these words hurt too much to write down.
too busy trying to make everything sound perfect
but too insecure to let myself fail.
so in this instance I just don't try.
let all of my work go unwritten
just like the scars on my legs go unnoticed
and my pain gets overlooked.
I'm not a good writer anymore
I don't think I ever was
but there are some words I can string
together like a symphony to make anyone believe in me
but this is just a facade
just a game we all like to play
but I'm out of chips now-
I have nothing left to give anymore
and I'm walking through life
like it's a keyboard I don't have to look at
because I already know where this is going
I already know where everything is.
Wanting to write reeks havoc on my insides
not being able too makes it all worse for me again.
I string these lines together but they're always out of tune.
my mind is always two steps away from every edge
I walk upon and somehow I walk over them.
Down for the count and I'm tired of writing in first person.
Tired of being this person.
my point of view is blurred
and so are these words in front of me.
existing doesn't feel too good anymore
and it seems as if everyone is trying to tell me otherwise.
believing them would be nice
trusting someone again would be nice
but these are not things my mind is equipped to handle.
So I try to handle as much as I can at once
and just hope it doesn't take me over that edge.
these hands on these keys make mistakes
but somehow I always know when and where to correct them.
being okay is such a foreign concept to me
and I don't have any real reason to not be right now
but i'm still not sure why everything hurts so much
maybe I haven't dealt with the parts of my life I should have
and maybe they're just waiting in the back of my mind
to attack the person I have become
because sometimes, in the dead of the night
these thoughts will creep up to me.
when I'm cold and lonely
they'll tap me on the shoulder-
remind me they're still there to help me stay down when I fall.
They know balance has never been my forte.
I guess that's why I can never hold on to anything

My sky came crashing down on a saturday night
I looked outside myself and saw the mess I made of it.
My bones were shattered and my psyche torn apart
I never thought I would let it get this far.
Maybe if I stopped myself from loving-
pumped the brakes and stopped
to look both ways
things would've turned in a different direction for me
But I suppose I wasn't supposed to break-
that just sent me into a hydroplane
because everything I know of is drowning.
Maybe if I wouldn't have been so distracted
so worried about losing sight of the road
the fatal crash wouldn't have taken place.
But I am here, bleeding and broken
and you are there
looking, staring from the outside of this ambulance
when all I wanted was for you to
hold my hand through this car ride
I'm not sure I'll make it out of alive.
You just mouthed the words "I'm sorry"
and the paramedic kept on driving
I watched you pretend I wasn't hurting.
These crashes happen often
because I was never good at controlling things-
the pattern repeats every time
another sorry slips from your lips
and I wonder if you care to know
how bad this actually is.
It was like before the storm
all you knew was my happy
and when it rains
you don't seem to know me.
You don't want to get your feet wet
but I've brought you umbrellas
on days when you were so under the weather
you couldn't seem to get up-
took your hand and held it until the sun came again.
But the storms keep coming for me
and when I try to convince you they will pass
I don't think you believe me anymore.
I know I am unpredictable
and overwhelming-
that these tires are too worn now
to handle this kind of weather-
but I am driving anyway
heading into an unknown direction anyway
because I know when I get there
the sun will be shining
but I'm not sure if you'll be there to share that with me.
You're stuck on I'm sorry's and apologies
for things they aren't your fault.
You can't control the weather-
but it would be nice if you could bring me an umbrella
it would be nice if we could see the sunshine together
but you're stuck in reverse
longing for a path you can no longer take.
I'm tired of waiting for your reign to be over.

It's ironic to think about how I had someone once.
The kind of person who would
"insert literally any cheesy metaphor here" and he would have.
But I was too scared to want that for myself.
Too terrified of my emotions to let them into me.
I wish I could turn back time.
Before I was all ruins and dust of those who have walked all over me.
Sometimes I think it a dream,
that this life I'm living isn't really me
That the girl with the dark brown hair
never dyed it because she wanted change from a boy who broke her heart that she ended up running back to anyways.
Now her hair, heart and pride are all damaged.
She isn't treated the way she needs to be. And any chance of that happening isn't likely. She chose her fate but it wasn't wisely.
She didn't think she deserved to be happy.
So now she's not.
And she can't seem to let go of the boy with the canvas across his chest because she finds beauty when he breathes.
But he doesn't give her a second look most days.
Only acknowledges what's in front of him when it's there, not when it may not be anymore.
He often thinks too much into himself.
They are both too insecure to love each other properly
and too insecure to let each other go.
We are the best of friends but the worst of lovers.
And there could've been the love of my life somewhere before or inbetween but I never seem to do things according to plan.
These paths across my thighs are like a roadmap for my lonely and you have never dared to look in their direction because you don't know this pain I feel under my clothes.
How every inch of me is covered but it still feels so open and exposed.
I've never hated anyone more than myself.
Not even the ******* who stole my childhood
because I hate myself for letting him.
I shouldn't put so much blame on a girl who has never had guidance. Built myself from the ground up and it seems I am not finished yet. There is still work to be done.

I asked him to stay-
but his hands were wrapped around my throat.
I insisted anyway.
No words I could think to formulate
other than to convince him to not leave me.
Stay.
The words crumble like weak knees amongst a dying friend.
You realize these things when you're close to the edge.
About to jump.

He didn't need my convincing-
His eyes struck me solid
Half past twelve and his five o clock shadow
was the only shade of midnight I care to remember.
You took the time to hold my hands and now they're just spinning.

Clockwise mindset.
A reminder I am set in my ways.
The alarm clock sings-
Tells me there are still things I have to remind myself to remember.
But what good is memory when it is a shell casing of a bullet
that was supposed to be lodged inside of your brain but it missed.
Left you with a hole
and now you can't remember where you came from.

I am moving on from this.
From the hands of yours stuck around my throat
keeping me from keeping him close.
You are nothing to me now-
Just a shadow not even a ghost
Not even a figure I can make out inside of my mind anymore.
You are nothing-

I realize my time is up when the clock strikes.
Father Time says to me
That not everything is set in stone
And these hands will continuing turning
even on days the watch is broken.
So watch out for yourself.

