Blink twice
this is nothing short
of a mid-mid-life crisis.
And you can use
  these vices
  as an oath to your past
  a signature
on your obituary.

I started writing mine
  long before I knew I died.
  long before deception
  hid in the back of lungs -
  and the reputation of my liver
  yes it proceeds itself
  and I seem to repress it all.
                                            
I'm tired of running scared
compromise holds me
  like a warm gun-
  a vice grip
  on these vices
And I feel it
starting to slip.

kiss the barrel baby
you never know
  when the safety's off
  Don't you trust me?
  just say you do.
Don't you trust me?
  I don't
well neither did you.  

Watched you lie
   (In your sins)
   And on your back
You roped me in
   and won't throw me back
Sinking ship
Abandonment.
This is where repetition
meets Russian roulette
   play it back again.

The days they blend
and bend
only to begin again.

So I take shape
  for my name sake
  to placate
  makeshift benevolence.

Where common courtesy
   meets common sense
Where your pretty penny            
   changes to a pence
   now it's worthless.

You feel the mask
   it shields your gums
   from a razor tongue
   bleeds blue
   but all you see is red.

This mockery you
   have made of me
   what a tragedy
   catastrophe.

You won now
    a trophy
in the evening hour
    take my mind
I won't be needing it

Not like I used to-
Not like us two
    got used to the abuse
Who used who?
   You used me.

Breathe me in
Wear me out.
Break me
thread by thread
Wash me scolding
watch me shrink
and burn
and wither.
Watch me
no longer fit
Come untied
And undone
Just at the press
Of a single button.

I am not here to make sense
Or to change.
Or run spin cycle
On repeat until
All my color fades
And becomes nonexistent-
I rub off on you.

Our shades mix too much
I ruin things
With my vibrance.
Never one tone
Never just pigment
Always either void
Or immense.

Drown me in hue
air dry my insides
I want to be left
And sulking
In the heaviness
I have soaked myself inside.

Too tight
Can't breath
I am unfit.

he has undone
my insides
and on the outside
I am fine.

But the little girl
underneath all of these clothes
is screaming for me to notice her.

and I don't
history repeats itself
and even I see myself
as too much to pay attention to

I can't help but feeling nostalgic.

For I have seen myself
crying alone in a mirror
too many times to count
and I have hurt myself
alone facing a mirror
more times than I can count.

I am tired of these numbers
wrapping themselves around my neck
as if age is just another death sentence
as if these years spent are the chair
kicked out from under me.

I am hanging by a thread.
washed up and worn out-
all on the idea that
things can get better
and that these problems
are not the reasons
I am drowning
like these thoughts
are not anchors to my illness.

I thought I was making progress-
but instead I was staying stagnant.
Awaiting the next tragedy
so I could pity myself again.

This is not what recovery
is supposed to look like.

His hands are all over me
on the same nights I wish to die
it sort of feels like high school again.

Curled up
using my own tears
to wipe off my makeup
I spent little time putting on
because I care just enough
but not enough.

My best friend dies-
he is there
laughing at the timeline of my progression
telling me if he could've
he would've came back a long time ago
to diminish me himself.
But he realized he has already done that
so he smiles at the thought of it.

My timeline has been thrown aside
kicked away like the chair beneath my feet.
What is holding me up anymore?

I saw her too
sitting there
all to aware of existence
so I made conversation.
The guilt struck over her eyes
like she was playing the memory
in her head when she saw me.
We talked about her hair,
and my job
and my brother.

All I could think about
were how my insides were rotting.
How my face showed a **** good facade
because all I wanted to ******* do was crack
and break and dissipate into nothingness.

Here I am now,
standing on the edge of relapse
and sanity
thinking about how good my life was
encompassed with tragedy
before I knew how happiness felt
before I knew how good I could have it.

Take me back,
to the black in my mind
and the ignorance in my skin.

Wear me out
and spread me thin.

I am tired of taking up all of this space.
I am tired of you breaking my head.

No progression,
only stay-put
only just here
only barely floating.

Maybe,
not even that.

The ache inside of my heart
has become an open wound.
Everyone is staring at me
like nothing seems to be wrong.
like I can patch it up
and all is well.

But all is not well,
it never has been
not since you left.

I start to think about the cruelty of life.
How I lost two best friends
in the course of a month
one by death
and one by the pain staking
ambivalence of makeshift love.

I feel so lost and alone.

Sleeping next to someone
who is hurting too
so it feels like my hurt is less.
Not for lack of effort
but because of the thoughts
that consume this distraught mind.

I think less of myself
than others
so everyone else needs time
and I just need to **** it up.
Move on,
other people need you
more than you could ever need them

Straighten up,
strengthen that backbone
and don't let yourself wither away
inside the arms of tragedy.
This isn't what she would have wanted.

Don't give him the satisfaction
of knowing he has won
knowing he has made a mockery
of all the potential love in your life.
His tongue digs a sharp wound
inside of your back
and you're having trouble standing upright again.

You feel it every time
you try to move in the right direction
because he always used to be there
watching your back to dig in deeper.

But he does not control you anymore-
do not let him crawl inside of your mind.
Start fresh.
Renew yourself.

You are in love again
with a boy that
slowly closes that
cut down your back.
He makes it feel
like it was never there in the first place-
but you still feel the sting sometimes.

He will caress your body
and make a wrong move
so you flinch at the progress you've made.
you clench and feel as the past
has infected your entire future
but it's all inside of your head.

You have healed,
let yourself do as such.

