It climbed out from under the bed,
Into my sleeping mouth,
And down my throat.

It stretched its arms into my own;
Its legs reaching down to my feet.
It caused me to stir.
It blinked my eyes.

It whispered to no one.

I tried to **** it.
Red droplets.
Pink pills.
Bitter drinks.
Open legs.

Open ends.

And with this slow death,
Came a slow decay.
And a greasy rot corrupting my insides.

This dead weight;
This dead thing;
I never named it.

I never called it anything.

I just carried her around.
Let her sit within me.

Mourned.

I can't even remember what I was mourning.

The life of a teenage girl
Is tumultuous.
She lives thirty lives in 7 short years
Combs her hair with a shaky hand
That turns still and calloused as time goes by.
Every year colored with
Black tears from too much mascara
And lipstick on teeth from untamed laughter
And dark circles under eyes from too many late nights
And scars from everything beautiful and ugly that ever touched her.

Her hands are so full
From every boy who ever intertwined his fingers with hers
And left behind whatever he did when he was finally gone.

And the ventricles of her heart; so swollen
She feels as though she may collapse under the weight of her heart.

And written in every vein,
Every capillary,
Every lobe,
Every nerve,
Are all the consuming ways in which she loves all that she loves.

And her stomach is scarred from that churning feeling;
That nauseating, stinging, consuming feeling.
That speeds in and out when she's enveloped by fear,
Or love,
Or hatred,
Or heartache.

And on her skin,
The scent of her family;
The ones bound by blood, and the ones bound by destiny.
The ones who made her strong and taught her to love.

So here's to family:
That chaotic wake up call
That didn't show its light until she realized just how bright it truly shines.

Little pink pills,
Like a chemical life support,
Stick to the walls of my esophagus
And refuse to budge
And become the lump in my throat
That I carry around
Throughout my day
When the man harasses me on the street
When the stranger compliments my shoes
When my friends' eyes burn.

Little pink pills
Can't even save a small girl
From that big voice
Creeping up from her cerebellum
Into her temporal lobe
And whispering into her ear
And taunting
And laughing
And then screaming.

Little pink pills,
to delay the inevitable.

Little pink pills,
to deter final peace.

Done with The Good Things.
Finished with Hypochondriasis.
Ending each sentence,
With a period.
For Heaven's sake,
finality is too elusive.
And I just want to muster the vocal power
To tell you
I need you gone.
I need you gone from my eyes,
Because you are too **** close.
And I can't stop running.

I've finished with The Good Things.
It's over.
I'm done.

Alone at night
I find myself wide-eyed
Clutching sheets with white knuckles
Peering out from under the covers
Hiding like a child
Keeping myself
Holding myself together
Under these sheets
Under the weight of cotton
So I don't fly away.

Stealing my breath tight in my chest I count to ten
With cheeks turning red
And five fingers reaching into the darkness
Stretching themselves into nothingness
Until they spring back
To hold my cotton fortress steadfast
Against the tyranny of night.

The grumbling and groaning of the house
Churns my stomach
And I sink into these sheets
With my breath coming back at me
As I hide beneath covers
And sing a song that makes me happy
But it sounds all wrong
And as a last resort
I reach over to the other side of this big bed
And put my hand on your warm skin
And instead of complaining;

You stretch out your arm
And pull me into you
And in that moment, I know.