These minutes should remind me
to forget your face in the background.
Ignore the ticking when it comes
and tries to remind me why I take these pills.
Just take them.
Do not bury your hurt inside a foreign memory
that doesn't know how to speak the language of recovery.
Because these hands,
They will continuing turning
even when my watch is broken
Even on days when I am too.

You broke me -
Shattered me to pieces.
Afterwards I was laying on the ground and you still somehow
made me feel sorry for you.
The feet you used to walk on my heart were now bleeding
and I was in even more pieces.

I tried to put myself back together
for you.
Heal the wounds
that are now just scars.
But I keep looking at them
Obsessing over how they got there.

I'm still in ******* pieces
And don't know how to put myself back together
You don't give a ****.
Because
You're better now.
I'm not.
But that doesn't matter
Because you can still see yourself
in the pieces I am now.
I still show you your reflection.

I stuck around for you.
Hoping you would help fix me
Hoping you would help me fix myself.
Instead you just stood there and watched me struggle.
Admiring your handy work.

These hallowed halls remind me of myself-
the way I would attempt
to see the sunlight on days
there was nothing but darkness.

I'm always writing about
how I can't breathe.
It would be nice to know
what oxygen feels like,
what living before you feels like.
But I do not live in that world-
not anymore.

You reside in the skin under my nails
and the corners of my eyelids.
Buried beneath these things
I will never notice-
but utilizing a place so important.
Nothing kept me going
not the sun or the stars
or even the idea that love exists.
Nothing has.
It only hinders my progress-
people like to run away
return their investment
for something they bought prior
or for something that seems so much better.
No one wants damaged goods.
No one sees the potential they have
to become your favorite thing.

You ruined my life,
and continue to.
Every time you are far behind me
you catch a flight and find me again.
You are the reason I cannot breathe correctly-
or love enough, or trust in someone.
You are the reason I cling to what's terrible for me.
I wish all of this was an over exaggeration for art.
I wish this wasn't my truth.
But it is.
I have to deal with it-
I wish you did too...

This time of year always breaks me again.
Skipping over these days would help me breathe
but theres no livelihood inside of me
only misandry and misery.

Just know that you have ruined me-
know you have succeeded.
Lastly, you won't find me where I'm going
so don't even try to look.

I remember the winter
how it chilled my bones-
and it reminded me of you.
I remember the night
how it shook my insides-
and that too reminded me of you.

I look at my reflection in the glass-
still seeing you behind me.
Hovered over my progress
hindering the steps I take forward.
You cower in the corner of my courage-
finding me when it has run dry.
Peeking out of my mind
when least expected
seemingly at the worst time.

I never knew you like I thought-
tried to face what you did to me
but denial is your muse
what keeps you coming back
is me.

You have been the reason
for me almost leaving-
the reason for these scars upon
my wrists, hips and thighs.

Two months ago
I wrote the last poem about you
my body could think to write.
My mind kept calling you back to me.
The winter chill captivated me
took me hostage there in the front seat-
waiting for my car to warm.

You're the reason for the makeup
that drips own my face and burns my eyes.
But only sometimes-
you are not to blame for everything
except my fear of the dark corners
and my inability to keep myself
from trying to discover what hides in them.

I hate the winter
the cold takes me hostage-
it chokes my willpower
and makes me remember you there.

You don't know that repression gave up-
ran away around middle school
when I couldn't be strong any longer.
You came back in the winter-
reminded me of when you left me in the dark.

I still smell you sometimes
and remember the things you showed me.
How they were something I didn't want to learn.
Seven is everyone's lucky number-
but somehow it has me doomed to fail.

I saw you standing there-
my mind hazy from intoxication
I thought I could handle you there.
Metal should only be in your head
if something went wrong-
and so that's why I threw the bat at yours.

The closest I've been to showing you what you did-

The winter still chills my bones-
the night still shakes my insides.
But I am still alive
Still Okay.
Still Alive.

The sun fights hard to keep its place
and the winter doesn't stay forever.
So you won't either.

You were my serendipity-
but turned into my catastrophe.
Found you when I wasn't looking
but now I see where that left me.
You were modest in nature,
I was always running with the wolves
but even with my instincts-
you still somehow ruined me.
Never saw it coming-
like how I just stopped rhyming.
Never saw it coming-
no such thing as perfect timing.
You were my sweet serendipity
nothing will ever hurt me like you.
Inconsistent stature-
you were my natural disaster.

She wore her heart on her sleeve like the latest fashion.
But he didn't believe in designer clothing.
Never checked the price tag because he never seemed to see her worth.
At least not for what it was.
She was always looking for the boy who was half-off his rocker and she clung to the kind she could save.
But sometimes you forget to look closely before you choose and just end up with damage in places you never expected.

She wore her heart on her sleeve-
It seems he made a mockery of the style she wore so proudly.
Too profound for him to handle.
Heart always guarded closely to his chest.
The price on his head was worth more than he would like to admit.
He never took the security tag off, didn't trust anyone enough to.
She tried to steal him away but the alarms sounded and everything went to **** again.

She wore her heart on her sleeve and she was once so proud.
Now she wears jeans, and sweaters that cover her skin because she is not proud of what she wears or who she is.
He made her feel like she needed to cover up in order to find the right kind of love.
Her mindset changed along with her style and you didn't see her heart much anymore.
He stole it away because she didn't think it needed the security.

Girl meets boy-
Together they are an item.
Apart they are just cloth
Two pieces not relevant unless put together into a bigger picture.
But times have changed-
and it seems they don't look good together anymore.

I guess they went out of style.
I guess they outgrew one another.
She decided it's time to stop selling herself short.
She decided it's time to stop looking for buyers.
An antique doesn't have to beg for buyers.
Buyers beg for it.
She never saw herself as an item alone-
But she always knew she was an artifact.
Yet to be uncovered-
She could only be discovered by someone who will work heard enough to find her.
Go find her.

