A little slip of my fragile mind
And I don't want to exist.

A little slip of my hand
Leaves blood dripping off of my wrist.

A little slip of my tongue
Lets you know what's going on.

And when you slip your hand in mine
You help me to be strong.

The past few weeks,
I've been asking you to go home early.
One more minute, baby.
One more hour.
I'll go home at 1.
2 o'clock, I promise.

Six o'clock comes around,
And I rise with the sun.
And you're stretched like a cat on the floor.

Sharing a tiny couch isn't ideal.
It isn't fun.
It's too warm on one side,
And freezing on the other.
There is no middle ground.

I've spent 24 full hours without you,
Waiting on 24 more.
I hate it.
I want my body to be frigid on one side.
And boiling on the other.

I want you to squish my arm,
And send pain shooting up my spine
With an accidental knee to the back.

I want you to squeeze me
To the point where it's uncomfortable.

I want to be next to you,
To be near you.
As much as possible.
As long as I can.
I want to be yours.

The difference between my consciousness and subconsciousness is so severe,
So severe I fear I must sever the tie between the two.
Two halves of a whole that is me.

One says, "Be happy! Why not?"
And the other says, "Be happy why? Not!"
I feel the weight of the disagreement and I can't wait for it to stop.

My left hand holds the cake,
As the blade in the right "accidentally" slices my left wrist instead.

This fight within myself has left me battle scarred,
But the battle scars on my wrists and thighs
Are no match for the scars on my heart.

Pain at your soft hand
One touch and I am broken
Hold me softly still.

You hold me at arm's length
Afraid of my gaze
Afraid of my touch
Afraid of my love
Afraid of my leaving.

I hold you at arm's length
Ashamed of myself
Ashamed of my thoughts
Ashamed of my pain
Ashamed of my emotions.

We hold each other at arm's length
Accustomed to the space
Accustomed to the silence
Accustomed to the solitude
Accustomed to the seclusion.

We hold each other at arm's length
At arms length, but we hold each other still.

I had a dream of you last night.
A simple dream but a dream nonetheless.
I dreamt that you held me tight.
Held me in your arms,  against your chest.

I was disgusted.
I was distraught.
Before waking, I mustered a final thought.

I hate you.

I am invisible.
When you observe the Earth from space,

I am invisible.
When you look over my country,

I am invisible.
When you scout my town,

I am invisible.
When you pass me on the street,

I am invisible.
When you gaze through my eyes,

I am invisible.
When you speak at me,

I am invisible.
When you hold me,

I am invisible.
When you have me under your sheets,

I am invisible.
When you say you love me,

I am invisible.
Can I exist if

I am invisible?
Should I?

Suddenly, I feel myself fighting for air.
Another thing I have to fight for and it doesn't seem fair.
We've been fighting for hours.
I just need a break.
I need you to leave.
You can do better.
You can live better.
You can be better.
Without me.

Fighting for hours and a simple misunderstanding pushes me over the edge,
And I can feel myself falling, struggling for air.
I can feel hands on me.
Helping me up.
Pulling me onto my feet.
But I'm blind to you.
I run to the street, needing to get away from you.

Suddenly, I'm staring into the headlights.
Countless headlights.
I know they're coming closer,
And I don't care.

This isn't the first time I didn't care.
It isn't the second time,
Or the third.
I guess it makes twelve now.
Or thirteen.
I don't even remember.

Although I can't see you, I feel those hands on me.
Those once strong hands,
Made tired and weak from trying to catch me.
I pull harder and harder.
I want to see the beautiful light.
I want to walk towards the light.

Again, I'm falling, falling harder than ever.
I feel my head fall into your palm,
And I know you let my head crush your hand on the cement of the old sidewalk.

And I know you'll always let me crush your hands.
And I know that you'll never let me look into the headlights.
But I would rather crush my body than crush your hands.

We sit across a tiny table.
Passing the time by passing our intellect back and forth,
Yet both keeping secrets hidden away.

I can read it on your face, though.
Though you try to hide it,
I can always see right through you.

