What a sad fate
  her name so common.
So the triggers
  lined inside
  of my eardrums
play a silhouette
  of my nostalgia
and it is never symphony
  only sympathy
  and infamy.  

It's played
  mirroring the blood
that runs from my skull
  tarnished and desecrated-
  mind now too hollow.
It was ripped clean
of your memory.

My retinas aren't safe
  from a women with
  such a common name.

What a twisted fate.
I fell in love with
a lover
who didn't
  love me the same.
But loved her till
  the death of us.

He.
Loved her.
  Until it drove me insane.

the sad fact is-
this is progress.

This is what
years of trying
have painted inside
of my demeanor.

I leave him.
The freedom makes me fly-
then I put myself
right back in the same position.

Constantly
******* myself over.

But this is still progress.
Still happy.
Still okay.

My best friend died
College starts.

I keep it together
for the friends
and the boy.

Help him maintain progress.
I had drifted too far from mine
  before.

I think about this time last year,
and the months that came before.

I think about the inconsistency-
the insane mood swings
accompanied by the
suicidal tendencies.

I've made progress.
Repeat this.
Try to memorize it.

I took medicine
because one of my boyfriends
convinced me-
I was crazy.

Shortly after-
He cheated.

Took him back
Because I blamed
my own inconsistency.

I should've made
him feel more wanted.

Seems I am the cause
for so many others'
problems.

My mom
blames herself
everyday.

I think about
if I wouldn't have told her.

My friend
dies in a car crash.

I think about
how I should've been there more.
How I should've taught her
to wear her seatbelt.

My boyfriend
drinks away his emotions.

I think about
how that's not
the kind of person he is.

But I am a hypocrite.

I have started drinking again
The pattern repeats.

Here I go ruining everything.
Here I go missing the old me.
Cooped up inside lavender walls
with my phone turned off.

Seems that was when
everyone else was happy.

Living life without me.
I think I could do without me
  too.

My hands yearn for you to hold them again
seems I have become too complacent
inside of the idea you will come back to me.

I have yet to find the proof
lined inside of your eyelids.
Seems I don't even remember,
how they look anymore

Seems I don't even remember,
the sound of your voice
that lingers inside of this autumn air.

The leaves are falling,
making death seem so beautiful.

I am falling,
making love seem so miserable.

Here I go again-
lined inside of thoughts
that will never be congruent.

Consumed in all of these memories,
I have no idea what to do with.

Guess they will follow Fall's pattern,
perish until something better comes after.

Guess they will wither away,
inside of these winter winds.

I am tired of waiting for the Spring.

The warning signs I didn't pay attention to,
because I was too busy loving you.

1. Your hands felt like tight clothes that didn't fit
and I couldn't find a return receipt.
2. My interests, to you, were like destinations-
you could drive me away from them at will.
3. My days, were etched in your palms
and you could break them, just as easy
as you could make them feel comfort.
4. You never let me feel things.
5. You always made me feel bad for loving you.
6. But you made me feel like loving you
was the only thing I could do right in the relationship.
7. Our future consisted of nothing but
the outline you wanted to draw.
You were an artist-
all you ever knew
was how to pain things
the way you desired.
8. You hated my friends
and any time spent with them
with anyone other than you.
Too green eyed
and not enough purple heart.
You did not honor who I truly was.
9. You hated my family-
Even though in 2 and a half years
you only "tolerated" them a handful of times.
But just like every other aspect of my life
they were found too inadequate.
10. You broke me down into a person
I wasn't even sure I recognized anymore
spending everyday morphing myself
into someone I thought
you would be able to love better.

But you never loved me better
and so I went backwards.

It took me a long time
to realize the abuse
that was captivating my life.
Someone doesn't have to hit you-
for it to be considered abuse.
Learn this.  
Repeat the warning signs
inside your head
until they register.

One day I will have to teach
my children to stand up straight.
Not to take anyone's ****
and to run far away when
someone else makes them
feel like their love isn't worth it.
I will be strong-
head held high
while knowing
in the same exact breath
I am a hypocrite.

I walked on my hands
a while after you left.
Not knowing
what the ground felt like
underneath my feet,
they needed a break.
I've always walked on eggshells.

My palms are bruised
so still I sit-
trying to prove myself to you.

Am I not worthy still?
Seems my mind is fixated
on proving this simple notion.

You hated most things about me,
so I started to despise myself.

Clothes unworn
would hang in my closet
and I would wish
that they would swallow me whole
on the way to your home
but you would've choked
on the effort of comfort.
You would've gone numb
at my self-expression.

I morphed myself into her-
into them
into the bubble
you were drowning in.  
So I became a victim too.
I knew how to swim
but I needed my hands to walk with
and they were too sore
from trying to bend over backwards
while keeping balance.

I still haven't made sense-
not about what has become of us.

The wound is still there
and I would like to expose you to it.
Show you the holes inside my heart
that you punctured one year at a time.

Life without you feels void.
Life without you feels better.
Life without feels like me-
so why am I still crying?

He likes the hoop in my nose
and the dying of my hair-
he loves the fact I'm a mess,
and everything you were never fond of.
He loves the parts of me you forgot were there.

This love reminds me
I should forgive you.
But when the pain in my heart flinches
and his words poke at the scars
I know why I shouldn't.

How your love tore me into bits
and now every time his love comes my way I flinch.
I'm supposed to be getting better-
but the thought of you still won't let me.
Even in the aftermath you still control what's left.
I sulk in the thoughts of you-
becoming bereaved.

The ambivalence
   trickles down my throat,
I feel it settling
   inside of my stomach.
Indecision makes it's way into
   every part of me.

I'm whimpering
from the devastation.

Painstakingly
stagnant.

Taking the necessary
measure so I can breathe.

Still it sits
   like acid
   inside of my stomach.
Awaiting the moment
   I regurgitate it all back to you.

Memorizing the pain
like warning signs-
   sketchy shadows
   in a parking lot
so I kept my doors locked.
Turned the radio down
so I could prepare
for anything that would
make me afraid again.

You are the locked door
and the anxiety
of not remembering
if I took the right
precautions this time.

Maybe I didn't
check my rear view
    close enough
and I have no idea
a car has been
   following me for miles-
checking my progress
   watching as I switch lanes
   making sure I'm aware
   of the imminent threat
   it poses towards my future.

You are the stove
   I can't remember if I left on.
You are the straightener
   that burned a hole
   through my carpet.
I was unaware
   of the heat-
   or the consequences
I just wanted to feel full-
   to feel pretty.

I'm always looking backwards
   at the damage
   that has been made of me.
Seems I'm always
   looking over my shoulder
expecting for you
to be standing there
   reminding me why
   there is nothing left of me.
The pieces I have
taped together have
your initials outlined
in the remains.
   I can't rid of you-
Or the inhibition
  or the hindrance
left inside of my bones.
I am a weak, frail
   skeleton of a person.

Now I always,
keep my doors locked.

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.