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.

I trust that these hands will break-
that the crevice of your smile
will turn into a crack upon the impact
of my lips upon your cheeks
but do not cry.
For the only mark I have left in your life
is that of a scar.
Never the girl you marry,
only the one you admire
and aspire to one day acquire
but ambiance is a con artist
the way the room feels good and warm
doesn't mean there hasn't been tragedy there.
I am too hung up, to be so rung out to dry
and I hate this feeling that has been given to me.
The wind had sought my insides
and everything is a mess now.
Don't put a label on me
for that will only taint the way things are now
never deserving of more than the shadows
never in the spotlight long enough to be seen.
You are ever-changing and I am in need of consistency.
But I am no hero of this novella
this short-winded fiction novel
you write upon your lips as if it is just letters on a page
but to me, this is non-fiction
to me, this is everyday.
You wear this mask like it is a coat of armor
but I have hung it up once again
and you don't like that you see yourself in me.
Hurt is the only thing I seem to know
and they all run the other direction
when the walls come down
and my true colors are painted out instead
they realize the setting is different now-
the ambiance isn't what it was before
and this novel just had an uncharacteristic plot twist.
Now you have trouble predicting the outcome
you think too much, and don't feel enough
and that's been my entire life.
No longer the girl you put a ring upon-
just one you put a bet upon and hope you don't lose
and when you win, once you see how good it feels
you run fast in the other direction because of the obligation.
Intimidation tactics are found in the dark circles under my eyes
and trouble is etched in the curve of my smile-
I have yet to find someone who dies to keep me,
one who realizes I am a novel worth reading.
But I am only worth a few pages before they have had enough of me.
They try and try to rewrite what's inside-
but you can't taint print on paperbound.

nothing makes these feelings hurt worse
than not acknowledging they're here.
Alone again like it is every weekend
and you speak to the scars on your wrists-
tell them to go away.
But they just end up appearing somewhere else
I'm tired of feelings.
I long for the ability to feel nothing
so I could harness what it takes be okay
and use it to my advantage
so success would be just a nod away.
Instead I am nodding off because of these pills in my hand
and this head on my shoulders-
it's been almost 9 hours since my last meal
and I can taste the acid in my stomach
demanding refuge-
it, like me is tired of being left alone.
I am here-
sitting upon this mattress broken bones
and broken mind.
Trying to think of ways to put a cast upon it
so I can stop thinking so backwards
to start writing for the future
but these hands don't know time.
It is nothing but figment to this poetry.
I wished it still helped me-
I wish standing upon a stage
or tapping at these keys was still worth something.
But these words have become devalued to me now.
Too many to count-
it's an inflation of my current insanity
so nothing is of importance anymore
we're all carrying around words like they're nothing
building monuments and meaning out of virtue-
wishing upon stars we could build homes
out of these stanzas.
But the economy *****-
turns out so does this poem.

We were always tripping on ways to make it out.
Long winding roads to backwards homes,
we never took too long.
I had a way with words
but not with speaking them too clearly-
I could only write them too be understood.
I was a little too passive aggressive and not enough passive voice-
Built upon analogies, not using enough antonyms.
Too much consonance and not enough consistency.
Always too dynamic for this static world.
We drove each other crazy.
Took words and turned them into roads always intersecting.
We never thought to stop and look at the scenery.
I never thought to ask where we were going.
You told me buckle up and I always asked you why-
The answer never left your lips.
You just gave a smile that mimicked the skyline and I let you take me there.
To the back alley of your mind and watched you race past the speed limit.
You told me to put on my seatbelt.
But you never wore yours-

You drove me to edge of insanity and left me there alone.
You drove away and watched as I tried to run after you.
But you kept driving-
and I'm still running after you.
Tracing my footprints on the pavement
Trying to match the tire tracks
I keep running back.
Even though I know you're long gone.
Insanity is a destination
I didn't want to reach
but somehow I arrived here anyway.
Somehow you drove me to it.

My hands are in fists
and the red has been painted
across the cloth once again.
I broke more than just skin in this instance-
broke more than just the wall.
I can't remember stability
can't remember consistency
but how are you to remember the things
in which you've never really been subjected to.
Taking too much time trying to see myself in the light I need
and not enough trying to fix me.
Bandage upon these hands
no remembrance of how exactly
they got to this point in the first place.
Place me upon a crowd and I will flourish
but alone is a place I no longer want to reside
because I wither and fail and break.
I need the sun to grow
but I was thrown inside darkness.
Not even five hours ago
the top of the world was just a car ride away
but eventually the sun fades and so do I
eventually I am reminded the darkness
always seems to find me here.
Trapped inside this mind
that isn't too familiar with this facade.
Trapped inside this facade
too long now to know what I look like anymore.
Wishing third person was something I could switch to
just to be able to control who I am again.
She has been withered and worn
and she will not return.
Even if I could change things-
take myself out of this equation
there would still be problems to solve.
But I don't want to be that problem anymore-
because I don't think I have an answer.

my pills smell like a hospital
this bookstore smells like my grandma
the faint reminiscence of old memories
cloud the only five senses I own.
I start to wonder if this life is becoming idle
if this IV lining my arms is broken again.
If I have enough will to stay.
These pills smell like a hospital-
and I'm worried you will find me there someday
withered from this world I can't tolerate enough to stay.
But these pills seem to help me stay.
Remind me why I'm alive-
this smell reminds me to stay away.
When the blade calls my name I don't listen anymore
when you call my name I don't listen anymore
I've been seeing your face too often
and not hearing my own voice enough.
I start to think nostalgia and you share the same interests
like you both started a google drive document
and shared the file with me and now it's all I see.
You can edit my life for me
and no matter what I continue to write
you change the font
and reformulate my sentences.
I wish I didn't exist.
Then I smell my grandma in this empty bookstore
and feel the pages against my fingers again.
I'm here whether I like it or not.
You were here whether I like or not.
Paying too much attention to madness
and not enough to bliss
I take up too much time thinking
and not enough doing.
25mg isn't enough anymore
and each time the clock strikes 9
my mind likes to contemplate quitting you.
But I smell the hospital again
convince myself to stay away from that place.
The pill hits my tongue and travels down my throat.
I don't think anymore.
I don't want to know.
I am home-
here in this bookstore
with the smell faintly touching my nostril
with the pills lining my nose
with you writing me apology notes
that sound too **** familiar.
I wish to erase you from my retinas.
I don't want to see you anymore.
I hoped these pills would help-
but they make things more clear for me.
You're face has been all I see
now I seem to be losing me
where did I go?
where am I again?
why are you the only face I recognize?

