Shakespeare dropped his words
On paper
With such precision and thought
And innuendo  
And irony and
All fit in his pieces
Like magnificent puzzles
That would forever transcend
The cruelty of time.

I dropped my thoughts before my words could speak them
Before I could create art
Before I could explain to you
The pieces in my missing puzzle
That I've let sit out
And be weathered
And beaten
And ruined by every tik and every tok.

And every time I open my mouth
And slide my tongue onto my lips,
Just to keep them from drying,
I can't say what I want.
And every smile,
And every kind gesture
Is all I can show.

My words are not pieces of something greater;
They're wrong and raw and destructive
And unkept and
Anything
But
Static.

Please give me the strength to close my mouth,
And close my eyes.
And wait until time decides to heal again
Because I don't want to ruin
The most beautiful thing I had ever had.

because when I was fourteen,
I'd put on my angsty coat
With its burlap pockets
And its itchy collar
And its ill-fit
And I'd go out with my middle fingers
Toasting the world
Blaming every stranger on the street
For every night I couldn't sleep.

And sick was a cold
Sick was a fever.
Sick was the shakes from not eating.
Because I'm a girl.
And my value does not stem
Past my appearance.

When I was sixteen
I rimmed my eyes in charcoal black
And donned a matching outfit
That would bring out
The feigned vacancy in my prying eyes
As the ambivalence of wanting to eat the world
And wanting to hide from it
Weighed on my narrow shoulders.
And a boy thought I was a Satanist.
And he avoided me.
And I loved it.

Now I'm older --
But still just a kid.
And I wear real clothes
That make me look like I'm twelve.
But at least I'm happy.
And sick has a different meaning.

It's reaches past the physiological nausea that accompanies
And into the aches and pains of waking up every day
And through the cold, cold labyrinth in which I've been lost
For seven years
And the sickness is laughing my *** off
In a room full of beautiful people
That I love
That I would do (almost) anything for
And trying to decide whether or not tonight is the night
With absolute glee I ponder
Is tonight the night
When I can cut the crap
And finally get a good ******* night's sleep
And not feel the obligation
And not deal with the fact my ******* body
Is crapping the **** out on me
At nineteen.
And that whatever the **** this is
Is only enough to make me miserable
And not enough to **** me
Because most days, the curiosity keeps me going
And going
And ******* going
And then I'm in pain.
And I laugh,
Because I take myself way too seriously.
And life is a **** beautiful gift after all
right?
And I've got the whole world at my feet.
Who cares about a little pain?

I need to be awake in seven hours
And tonight I don't feel destructive.
I want to apologize to my mother for being so cold
Even when I try not to be.
And I want to buy her a nice house and all the clothes she wants
So she can feel comfortable going to work.
So she sees that she's beautiful.
Even if it's superficial.
And I can't fix anything
And I can't turn my brain off
And this isn't even art anymore.
This is..
It's...

Because who the **** doesn't love being sick.

You never think it's gonna be you.

"Those problems are for the other, they're not mine.
I am young and I am resilient and I shall never grow old
And illness will never mar my body
And these cigarettes will never **** me
And a headache is just a headache
And a cold is just a cold."

But then it gets someone you know.
And then it gets someone you love.

And then it gets you.

i tried
so hard
for all of you to see
that i had lived my life
and i was done
because i couldn't take any more
and there was nothing more to give
and i was sick of barely sleeping
and waking up with headaches
and feeding a sour stomach
and nurturing a fictional soul.
i wanted you to just let me go.
and all our little problems would be solved.

but here i sit.

Never did I think that I'd miss the feeling
Of waking up on cold tile floors
With my face pressed against the sweaty floor
And nausea bubbling from my gut.

Never did I think I'd miss gagging on my own breath
Coated in last night's cigarettes
And too much bourbon
And someone else's mouth.

Never did I think I'd miss
Waking up next to someone
And not giving a **** who you were.

I sipped candle wax
and was told I was a genius
As it hardened in my throat
And every cut and bruise
Is honored as glory and strength
When it's just a sign of my pathetic mortality
And every step I take into the ocean
On cracked feet and hot skin
Burned because I demanded it to
And 60 days of minimal sleep
Is a sign of dedication
To my waking hours
Rather than successful neurofunction

And for all these reasons,
They tell me I'm smart because
Intelligence is measured in longetivity
In the face of persistent self destruction
Because the sick are those who've truly got it right.

Nietzsche spoke of an inversion of values
Where weakness becomes our pride
And strength is deemed repulsive.

You see, modesty's a virtue
That it's easier to promote
With candlewax
hardening in your
cold,
dead,
throat.