you for not pushing it so hard.
There are days when my alarm wakes me up before the sound comes
like my body somehow knows my time for sleep has ran out.
Things are constantly running away from me-
kind of like you.
I try to slow down the hands to this clock
but as yours wrap around my waist
it only speeds things up for me
because I no longer pay attention to the sound of my heartbeat.
Yours is the only ticking I can hear on those days.
I find myself using too many metaphors
and not enough alliteration or sibilance-
or any other methods of poetry for that matter.
I am too busy organizing these thoughts too quickly
so they do not run too fast away from me.
My mind is something I'm always trying to catch-
trying to keep these emotions in order and on cue
so I don't run out of time with you.
But somehow I end up losing it,
all of it and I am on the brink of insanity again
because how can you feel secure
when you don't know how much time you are wasting
I do not want to waste all this time with you.
If I am just another hour on this clock of your life
it will be the best **** hour you will ever encounter
because the rest of mine are spent trying to place
these emotions that have run out on me.
Spent trying to learn how to keep time,
how to keep them in mind
how to not let them change who I am again.
But see these emotions are not an alarm clock-
they are a pop quiz
an erupting volcano that has been dormant for years,
a hurricane you knew was coming but you weren't sure when,
an hour of detention that goes by so painfully slow
you contemplate your entire life.
These emotions don't come every other sunday-
they don't become planted in the soil inside of me
and sprout when I water them.
They are the dust that collects under your bed
from the particles of your skin-
and you don't know they are there
until you clean out the things you've been meaning to for a while.
My life is all metaphor and not enough logistics.
Not enough order and routine-
the only thing keeping me is time
and the dust has settled again.
It had rested in the lining of my lungs
and sits in the bridge of my nose-
it won't be long until it collects and overflows
and I am dealing with the consequences of not keeping
this life in order, in detail, I made no room for cleanliness.
There is no freedom inside of this mess,
inside of this wristwatch that will not leave
even when I try to cut it off.
The ticking of the clock is all I hear-
it aligns perfectly with the sound of my heartbeat.
I fear it will stop ticking
I fear I will stop feeling
I fear this heart will stop beating.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick.

I broke for the seventh time this month-
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I ask myself as I undress my thoughts in a mirror
as the tears stream steadily down the sides of my face
mascara stains my eyeballs and burns into my mind.
I can feel everything now.
The running of my makeup
causes a chain reaction
to me running toward the sink
to wash out what makes me feel okay.
After it is done-
and the makeup is cleared from my eyes
it seems I still don't see things clearly.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I saw him again today-
it seems I am seeing his face in everyone nowadays.
I don't think I'm actually over it
I don't think the experience will ever leave my mind
and every single man but a few seems to have his eyes-
the square shape of his head and the curve of his spine
that I don't think he actually has
because who needs a backbone
when you spend your youth
taking away someone else's.
Mine-
It was the seventh year of my life
and you took my backbone back then
in the black basement, blanketed with self-condemnation.
You see innocence is an antonym for guilt-
but what happens when you took away one
and caused the other?
What does that leave me with now-
Innocence means the opposite of guilt
which is to say childhood and you
do not share the same zip code
but somehow I let you invade my home
and seek out refuge inside my ribcage
now I find you in every corner,
encompassing the outline
of every male figure I encounter.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I saw you seven days ago-
in the face of the man at TGI friday's
then again in the face of a man waiting in line at the store
then again in the outline of a shadow
then again in the nightmares I keep waking up to.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I keep repeating to myself
until the sound of your voice fades to just background noise
until the soft hint of you breathing on my neck
doesn't seem familiar to me anymore
until I stop feeling ashamed of what you have made of me.

There once was a home inside of me
but now it is just a house fire-
burning down any memory of you here
you made it too hard to breath
although this smoke encases my lungs-
and these pills aren't the blanket
on the fire like I wanted them to be
they still seem to help ease the burns.
See you are nothing but ash and dust-
The lining on the inside of my throat
that keeps me from spilling your name.
Your shadow in the back of my mind
will become nothing
in the wreckage I have ensued upon my skull.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
Haven't you learned?
The most prized possessions are.

I want you-
to want to be with me.
In all ways more than what we are.
I am tired of letting you hold me at night-
tired of feeling your arms around me
when we are not one.
Tired of the questions  inside of my life
ringing with curiosity of an answer I do not possess.
There is no future here-
I realize that now.
My expectations have led me astray
and I feel so alone again.
Deserving more than I give myself,
not enough credit
where payment is due.
I'm not your leased item-
the nice suit in the store window
you will return once you've worn it enough.
You have no intention of keeping me
you just want me to be only yours.
I can't even formulate poems properly
because I'm tired of fighting with myself
about these feelings of which I do not know.
Hope has led me nowhere again
and I am lost at the fork in the road.

It's been seven days since the imprint stuck to my skin-
the scars still hold true to the nature of which they were born.
They were strategically placed upon spots I chose
their insides ran from my fingertips like they were proud of it.
But I was not proud of it.

It's been roughly 91 days since the pills lined my throat-
broke through the shell I hid the dependency inside
decided to try and make myself better.
It was roughly 40 days in I took regret to my skin
these pills reminded me what blurry feels like
these pills made me forget what I actually feel like
but I'm scared of what my body will do without them.
Ten days after that the cycle continued- Day 50.
I was back on the same track I was on six years, 2190 days ago.
The small shell of who I once was cradled in the corner
turned to stone and built a monument of my dysthymia
the mirror didn't recognize me, I could not see myself.
I watch myself in the reflection and try to remember who I am
the swollen eyes do not feel like the home I've built for myself
and it's been 2190 days since I've felt this exact way
the thought of nostalgia suddenly makes me sick.
I am wishing for the days to blend together again
for them not to be counted on more hands than I have time left
this isn't is an introduction or a preamble to my story  
this isn't even an epilogue anymore-
I wouldn't really call it a eulogy either.

It's been seven days since I took to my skin
the same way I did when I was just a kid
overcome with the idea of dying inside of my mind
and watching someone else die in front of my eyes.
So what is my excuse now?
Just raw emotion cutting into me like it's a slice of birthday cake
but this is no cause for celebration-
blow out the candles.
Break me down and hollow me out
disinfect these wounds so they will heal quicker.
The mania and the downward spiral are no longer holding hands-
they are jumping ship.
Dive in.