Little control is had nowadays
and my head is the only thing moving.
The transient state of mind
leaves me motionless again.
Constantly trying to rid of these thoughts-
but the mocking in my eye reminds me they live.
The pangs in my chest remind me they mourn
and the pains in my head tell me they're here.
Waking is the hardest part
because you wished it a dream.
These steady hands and clear thoughts
were only for a short moment
before they were pinned to your neck again.
Taking something with you
that does not want to stay.
Fighting the refuge demanded in your chest
the way it itches it's way out
too much desire to be felt.
You can learn yourself well-
all too much can be an ache of the withdrawn
and you can teach yourself to be better.
That's what they tell me
behind soft words and vacant empathy
they try to convince me of this pain
try to learn it themselves and map ways through my mind
like it's a shortcut I've never really paid attention to.
But there are no secret pathways here
no ancient secrets of the unknown
Walking this cobble road has become
my sanctuary, I know it all too well.
Feed the lines in your head with the lies
they spill upon tv screens and convince me
over and over again that this hidden agenda
behind my eyelids is not masking some sort of pain.
They pray on the weak but that is not me
no I will not let them win they will not defeat me.
The jolting of my mind awakens me
coming to terms with my reality, I smile.
Knowing the only control I had were in dreams-
painting clarity on the background of each scenario.
It seems I have awakened. It seems I can be in control.
Only for a moment. Only with my eyes closed.

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.

I tried to write about you
but couldn't convince myself to
because repression has always been the forefront of my emotions
and I would rather not admit to myself that I love you again-
but I do.
I feel as if it is the only thing I've ever known
but when I start to convince myself it's true
I end up mimicking my irrational, inane tendencies
ten times over until the blood dripping from my bottom lip
paints your outline on my thigh.
I'm beginning to wonder why
this writers block
is causing me to only write about you
to watch as my lips venture inward
and taste the inside of my mouth
only to find you there
only to trace my tongue on the outline of you.
I cannot feel you in the same way
or see you in the same light anymore
it must have burned out
it must have made way for this darkness
inside of me that keeps wishing upon
any living star that you will still be here at the end of the day
but stars aren't living, they're dead.
They're just a faint glow in an ever burning atmosphere
like the sun has to hand out an apology letter
to us when it has to set again and again
so it leaves us stars and awe struck.
Reminding us of the destruction we can cause ourselves.
I never make much sense anymore.
Waking at 3am of dreams
that hold no relation to my state of sanity
that crush inside of my body and leave me empty.
I'm tired of this fuckery
of my hands gripping my head
to stop my mind from spinning out of control.
Why does bipolar have to mean no self control
why does it have to mean tracing my own legs
to remind myself I am still alive
why the **** does it have to mean thinking about death.
I am never in control of myself
so how can I ever be in control of the way I love you.
It will always be messy-
it will always be missed phone calls
and repeated text messages.
It will always be always wanting to be with you
because I can never actually convince myself
you need me as much as I need you.
But all I need is me and sometimes
I close people out so they know it
so they realize this mind is always on the brink of destruction
and then it is followed by a redemption so beautiful
that the sky opens up and I can finally see again.
I want to ******* see again
but outside it's night
the stars are dead
and I am reminded why.
again and again
night after night
I am reminded why love is never simple
why nothing ever really is.
We are a product of our environment
mine in laced in red and has fallen from grace.
Encase a scarlet letter upon my blouse
I'm not trying to apologize anymore.

The pain has control again-
like usual, there is no known cause for this chaos
no reason you can find in between my fingers
why the regurgitation inside of my throat
escapes like it's a secret barely kept.
The way I am currently is no secret-
though the reasoning behind it is one.
I am a smoking gun
and the only thing I ever aim at
is myself.
Some days I miss-
and the gun does not smoke
everything around me is clear
so I can see myself so much better.
But on most days the smoke
encases my lungs and steals
away every inch of oxygen
from the air around me
and I feel like I cannot breathe
my lungs inflate but I cannot breathe.
I am running around chasing air
that I am not sure even exists anymore
but I know it does,
I can see it all around me
as the breathing of others make me tick
as the rising and falling of chests
makes me feel so ******* nostalgic.
I run as fast as I can in their direction-
but we don't share the same air anymore.
See I am light years away just longing for their lungs.
The trigger finger has stopped pulling
and the smoke seems to fade.
But somehow I still can't breath.
Everything is fine-
but somehow I still can't breath
why the **** can't I breath anymore?
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
Why are things not changing for me
why are my lungs still crushed under the weight
of all this pressure on top of my shoulders.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
Why am I crying over nothing again
why does life have it's hands around my throat
why can't I swallow these pills meant to fix me
and when I do why don't they work for me.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
Why is this gun I hold still shooting if the barrel is empty-
why has this smoking gun left me empty
why are my lungs just decoration for a chest that is now empty.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
Why am I sitting here crying over a vacant phone screen
and convincing myself of things that aren't even happening.
My shadow has ran away-
it is not capable of keeping up with me
it has found that we no longer share the same outline anymore
for I am just a skeleton, hollowed out and shedding skin
and it is a shape I used to find comfort in-
one I used to know well before my breathing stopped.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
The words I no longer need-
who needs breathing with a chest full of nothing.