We are no longer at an impasse,
But you don't want me to know that until you are ready.
All of this is checkered across your face.

I sit in wait for you to make your move,
To reach out and take your queen.
I am always waiting for you,
In this endless game.

Your gaze raises and grasps mine.
You lick the lips of your gaping mouth,
You lean forward and say,
"Oh is it my turn?"

That was the longest game of chess that I have ever played.

Just because I do not think
That it is essential to the content of a poem
For an entity to compose one's life story in a matter such as this,
Using terminology that everybody can plainly see was looked up on thesaurus.com...

Doesn't mean that my writing isn't valid.

I don't write for you unless I explicitly say otherwise.
My poems are my story.
They are my heartbreak,
And my thoughts as the aforementioned heart was breaking.
Now, was the above line 'smarticle' enough?
But enough joking.

My poems are my story.
They are my heartbreak.
They are my short bursts of happiness,
And the bone-crushing fall afterwards.

They are my thoughts,
My weird, creepy, and, I will admit, sometimes slightly ****** dreams.
They are my lifeline.

They are the way that I express my innermost thoughts
That I will never be able to say out loud.

They are my coping mechanism.
They are my shield and my sword all at once.

My poetry is mine.

Don't try to tell me it's wrong.

I get home from work,
And settle down on the couch.
Food and Netflix time.

I went to see her.
The skinny doctor lady.
She tested my blood.

She tested my mind,
While waiting for the blood test.
Severely depressed.

I knew that, of course.
I have known since I was nine.
Just confirmation.

I told her my pain.
That all-over, horrid pain.
Everywhere. Always.

Fibromyalgia.
Silent, Invisible Pain.
It makes so much sense.

The blood tests came back.
Her drawn-in eyebrows furrowed.
I'm diabetic.

She looked so worried.
I am nearly anemic.
What else could go wrong?

Dejected, she said
I can't have children. Ever.
I am broken now.

Invisible pain.
Emotional. Physical.
No death to stop it.

You're toxic.

You're the extra number in H2O2
Seemingly harmless,
But deadly. Combustible.

You're toxic.

You're the thought
That started killing
In the name of God.

You're toxic.

You're Helen of Sparta,
Or Troy, if you will.
Without the supposed beauty or skill.

You're Toxic.

You **** everything you touch.
Flowers suffocate
When they share your air.

You're toxic.

You break me in two.
Then you tell me that you don't
Want a broken girl.

Act now;
Think later.

Type now;
Think later.

This poem *****

I am Vesuvius.
Beloved and seemingly sturdy and strong and safe.
People mill around my base,
Planting their food and livelihood in my soil.

People trust my seemingly sturdy and strong and safe appearance,
Not even considering the danger within me,
Until I erupt.

The swirling, boiling magma and the intense pressure form a deadly combination.
Everyone around me, everyone I hold dear is gone.
Everyone who talked and played and worked and lived near me is gone.
Everyone who utilized my resources.
Everyone that trusted me is gone.

It is then that I realize something about myself.
Inside that seemingly sturdy and strong and safe exterior,
I am toxic.

There you are.
Appearing in my mind again.
Your smile, always beautiful.
Your eyes, always shining.
Your voice, always a song.

You must feel welcome here,
Always resting in my head.
Finding your way in whenever I try to change the locks.

Can't you see that every second you come near me,
Every word that you say,
Every single day that I see you,
Every time we lock eyes,
I'm dying inside.

I love you with all my heart,
And the love clutches to my blood
As it flows through the rest of my body.
I love you now with all of my being.
This unrequited love song always playing, always replaying.
Over... And over... And over.

In my head I hear a familiar beat.
I can feel my heart rate speeding up.
And there you are.
Not just in my head.
My stomach drops and I get that feeling.
That roller coaster feeling.

I don't know everything,
But these things I do.
You don't love me.
I love you.
Thats enough for unrequited love.
No Shakespeare needed.

Smile for me one last time.
One last hug.
Some final words.
Then I'm done.
Then these words will once again be tucked back into my memory.
As I see you walk away with my heart once again.