He was like an addiction.
The kind I needed
to hide from everyone
The kind I needed
to make myself feel okay again.
He numbed the pain
and everything
just ended up foggy-
a haze of gray etched
between these fingers
that would sweat without him.
I craved the touch too much.
So I tried to quit him
when he made me feel like
dying was a better option.
But the withdrawal became
too much for my chest to handle
too much for me to swallow
and I ended up sick-
wishing I was pulling him to my lips and savoring every minute.
He was the drug I ran into
and became my addiction ever since.
These hands shake without him.
I am calm in his embrace.
Do not take me with you
for I do not need fixing anymore.
This drug will keep me warm
His love will keep me warm.
They say addiction changes you into someone you don't want to be.
Maybe they're right-
Or maybe this is me
and always will be.

I grasp at the sound of my voice-
try to hold it between my fingertips
but it slips away.
I try screaming but nothing comes out.

I long for the days
when my hands weren't so fragile.

My heart is heavy in my chest again-
my lungs don't have the space to breathe
no, not anymore.
I am clinging to the idea
my heart will lessen
and become cold once again.

I long for the days
when my heart was open and empty.  

I just want to breathe-
want to feel like my chest isn't on fire.
Put me out.
Water me down with your words
and slice open my chest
with your razor tongue.
Make this heart stop breaking-
and weighing down everything.

This is all your fault
so it's up to you to fix it.
Eat the words you said
because I'm having trouble
finding mine.

I long for the days
when my words weren't at war.

When you left-
you took my ability to write with you.
All I could muster were small sentences
and they never made sense.
Without you-
nothing really makes sense.
I'm trying to rack my brain
about you.
Wrap my brain
around you.
Still just confusion.

I long for the days
when my mind was just a blank slate.

Sometimes I wish I had never met you-
stopped answering your texts
stopped waiting for your reply
stopped letting you paint
my smile on for me.
I am my own artist
but somehow you had better tools.
More colors to choose from.
I was just so black and white-
you were just so rainbow.
But now you've became the storm.
It's hard to breathe in the midst of a hurricane.

I long for the days
when my hands weren't so fragile.
I long for the days
when my heart was open and empty.
I long for the days
when my words weren't at war.
I long for the days
when my mind was just a blank slate.

Nostalgia, your oldest friend.
You can't remember her favorite color.
Or even the sound of her voice.
But you remember the fondness she brings.
Until she's ringing your neck
with all of this past regret and you cannot breath again.
Help me breath again.

I found myself inside the sun
and lost myself in the winter winds.
It's no surprise to me anymore-
that I am prone to repeating my mistakes.
Convinced myself to run away
but I ended up running back.
Stuck here, wishing I would've kept my word-
but I'm not familiar with consistency.
I missed you as you were leaving
but nostalgia reminded me why I shouldn't.
History has a tendency to repeat itself
and it seems we're standing inside
a museum of our mistakes.
It has dawned on me-
our love had an expiration date
it was not fermented properly
so eventually everything just spoiled.
Love isn't fun for me anymore
it never really has been.
Everyone is always stop and go
when I always wish they would stay.
But I am not enough to keep them-
too much to handle
too much to tolerate.
Irrational and unpredictable-
these cons are too abundant
they outweigh the pros too often.
But my heart is big
and you make it feel too heavy to carry.
I loved myself once-
then I loved you instead
you felt there wasn't enough room for both.

I try to count my breaths again
as my throat begins to close-
my eyes become a shade of haze
that is now so familiar to me.
I try not to break again
keep my feet firmly planted
in a place where I can stand up straight
but these knees are weak
and I keep falling over myself.
The breaths I take become shorter
the senses around me wither in number
and the only thing I hold focus on
is the fact I can't breath anymore.
I want to make it stop
the tightening of my esophagus
and the revenge my stomach
has been plotting against me
for what seems like a while now.
The bile hits my lips
a victim to the toilet-
to the images in my mind
that begin to mimic my every fear.
My head is prison get me out of here-
but all I keep feeling is the lack of oxygen
and all that I see is this morning's breakfast.
Repetition isn't always such a good thing
you can find it in more than just my poetry-
you can find it in my memory.
Hollow me out and put someone else inside
this body holds too much destruction
that I no longer want to be the cause of.
Blueprints have become of me-
etched inside this skin
I seek refuge in.
I have mapped out ways
to make myself feel better
but they're only just an outline.
Just an idea I get before everything
becomes too wrecking ball
and not enough rebuild.
These walls are tainted now
you couldn't keep the spray paint away
and this building is nothing like the blueprints.
I am just the wreckage-
not anything like what comes after.
My structure is flawed
and the only way to fix me
is to destroy and rebuild-
and I've already done most of the destroying.
I take another breath
it feels like my lungs are in need of more
in need of something I can't give to them.
They give me life and I cannot return the favor
so I choke on the guilt of the games my mind plays.
It seems I'm not the only one suffering-
so silence has become my only savior.
Everything is fine on the outside
but the structure is flawed
and it's about to crumble soon.
If I were built right in the first place-
I wouldn't be so easy to break.