We never know the whole story-
We only see the outside
of this life we spread our minds upon
Take our hands and grasp them around anything we can reach out to.
But they always seem to slip through our fingers anyway.
Words have the power to ****
They have the power to resurrect
and save you and also leave you helpless
but the ones that puncture the worst
are your own.
Repetition inside your mind
Leads you to draw outside the lines on the skin you find yourself shadowed beneath.
Don't drown.
Come up for air sometimes.
Shed your skin and throw away the drawing pad
You don't need it anymore.
You are already a masterpiece.

I tried to write about you
but my hands became tense.
I look around to all the people who surround me currently
stuck inside their worlds and speaking of things
I will never be able to understand.
They map out their talents on computers
and blank sheets of paper.
They form monuments of talent
through just their fingers
and I would like to think I'm the same way.
I would like to think these fingers
hold a talent unique to only I.
But my fingers are frozen on the words
Cancer-
spelled out inside your skin
corrupting all the progress you had made thus far.
You beat it-
used your willpower
and by god's will you lived through it.
Many people do, many people can.
Until it happened again.
Then my bones shook
made a mockery of my belief in anything-
after years it finally ate you away inside
and your lust for life became a chore.
I tried to stay away-
to avoid the fact it was happening
avoid the fact the world was taking away what was mine.
You were mine-
now we have been left here alone again.
It's been years now since you left
but the imprint in my heart
is still the same shape as when you were taken
and I'm not sure it can be filled anymore.
That part of me is unique
and I'm beginning to think it's the only one.

I feel so broken-
not in the I'm-falling-apart type of way
but more so like I-can't-functionally-normally.
Some people try to fix me
whether it's tightening a ***** that's lose in my head
or making me stand up straighter
and breathe a little deeper,
I always end up in the corner alone
because no one wants something that's broken.
Something that probably could be fixed
if someone tried hard enough
but no one is willing to try hard enough.
I can't fix myself,
because every time I ask
someone to reach out a hand to help me
or maybe just support me so I don't fall apart
they look at my brokenness and realize-
they just don't have the time anymore.
I'm starting to think I am beyond repair
because all I seem to do is fall apart nowadays.
Everyone around me is watching
but they just pretend they don't see.
No one wants to be the blame for my downfall
and I guess they aren't.
I guess it was just the way I was originally constructed
that made me turn out this way
so unable to receive help
so incapable of fixing.
It was just a matter of time before I broke down
and I finally did.
Alone with only these four walls to comfort me
and a shadow that reminds me I'm still here-
still looking as broken as I was when it first started.
There's only a few who come around and repair
what is left of me-
and then all the others just seem to have left me.
They only want me when I appear fixed,
when I am at their beck and call
and they can get good use out of me.
I guess I'll never be kept around
because I'll never actually be fully functional.
Look at all my pieces lying before you-
build me like Ikea furniture
prop me up, wear me down
then throw me away like the rest of them.
I'll be fine here on my own.
My shadow likes to keep me company.

The poison touched my lips again
the morning after I awoke feeling more like myself
than I have in ages
and I started to realize-
this is the only version of myself I have known.
Instability etched into my genetic code
I was destined for the toxicity lining my bloodstream.
Once, I felt on top of the world-
standing amongst the people who thrived
and longed for the same passions I had.
Then I watched myself fall
third person point of view
my lifeless body had landed
where no one could reach me
I was too far gone.
So I let the sweet taste of surrender
fill my mouth and kiss my insides.
That's where I found myself again-
the only version of myself I have come to know
the one I became so familiar with.
I guess I don't know who I am anymore
without the foggy brain and the steadfast demeanor.
Passion is a *****-
especially when it seems like everyone is staring
watching as you fall to your own demise
and only a few are there to dry your tears.
They are never who you'd expect
but they live for this as much as you do.
No one understands unless this fuels them
unless their bones are aching from the lonely
that has become of me and what I tried to create.
Everyone is watching me fall
and most of them are too busy to notice
I can't hold on anymore.
The will I had to move forward with this
has been depleted by indecency.
Only a few remain-
they help pick me back up
and then hand me a pen
but when I go to grab it,
it slips through my fingertips
and falls to where I was on the ground.
So I start typing instead.
"The poison touched my lips again..."
but believe me-
none of this has ever been easy
remind me to not forget who I am again.

It must be nice
to hang your broken wings upon
a bird that can fly for you-
to eat from the hands that have
been continuously providing you
without any effort for your own movement forward.

It must be nice to be able to actually move forward
but see I am stuck too far into my past
too far into my own mind
because when the sympathy comes
it's for a man who has always scorned
and never for the child who was scorned.
I see where the allegiance lies nowadays-
I have always seen it even at the young ages
when I begged and begged for the hand to feed me.
Those days when I wish I could've had someone else
pick me up off the cold ground and fly for me
but I've always been the bread winner
always been the provider of my own salvation
even in times when I could barely wake
there I sit making sure I would be okay
when really no one else was there to double check.
I need not be thrown into that category anymore
I need not the same things others desire or long for
wishing for these things in my world
would be like wishing for a windstorm
when you're trying to write your will
in the dark depths of the same forest you got lost inside.
It will never work-
too much chaos and not enough stillness
for you to capture what this means to me
not enough calm anymore, only storm
and I am at the eye of it once again.

Your hands reach out for those familiar
and I wonder why you don't reach for mine
until I realize we are just strangers-
living inside one home
that has never really felt that way to me.
You don't know that I need to get a grip
you don't know I long for a bed where I feel safe
a place to confide where I feel as if I really belong.
Your hands reach out for those familiar
and you do not reach for mine.
It has been this way most of my life
and I have come to learn all I need is mine.
All I need are my own hands to pull myself back together
to grip onto the edge of sanity-
show everybody I can make it on my own.
Save your handouts-
they don't exist, when I wish they did
but I don't really need them anyway.

