We were holding hands in the summer
and the street was cracked
and the clouds were being greedy
even through their kindness
and their tears turned salty on my cheeks
when I looked at him

It became too much;
he slipped down the rabbithole and faded
like eighty year old newsprint
until there wasn’t much left but the tattered shoes
I told him to replace months ago
and the echo of his last breath
on a breeze that was
staler than the bread left out on the counter
this morning

I saw the things I didn’t want to see,
the things he didn’t want me to see,
and I wished at that moment
for a gallon of bleach to pour into my head
just burn it all away

but no one can fade like he can.

I am no longer natural
Deep brown as I was
Covered in wringlets
I pressed myself out
Like ironed toast

I am a variation on auburn
More like my sister
Yet clearly unnatural
I almost regret it

I bleached myself out as if changing my color would change where I came from
I am someone else
And I wonder
Am I ashamed?

Trigger Warning**
I often imagine how I would react if it turns out you have died
It would explain why you haven't responded to my text messages
Or why I haven't heard about the purge
purge
purging you do
or the fight
fighting
fighting your parents are a part of
I imagine myself getting a single lined text message from my mother and knowing exactly what it means
Knowing exactly how you went
Seeing your last moments in my mind
"She is gone"
"She's passed on"
"She's not here anymore"
I imagine car crashes and pill bottles and blood in the bath tub
And I know you've seen all this too
I imagine this moment so often that it often blurs with reality for me
Every time I hear an ambulance my heart stops and I think
"This is it. Be prepared."
But a text message is never received
A phone call never comes
And I am left wondering,
Do you hate me? Or are you preparing for your death as much as I am?

Emails from airlines tease me, then torture me.
"Make your daydreams a reality"
"Flights on sale!"
Don't taunt me.
I look away from email to the wall;
Smiles greet me. Memories follow.
I remember that smile. It was a smile from when I was with you.
My smiles don't look like that now.
I pull out your shirt - it doesn't smell like you anymore.
I hold it close for a moment anyway.
I curl up sitting on the floor, incapacitated, halted.
Pulled beneath the waves.
It passes. It always does. It has to.
Here I have a life that I have built that you have never been able to touch,
It goes on without you here.
And there's nothing I can do about that.
So I'll continue on, living off dreams and memories.
And the emails will still come.

I followed you down the snowy sidewalks
Of these winding streets
and unknowingly you led me here,
to the crossroads of your heart
and I looked around
to see you'd disappeared
Without a trace
You' left me here
lost in the arcs of your body,
the cold of your dark eyes enough
to freeze my heart in time.
The mysteries of your mind
throbbing within my arteries
Firing up my life blood,
Keeping me alive, love
In this frozen eternity.

I memorized the shape of your face
while your head rested next to mine
but now the pillow is sunken
and the warmth has left my side

burning time as if it were a drug you destroy me

bold face lies
he experiences them everyday
masked in a never ending blanket
that unknowingly smothers him
confining him to a mere subject of ones own trickery
giving him the comfort of trust and honesty
then tearing it away
at the cost of ones own credulity
smirking in a way that makes him want to
lift out of his mortal body
damaging the soul of the antagonistic entity
the same entity that stole his confidence
that shattered his reliance on credibility
that shunned his desire to persevere
and at what cost?
an elitist mentality that was created to fool him?
what reward do the liars get?
for they are deceived as well
but are blind to knowing it.
their minds clouded by their own self resilience
that when they are the ones in need
they are alone
exiled to a vast plain of empty yellow pages
a victim of ones own doing
and from what origin is this conduct of behavior
well... have you ever been lied to?

The first time I went to the guidance office
(without being asked)
I was crying

You see, my friend had killed himself the night before
And I was having a hard time coping
He was 2 weeks away from graduating high school

We weren't going to school together at the time
But we lived in the same neighborhood
He was close to many of my very close friends

His mother was an addict
His father was abusive
He was forced to move in with him despite the fact

Some kids had decorated a tunnel in his name
There were pictures and poems
I left flowers and ribbons

The police officers told us that the pictures didn't look like him
When he was asked how he knew Cal
He said, "I met him on Sunday"

His only reference of a beautiful soul was
Him hanging above a bike path
By a rope he kept hidden from his family

Yet he claimed to know him
When he probably didn't know his name
Or what he did for us

They covered the art with paint
Claiming it was "vandalism"
This was the day after the funeral

I recanted this to Ms. Jackson
She told me he would want me to focus on my school work
She sent me back to class

They ask us why we never open up to them
How can we open up when the system is broken?
This isn't the story of a young boy's suicide

We are supposed to build trust with those who are around us for seven hours a day
But how can we
When they turn us away as we're crying?