I took five steps forward and two steps back this year-
leaving me with three ways to make or break myself.
The years were painted upon my palms
but I smudged the ink-
spent too much time working with these hands
writing with these hands
breaking things with these hands
that the years just ended up on my face.
Spent too much time asleep-
so they are stained upon my pillow.
No cycle you can repeat to wash out the stains.
No cycle you can repeat to make the same mistakes as me.
One. I found a better me inside of tiny capsules that once broke me-
they just had a different face.
Two. The textbooks and the late nights became my religion
and I've been faithful to the point of redemption.
Three. You found your way back to me-
I welcomed you with open arms.
I'm still trying to decide if this is me going forward, or backwards.
But it feels like a step in the right direction.
Four. The toxic version of myself has left-
it is held in the back of my dark closet.
Lined inside of the empty bottles I once sank inside.
They are now just a keepsake for who I don't want to be.
Five. Writing has been the only savior I have ever known
I write in cursive so you can't read between these lines
they all intersect, they're all stop and go.
No one can read me now-
these windows are tinted darker than the legal limit.
I wrote it that way.
One. Relapse is okay when it's just an eminem album-
but I broke myself by blurring my vision.
Two. Relapse is only okay when it's an eminem album-
but these scabbed legs like to tell you a different story.
Three. I let myself trust someone wearing a mask-
he couldn't look in the mirror and see his own reflection
he only knows what he has become not where he has been.
Broken by the broken-
a vicious cycle I repeat over and over again.
I took five steps forward and three steps back this year-
it seems I forgot about you before.
Another part of the year written upon my hand
that will stain everything.
It was a step in the right direction-
forward isn't always a good thing
sometimes it's necessary to go backwards
because it can lead you to a better tomorrow-
I took five steps forward, two steps back
and one more to lead me to my future.
Cleaning up the stains
because he is now my bleach
my sanity and the sparkle beneath the stains.
The cycle that repeats-
but finally gets your **** clean.
I guess three is my lucky number.
I took five steps forward-
the rest is just history.

I can't breathe
The darkness doesn't pull me in anymore.
My body is too used to this lack of lighting inside of my life.
Everything is not what it once was
and I'm trying to wrap my mind around the idea of night-
how it is a solace to me
sleep being my only form of therapy now.
It seems as if it has been ripped out from under me by my own sanity.
This is the cruelest fate, yet again.
Always my own worst enemy,
creating problems for myself even on a strictly unconscious level.
The dark has never been a friend to me.
Let me sleep.
I mutter the words over and over and over again but I still lay awake.
Still try to exhaust my brain so it will shut off-
but my eyes don't want to shut anymore.
My mind does not want complacency anymore-
I am breaking at the seems
and it seems I am the only one who is the blame for this madness inside of my mind
because I'm honestly ******* losing it.
Deprive me of oxygen
so maybe I'll rest.
But their ain't no rest for the wicked
I guess that makes me ******* evil.

I will never be yours-
not in the way I would like myself to be.
Repetition is etched inside my bones
but this isn't something I want you to repeat.
The erratic tendencies that have consumed us-
some days I wish you fearless
so nothing could matter and we could be one.
But the days blend together
and still I come with a question mark.
Labels are such a con artist
they never reveal the inside.
But neither do you-
always a mirror to others
letting their light reflect off of you
never really feeling your own.
If only we could connect-
just be for one minute more
but that is not the future I see here.
In my dreams are wishes you cannot grant me-
the one wish amongst all others
easiest to achieve, you still cannot grant me.
Why do I feel like such a black sheep to your love-
thrown to the side and hidden under covers.
I would really like to show the world
what you mean when you're inside of my arms
but it seems I cannot-
It seems I am always searching for that missing piece
of yourself inside of me, but I will never find it.
You seek it in imaginary facades and nostalgia.
You seek your happiness in time past
and things you do not even know are coming.
Stuck inside a future you don't see for yourself-
stuck inside words that others etch inside your skin.
I wish you would just give in to me
realizing this is something to you,
but this is nothing.
This was once something
but cannot be that again.
I am nothing-
to you
and now seemingly to myself.
I will rebuild from you-
the wreckage that broke me twice.