I've found a light at the end of my dark tunnel
and it looks a lot like your smile.
Where the road bends the fog lifts
and I see things more clearly now.
You are standing by each roadblock telling me venture on.
I tell you the same.
We both are stubborn in nature
and cling too much to the trees and not enough to the roots.
We are built on survival of the fittest
and the place where we seek refuge is our worst critic.
On most days-
your voice is the only sane thing I've come to know.
On other days-
it is my own that I use to pick me up off the ground.
You are the spotlight in my city-
helping to illuminate what's important.
Without you I can still glow-
but with you I can see everything so much brighter.

Inconsistency breaks me-
when the routine you have inplanted inside my mind turns into only seeds.
I have no room to grow.
When the words are no longer leaving your lips I linger for the affirmation.
One moment the love comes-
The next I am questioning it's authenticity.

Breaking has been the only thing I've ever known-
Fists broke walls
Repression broke bottles
and circumstance broke me.
These walls that built me
The ones I have been trapped inside
are caving in now-
no one is here to help me stop it.
No one is strong enough to save me.

Bring me routine-
find a sunset inside my eyes
that always starts at the same time.
Wake me when it rises
and let me watch it by your side.
I'm sorry for all the times
I talked too much
and didn't listen enough.
But my mind runs circles
around my logic sometimes
and becomes too dizzy to continue.

I've never been good at emotions-
never learned what they were
until I had to stop pushing them back
eventually they demanded revenge.

I was dealt a ****** hand-
no one was there to shuffle the cards when the game ended
so I kept getting dealt the same.
I folded a long time ago
but it seems I've become too in debted to the past.
Cash in my chips-
spend it on whatever you wish.
Just don't play these games anymore.
I'm tired of not knowing your cards
I've had enough trouble predicting my own.

Give me routine
and I will give you my happy.
Give me consistency
and I will give you the best of me.
Tell me things you're too afraid to say
and I will do the same.
Love me consistent-
It will rid of the erratic.
Love me routinely-
I'm tired of breaking.

close-knit but tongue tied
these knots have formed around my limbs again
and all I seem to want is to cut ties
but I keep running in circles
the rope gets tighter now
there's nothing strong enough to cut
close enough to break from what brings me down.
There are days when I don't see myself too clearly-
I make a mockery of all this progress
and reversion encases my jawline
builds a fortress around my cheekbones
lets these tears I own fill an arc all the same.
Never sane in what I am saying
never too close for comfort
never still
always silenced.
See this mind of mine has torn in two
and I am seeing stars again
I looked too closely into the light
that became of me
and now I have trouble seeing anything.
Blind optimism has turned a blind eye to currently
to the reality I live which feels nothing short of a fiction novel
but these spells are not long enough for many chapters
So I fill this shell casing of who I am with novellas
and hope the print isn't too small
and the dialogue isn't too excessive.
Feeling apart of something bigger
has always been my call-to in this world
has always been the north star guiding me
to the place I want to be.
See I've never really felt the words "family"
warp around my skin and make a home inside of my psyche
but it's the only word thats ever meant anything to me.
Which is why these words turn to a warm gun
and I hold it close to my chest
inching to pull the trigger
in hopes more of me will scatter onto the floor
and into the world.
But I strive for consistency and stability
so the gun is just a way to protect me
these words will always be there to protect me.
When I grow old-
when the color fades from my hair
and you can no longer see the outline of my youth
etched inside these expressive tendencies
that is where you will find my happy
in the names of every offspring
and every person I've ever loved-
every good deed I have ever done
that is where you will find my happy.
I have lost myself inside the toxicity
and it clouds the mirror on most days
but sometimes the smoke clears
and I can see who I am again.
Repeating "I am here"
until I convince myself it's true.

Dear me-
I lost myself inside of you
and I will be coming to collect soon

you walked swiftly in and out of our lives
and left footprints along the way.
The alleyways you danced through
and the homes you left your mark in
all mean something to this world.
You smelled of ***** and cigarettes
your teeth were stained yellow
and your gut told war stories
of nights you've spent dealing with your mania.
You lost your best friend
and then you lost yourself
I don't think you were ever the same after that day.
Always a black sheep, sitting in the back seat
waiting for the car crash to come.
T-bone you straight to your heart so no more pain is felt
and that's what happened.
Your heart gave up around the same time you did.
Didn't let us know the infection living inside your bones
how your lungs were rotten and hallowed out
because of all the things you tried to keep down
because of all the things you washed down.
I think this is for the best-
the hands became too heavy to hold your heart
and your body followed suit
it's not a full house without you in it.
The humor never left your side
even when the gray went from your hair to your face
you still spoke like you were on a stage
like you had to prove to everyone
you were still worth something-
that you were something aside from family.
The black sheep that lost a chance at a heard
when his companion shed their skin for salvation
and took the kin along with them.
This doesn't feel like the reality you were in-
I still think it a dream sometimes
and but I know you have found your happy.
The same thing that took your love away
took you away
and I'd like to think thats irony at it's finest
but it's really just a sick twisted
twist of fate we have all fallen dizzy to.
Wake me when this ends-
remind me everything will be okay again.
We were hesitant to invite you to family events
because of the drunken nights you drove away
when you probably shouldn't have
but thanksgiving is coming and you won't be there..
Thanksgiving is coming and you won't be there.
I'm still trying to convince myself I am awake.