She would not want you
wasting your time
dreading her lack of existence.
She would want you to live
and love again and again.
She would tell you to
never think of the wound again-
stand up straight
put on heels
and walk like you own the night
because you do.

And now so does she,
and all of my days
are spent wishing she would have stayed-
but life is sick that way.
Taking away your chance at redemption
by making it impossible to speak.
Stitches around your mouth
and between your fingers
because talking seems to hurt too much
and reaching out has never been
something I was good at
and now I can't.

Too worried about everyone else.
Too worried about this life
that buries itself inside of this body
and demands refuge.

I've always put others before myself-
and this is just another textbook
collecting dust
telling everyone how to fix me
no one wants to read it.
No one cares to read it
so here I am
collecting dust
withering away
from the outside in.

No one pick me up-
I'm staring a collection.

You work until your hands are sore,
and I am such a sore loser.
Competition is my second nature-
but I'm not fond of comparison.

I work until my mind is sore,
and we have that factor in common.
Awaiting the moment until
we can make sense of commodity.
Awaiting the moment until
we can breathe again.

I'm always writing the same things-
and for the first time
someone has made me speechless
the lining of my mouth
has been worn thin before.

But now I am building back strength,
my tongue no longer
gets stuck in my throat
I don't choke on my words anymore
my freedom of speech
comes with peace of mind
and I am able to withstand
the feelings as they come.

And we come.

and we love.

and we ****.

It feels like a waltz in my head,
the smooth jazz plays in the background
of your embrace.
I see nothing but silence when I kiss you.
The breeze runs through my thoughts
and all I ever hear is music.

And music is the only thing comparative
to this novel we are writing together
because it's not just a story between us.
It's well-versed and natural
it comes to us like routine
like years have been spent
practicing and rehearsing this love
but it's only been the hook.

Piano plays.
I smile again
and hear it in my dreams.
You were there once
dancing around my insecurities
and making dust out of all the pain.

Now you've
manifested into this life
and it doesn't feel like just mine anymore-
but ours.

The smile on my face hasn't left.
not since you've come around-
not since we basked under
architecture older than us.  
Not since we danced under-
timid lights
with the soft hint of *****
moving us across tile floor.

you are amor-
and everyday since I found you
has been bliss
and elation.

You saved me,
and continue to everyday since.
You work until your hands are sore,
but you still find time to hold me.
Competition is my second nature-
seems I've won.

I am scared of routine,
and repetition
even though my disorder
longs for it.

Makes it impossible
for me to live comfortably.
Because I want consistency
and when I get it
my other disorder takes over.

It's like a power struggle
between my mental illnesses-
and my mind is an episode
of celebrity death match
no one really wins,
we all just end up ******
and broken
and a joke.

Inconsistency
is like my consistency.

When things
smooth out
like cream cheese
on my favorite bagel-
I'm like **** this is good.

Then I start to worry
about when the bagel
will be come stale
or moldy-
and I don't wanna buy new ones
I like the ones I have ya know?

And the concern takes me over-
no longer even wanting to eat the bagels
because I'm scared they've already molded
even though they probably haven't
even though they're my favorite..

Should I be more poetical about this?
Should I outline this in a different
tone and texture to make
it sound like
I'm something other than I am.

I'm tired of doing all of that-
and I'm tired of using the word I
in all of my ******* poetry.

But it's always about me.
I am a self-involved writer
only writing from my experience
so why wouldn't it be filled
with every single part of me?

Love is something I have never been good at,
especially when it comes to myself.

Someone else tries
and all it does it make me cringe
and I wait for it get moldy and stale -
I'm not actually still talking about the bagel anymore
am I?

Am I?
Am I everything that I say am?
or am I just biting off an Eminem line.
Oh my god I've turned into
the manifestation of Jay-Z
overrated and boring
and attempting to stay relevant
via my love life.

I wish things wouldn't change,
I wish routine stayed routine
and things didn't get so complacent.
The spark always dies in the end
and I always end up becoming
a different version of myself
as soon as I fall in love.

I guess I'm always too scared
too reliant
and too worried no one will want me
when they see the real me.

But in this current scenario
I was 100% the real me first
and then we fell in love
and now I'm at like 75% and free falling.

All because I miss how things were
when friendship made us talk everyday
and we spent a good amount of time apart
so we actually had things to talk about
when we were together.
Now it's all the same again
and I worry about routine
and consistency
more than anything else.

This is what ruined me before-
comfort.
and I need to talk to someone everyday
or I will become too much into my own head
that I think myself into
thinking that everything is going wrong.

It's like I'm trying to find reasons
to not be happy
and I'm so scared of having nothing
that I end up giving myself it anyway.
That way I am safe and not worrying
about when everything will go wrong
because it already is.

I've never been so happy-
and it scares the living **** out of me.
I just want it to be like we used to,
I'm scared of you not trying anymore
because you have me-
it's happened too many times before.

Then you get comfortable
and then I don't matter
and I turn into a bagel
left stale in your bread bin.
I turn into something always there
but never paid attention to.

None of this has happened
but I feel it slowly in my bones
that history will repeat itself
and I will end up lonely
and in love
and hurting all over again.

I just want to feel like
I matter I guess.
Like even though you have me
you'll still try for me.
But we all know how this goes,
and history repeats itself again
and I end up a moldy bagel
waiting to go stale
waiting to be thrown away.

I'm mad at myself again-
so **** forgiving to everyone else

What did I do so wrong to me?
Why can't I let **** go.

Get it together.
You're all you have.