I have been learning how to die:
My ribs are poking through and my coat is getting thin.
Love lies hidden in every rose,
It’s a restless hungry feeling that don’t mean no one no good.
Nothing is permanent in this wicked world;
You must let them go, they were born to go.
There was never meant to be clarity.
Let nothing disturb you; let nothing frighten you.

When the wind blows, the grass bends;
There are so many fragile things after all.
The earth has music for those who listen,
But those songs and bells were the laughter of guns
And their echoes are truly endless.
You said I should learn to sing along,
There’s paranoia in your veins.

Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be,
The world is filled with broken things.
You must have chaos within you,
You can turn a phrase into a weapon.
Words are the most powerful drug used by mankind;
I always have to justify how my tongue dances.

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple:
When you cease to exist who will you blame?

Hey God, am I allowed to break down now?
Is this a convenient time for me to fall to
pieces or do I need to make an appointment?
Can I cry now, God? Has this test ever
been passed? It sure feels like you just
gave up on me and sent me to Hell early.

Am I still alive, God?        Do I even want that answer?

I know I've sinned a lot and I'm sorry but
it's truthfully a miracle that I'm still breathing.
She's not. Breathing, that is. You stopped that
in November. I remember that, God: her cold hand
in mine and the overpowering sound of oxygen.

Are you sorry, God?

Because I think you took the wrong person.
I think you meant to take me--I swear I heard
you calling my name and I was ready and
then you ******* took her away.

Did you make a mistake, God?

Everybody does.

I'm scared of so many things right now.
Like if I'm making the right decision about my future:
Am I independent enough to leave my home and seek adventure?
What if I'm not living out my life to the fullest?
I don't want to regret these years but I can't seem to change myself.
Am I just as bad as what I complain about?
I'm terrified that I am my biggest pet peeve
and that I will never be able to escape myself.

I'm scared that my newfound anger isn't just a phase.
And how am I supposed to overcome my problems
if I instinctively shut them out before I have the chance to try?
I'm scared that second chances don't exist and
fear that I've ****** up the only one I get.
I worry that true happiness will never come to me again
but I know I'm probably just being overdramatic.

I'm terrified that I'm wrong about her and that
I will be too late to do any saving.
I know she doesn't want to be saved but I still fear
she'll choose death over us.

I fear that I'm wrong about everything.
I'm scared that nobody cares.
I'm terrified of being lonely.

Late September nights filled with
hushed voices and hand sanitizer
instead of essays about Romeo and Juliet.
You fell asleep in plastic chairs to the
melody of a constant beeping lullaby.
A walk to the cafeteria where you found
company in the doctors with circles
under their eyes. During these months
you redefined a "midnight snack" and
the journey was always longer than
the walk to the fridge at home.

Then a change of scenery came, but
the same routine remained. Days
blended into nights and soon you
were in the hospital on Christmas
holding back tears.
One foggy winter afternoon became
the date after the dash on a man's
gravestone; you knew because those
screams only ever mean one thing.
You wondered who would be next
and heard those cries for days after.
Your friends wondered why your
face grew cold when someone's
voice got too loud-you blamed it
on lack of sleep. But you weren't so
bad after a week, you were better right?

Well you were better in the sense that
your heart still beat and you knew the
exact cost of a grilled cheese and chocolate
milk in the cafeteria. But you were worse
in how you always forgot a straw to take
back upstairs and you didn't know her
room number, only the that it was the
third door on the right.

Your mom knew the security guards like
they were old friends but you didn't even
know their names because you were always
ashamed to be leaving. You saw the different
stages of grief on the faces of people in the
elevator and could tell when the last time
they cried was (it was always the night before.)

You knew her medication better than the doctors
and that scared you so you focused on the lines
on the monitor that you barely understood.
You grew used to sympathetic looks from familiar
faces in the halls. You hoped the families on those
couches would only be there for the night and not
the month like you were. You took on responsibility
you never wanted and that nurses didn't acknowledge.

You've grown into someone you don't want to be anymore;
filled with anger and grief. You laugh at everything hoping
you can force yourself to be happy, but it never works.
You don't allow yourself to think about anything other
than the bad and you don't know how to stop.
You can't tear down the very wall you built.

help