I would like to wrap my words around this page-
outstretch my arms so I can hold up the stage below me
tell it-
tell everyone
things will not be this bad for too much longer..
But I've never really been much of a liar
just a melancholy toned razor tongue
with a quick wit and keen punchlines
I am all and I am nothing in the same breath.
Breathe. I try to track how many I take
but there's too much breathing and not enough oxygen
these arms are now making me choke
held too tightly around this stage
that has become my throat
these words are slipping
they have become my will, my oath
my proof that something exists
and as it is all drifting and drifting
I am reminded-
nothing does.
My mind plays tricks on itself
my left brain likes to tie a lasso around my right
until all of the creativity is squeezed beneath my toes
under a microphone,
in front of a laptop,
for everyone to see
and laughs when it realizes this is all I have.
Then my right brain retaliates
excellerates into oblivion
and becomes one with my anxiety
it speeds up everything in my thinking process I own
until I am the one-
spinning and swerving and crashing
until I am the one-
manic and crying and thinking about death
and it laughs when I'm clutching my legs again
when it thinks it's won the battle
and see I wake up everyday and fight.
There is no beautiful music to play-
no genre to this madness
You can spin me like I'm on a record player
and watch me slowly turn.
There is no going backwards for me
only forward and repeat
and my history sounds a little like
a skipped disk in the CD slot
because you keep replaying the same parts
over and over and o-over and o-o-o-o-ver again.
This cycle plays on repeat for days on end
until eventually everyone gets tired of it
and it's thrown away-
These arms let go.
I am left speechless again.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting
for the soft spoken tap of the keys to reel me back in
whispering a string quartet of desire and longing
only to watch my mind begin the game again.
Gaining only scratches on my surface-
Skip me.
I don't wanna play anymore.

Saying I love you just hurts
its a void that can't be filled within me
because inadequacy has made me numb again
it has made you numb again.
So I settle for never being yours-
I settle for the freedom
you have mapped out in your veins
they travel through your skin
like roads you have yet to take
and I wonder if you will bring me with you..
But I already know the answer-
love is never enough to rid of these worries
you carry with you like luggage
and I am the worst kind of baggage.
People search a lifetime for a love like this
I have searched for 18 years
trying to convince myself it is real
but I have discovered just like everything else
it is eventually masked by the pain
and thrown away for self-preservation.
I am too selfless
maybe it's because I have little self worth-
spending too much time
making sure others do not feel the pain I do
but when it does come
this pain of mine-
no one knows how to react
they stand there because
this is not what they expected.
Leave me be if you must-
wander to places you will never see
follow the roadmap inside your arms
and the signs within your eyes.
I will never be fine
but I was this way before you traveled through me.
I was just a destination you had to reach-
another point on your map.
You always knew you weren't gonna stay
and I guess I was the last to know.

I fear closeness.
I fear close knit and tongue tied
I fear you and I.
these days I think myself
into a coma more often times
than I am actually awake.
The thought of mere interaction
shakes me to the core
and I don't want to find myself anymore
because I'm terrified of who exactly I'll meet.

I am hanging at the edge of your lips again-
realizing what it is I have made you feel
which is less than nothing, but also everything
which is eggshells and self-preservation
and a mindset that is filtered when I am around.
I would like to know you too-
but I am afraid we will not connect
as good as we did once.
I often find myself missing where we were
even if it was disoriented, at least it had a name.

Often I fear I am too much-
too dysfunctional, too erratic
to ever find love the way I would like.
Looking into the mirror
the reflection I see reminds me I am something.
Here. Present.
That if I try hard enough I can get to where I need to be
and the sun is shining and my mind is free again.
Until the moment comes to where I am low
and I try to look at myself in the mirror
tell myself I am something- Here. Present.
but all I seem to see are the tears
and the smeared makeup-
all I seem to see
is the past that keeps repeating in my mind
the memories that my retinas like to replay.
I guess I'm not over it.

I would like to marry someday-
have kids and show them love,
show them happiness can exist
and that marriage isn't a death sentence
that love is not just a word
that it is everything.
But I find myself sitting here
on the bathroom floor
waiting for the shower water to warm
just the way I like it
and I'm afraid that's how my life will always be
waiting for things to be consistent
and manageable
just the way I like them.

But then I feel the water and it's cold-
someone used up all the hot water again
or maybe there's no propane.
Either way I'm cold,
either way I'm cold.

I really ****** myself up this time-
blood dripping into the palms of my hands
I started laughing through my tears
couldn't wipe them away
too busy trying to stop the bleeding
this broken heart has made scars again Mom-
but everyone around me is too busy to notice
or maybe I've just gotten better at hiding them-
hiding them behind this smile I like to paint
but see I never thought I was a good enough artist
the silence and the solitude like to tell a different story.
I turn the page,
watch as the silhouette of the last
makes it hard to read in between the lines-
too many pages of me have been unturned
too many chapters that go unread
there's a lot more to me than just a synopsis of this facade.
I click my tongue-
I make touch each one of my fingernails
Seems I am here, cognitive.
But from the view out of my retinas
all I see is blurred vision
a skewed understanding no glasses could fix
my far-sightedness in people has made me blind
there is no side to this story that can be unseen
expose of me, decompose with me.
I would like to waste away with you
but my views are too backwards
and it seems I am lost once again.
Reality makes me feel less real than dreaming nowadays
everything feels like such a dream
but most of the time it's just a nightmare.
I sit back and wish to drink this ***
the kind that's red and has little danny speaking tongues-
this lightbulb burnt out,
the hallways are lined with red
and nothing is shinning anymore
it's no longer a diamond
it's just all Kubrick zirconium.
watch me like your favorite novel
read me like your favorite movie-
never let me disappoint
but someday soon you'll get tired
and you'll pick something else
to fill the void of convincing yourself you like change
but nothing feels as good-
and the cycle repeats.
I would like someone to never tire of me
but these eyes have made way for more tragedy
and the bags under them make way for travel.
I will paint a smile upon my face,
tie a t-shirt around the open wound
so I can maybe stop the bleeding
and I'll pick up this part of me
place it upon my shoulder right where there's a chip-
because that's where it fits
that's where my heart is.

