Beyond the imprints in my skin
Redemption has tried to
Encompass my hands and hold them tightly
Across these urges that attempt to pain my smile and
Kiss the lids of my eyes.

For I have not found
Room to grow just yet,
Only making such a fickle
Mockery of my former self.

Why do these
Hands no longer feel
Anything-
They just tuck away the memories.

Beyond this smile
Repression holds me again
Often times the only thing
Keeping this mind sane
Etches a mark onto a page

Yielding what I need for recovery
Only to leave me back to one
Universal truth, to break from what broke you.

you make me better
though I am still bitter

spending days
soothing the burns
upon my hands

I had been
holding things
too tightly.

you loosen my grip
help me hang on
remind me
this isn't solitary

remind me
I am not stationary
or stagnant
just starting

continuing this journey
just like I had done
all the days before
this one.

but I am not alone
for you are the hand
that helped me
and held me

you are the grip
that keeps me
from falling too far
back into the same patterns.

I worry if I write
about the way
you have saved me,
you won't want to anymore.

that you will feel
your work here is done
and you will move
slowly on.

the progress
will regress
and time will
wither us apart.

I will try to hold my grip
but I will be too weak
and my hands will let us go.

you make me see
the fault in that

and laugh
at the cynicism
etched inside
of my smile

you make me
want to continue.

so I will fill up this page
and write all of this poetry
for you-

and not care
what happens
if I do.

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.