I'm waiting in the Starbucks line-
Homework due in an hour.
I realize my clothes don't match.
I also realize this is a lot like
what love feels like.
A letdown.
A constant urgency.
Insecurity that a deadline will not be made.
Making small stupid decisions based on your addictions.
Then the coffee I sip tastes like ****
all because the line to get it was super long-
too much ice and not enough coffee.
I drink it too fast and it makes me sick-
I'm thinking it was because of the pills
not so much the coffee this time.
And I continue to think about love.
How I never want to take that many pills again.
How I never want to play tic tac toe
with every negative emotion I have
I don't think I ever want to find love again.
Because this type of destruction should not happen more than once-
but to me, it's happened more than that.
Even the worst things in history are often repeated.
That's what being in love with you feels like-
A used history book too worn and used
to even show any inherent value-
But you love history and what it has to offer.
So you tape back the broken spine
in hopes of salvaging what you love so much.
But it's never enough to make it readable
it's never enough to use for notes later on
or to read your favorite chapter
and all you can think about is how wonderful it once was.
When you were pulling back each page
so filled with joy about what the next had to offer.
You had a lot to offer-
but all you saw was your broken spine
and torn apart pages.
I wrote my name inside the front cover
etched in pen so everyone would know it was mine-
but I guess my name faded and now it's all just smeared ink
you can't even spell out what it says anymore
maybe because I lost myself inside of you.
I'm again looking at how my clothes don't match
and how much time I took to put this outfit on
but the lighting in my room is dim
and when the actual sunlight shows more things
than the darkness of faded counterfeit wattage
you start to see the things you're missing-
like yourself.
You would like to send someone out to find you
maybe your parents or your friends
but they're all too busy in their own lives
so you look for yourself-
by yourself
and you wonder how you got this way.
How two nights ago you happen to be the same person
you were six years ago-
even the worst things in history are often repeated.
I'm starting to think taking this medicine
wasn't such a good idea.
But the only reason I did it in the first place
was because of how crazy I felt with you.
I didn't want to be crazy anymore-
I wanted love to work for once.
I guess you can't teach yourself something you've never seen
like how I taught myself to swim by watching my brother
and I taught myself how to tie my shoes watching spongebob.
No one ever showed me love-
no one ever put on that play for my young eyes to see
so now I'm searching and searching for something
when I don't even know what the **** I'm looking for.
I think I would rather look for myself instead-
I'm sure I never want to look for love again
but what happens when I try to love myself?
How can you achieve something so foreign?
God could be a fat, black, lesbian jew
and how would we know, we've never actually seen God..
That's kind of how I feel about love.
It could be a giant hurricane destroying everything
because that's the only love I've ever known.
I can read about it until my eyes are heavy-
I can watch it in movies until makeup is stained on my cheeks
but none of it ever means anything to me
in a world where I never mean anything to you.
Love is kind of like starbucks-
it's convenient because it's everywhere
and everyone is waiting in line to get a taste
most of the time it's not what you expected
and it's usually just bitter-
but sometimes you get lucky
and everything is sweet-
the way you wanted it to be
until it's empty.
I am empty.

I've wanted to die since I was Seven-
see everyone always told me things would get better
that as time passes so would the hurt.
But it's now 13 years later
and the hurt is still present.
Still painted across my face
like this smile I wear
to show everyone how ******* good
I am at faking it.
My whole life has been a fiction novel at my lips-
the happiness has always been just a white lie.
If time heals all wounds
why am I still in so much pain?

Sacrifice yourself for the ones you love
for they will only stay long enough to see progress
and as soon as the shade becomes your eyesight
you cannot find anyone else here in the dark.
Everyone is too busy trying to find
that light that was once inside of you
but it's not there anymore-
it was burnt out but those who said they cared
when they were only harnessing that glow to use to their advantage
all in order to see things better
and now all you're left with is this darkness.
No windows with the sunrise to peek through
because no one seems to be able to see through you anymore.
No phone to use to guide you
because people stopped reaching out a long time ago
so you figured you no longer needed to hear the silence
that clings to you like dust
like dog hair on your black pants
and there's no lint roller strong enough to keep it off
so it stays and you keep looking at it
wishing you didn't get yourself into this mess
but at the time it seemed like such a good idea.

You break once because of someone
they will break you again
and this is the one thing life has taught me.
People will hurt you-
they will lead you in with intentions of change
and then proceed to ask you for some money
because they know the change was never there in the first place.
I wish you still didn't owe me money
and I am picking pieces of myself to give to you
in hopes you will see how much of me you've torn apart.
I'm standing here with my heart in my hand again-
looking at myself in the mirror
wondering why I so badly want everything to end
wondering why it always comes back to this
and the cycle keeps continuing until I am nothing.
I guess we are doomed to repeat our past
because this feels a lot like when I was a kid
and I had to pass out or fake sick for attention
but I don't have to fake these things anymore-
they happen to me now anyway
and I guess this is just my sick twisted fate.
Karma came back around and now she's looking for a fight
she's already won round one
I guess she's looking for the belt.
Take it-
it will only end up around my neck anyway.

People like me strive for stability.
The kind of person that can be-
the calm before the storm
because I am a hurricane.
Name all your destruction after me
and remind yourself why you love it so much
as soon as it leaves
and you are left cleaning up the mess it made
inside your chest and ingrained inside your mind.
These letters I paint across a page
are just empty broken homes
and chaos amongst your feet-
so walk with me.

Run-
but only if you think you can endure such a thing
remember only someone special can keep up with me
I'm not too good at the chase
so you'll have to be prepared for when I don't follow.
I'm not one to keep things against their will
and if you do not want to keep me
I will not fight for your grasp around my throat-
let me go.
Wake when the chaos ends-
hope that every memory you grew old with
isn't washed away in the rubble
and remember to make room to rebuild
because I will make a mess of you
no matter how badly I would like to make you beautiful
and re-piece together your brokenness-
I have too much work to do on this home.
On the home I made out of my body a long time ago
and etched everyone who's ever hurt me
on the front porch like my address
they contribute to the broken parts of me
they've all taken a part of the blueprint
and I can't fill in what was there
because I honestly don't remember
that was way too long ago
and I am still searching for someone
who will remind me of what I have lost.

I think I can stop looking now-
I think I have found the things I'm looking for
and they were never inside of someone else
they were inside these line I write
where nothing can turn to something
in a matter of seconds.
Where these teeth stay clenched
and these fingers are always moving.
These things inside of me were never actually lost
they weren't stolen or taken away from me-
I guess they were just misplaced.