I think I was alive once
But I don't believe I am any-more
There are a few gaping gashes on my upper thighs
That keep telling me that if I am
I won't be for much longer

I tried digging my aches out
I tried burning my aches up
And cutting them open seemed to be the only viable way
Of letting them all escape

There are a few gaping gashes on my upper thighs
And they won't stop asking me questions
"Did he really mean it?"
"Why would you do that?"
"Why are you such a monster?"
So I dig a little deeper
Into the gashes in my thighs
And yet again
I find no answers in the droplets of blood

You see the thing is
The sea will never stop asking me for a kiss
The rope will never stop telling me to make it a noose
The gashes on my thighs will never stop asking me questions
My phone will never tell me not to answer your call
And I don't think I'm strong enough
To resist those poisonous addictions

I think I was alive once
I think I died a long time ago
I think my thighs are a mausoleum of dead flesh
I think my thoughts have finally stopped processing
I think everything is finally over

There are bright lights in my eyes
I'm dressed in all white
This was the final battle
And I've lost the fight

My flesh has become a canvas
There are tubes clenching my arms
I have a painstaking ache to be free
And these doctors won't stop the alarms

I've broken free of the bed
And traced my pains on the wall
My eyes scan the room blankly
And on you they don't fall

These mutilated arms long to hold you
Waiting for everyone to leave is a chore
I've missed you too long, dear
I'll just fall to the floor

The doctors are gone now
And I didn't yell
When I slipped from the window
And laughed as I fell

I've been longing too long
My mind's finally cracked
All I needed to live
Was for you to come back

This is the darkest that I've ever felt
You know that
You've known that for a long time
You didn't have to tell me that you cared you know
You could've taken your outing just like everyone else has
My mind has been a dark place for years
But you're just now deciding to recognize it?
*******
I'm tired of writing about you
I'm tired of caring about you
I'm tired of loving you
In all honesty
I just wish I never met you

First there is the prep.
The roommate.
Wearing salmon colored pants.  
He has Shaggy from ****** Doo
On his left thigh.
The alcoholic.
She has a drinking problem.
She is in denial of her drinking problem.
She hangs out with the loners.
The loners.
Unkempt, unattractive and fat in all the wrong places.
The blond looks like Tom Petty.
The one with dark hair, glasses and braces
They live next door.
Living together but segregated. 
Wild cards.
All of us.

©Gambit '13

You'll be alright,
Just stick to the fight
The battle plan to not regress
Don't lose this time against yourself

But your weapons down,
You seem exhausted,
Let me warm you some tea, dear.
Aren't you cold?

I have a fuzzy blanket or a silk blanket
You can choose one...
Or have both if choosing is overwhelming
Lay down now and close your eyes

Oh don't worry about the tea,
I'll wake you up later
Just don't stress, darling
You need to rest
and eat a lovely meal
Before I allow you to return
to the battle against yourself

We're fine right?
You and I?
Most of the time we stare at each other trying to find the right word to say.

But we don't so it's just easier not to speak.
Trust me.
It's not.

I think we forgot how to coexist so now everything is just awkward stumbles of "Hello's" and "No, you first's".

But it shouldn't be like this because we were fine, right?!

You, you were my best friend, my diary.
Diaries don't just grow legs and walk away so why did you?

I don't think you realized this, but I fell in love with you.

At least I think it's love because no one else makes my heart best like this.
No one else makes me break the laws of science and have butterflies in my stomach, terrorizing as they please.

Please tell me that you also feel this way because I can't stand it any longer.
I despise the thought of being the only one in a battle with my heart.

So once again, we're fine, right?

I hate when I ask for the time and someone will say "oh it's 5:30", when in reality it's 5:26

I know that it's four measly minutes and it may not seem like a lot, but why cut corners?
I like knowing the exact time because I know how long my favorite song is and if I can listen to it in the span of three minutes and twelve seconds while walking to class, I will.

My mind simply cannot deal with the fact that someone just lied to me about the time.
Time! Of all things.
Time is precious and we all want more of it.

If we had all the time in the world, we wouldn't worry about a **** thing.
I wouldn't worry about the fact that it takes me 13 minutes to straighten my hair.
I wouldn't worry about the time that it takes me to get to school, which is 23 minutes on a good day.
I wouldn't worry about being late to church because it takes me 32 minutes to get there.
I wouldn't worry about the fact that I got to the hospital 4 minutes too late and now, now there is no time left.

I like my time, you see?
If I were given one last chance to spend from 5:26 to 5:30 to spend with the person I loved most in the world, and then you said "its 5:30" , then I'd know I was too late.
It's not just about fast forwarding my time, it's about me knowing whether I have enough time to fix my make up one last time or listen to a song or just hug them for 7 more seconds.

It's about being able to say I love you, one last time.

most of us aren't in love
we're in lust
or like
or crushing or swooning or "in the honeymoon stage"
we're infatuated, "in love with the idea of love"
...lonely...
it seems silly really
that love, true love, real love
the kind that isn't a feeling in the morning that changes with your mood
is so rare, almost unattainable
like the infinitesimally small atom resting at the very tip of a needle
but we still hope
us non-lovers i mean. we strive
like gatsby for that green light we want to be (in) love(d)

we go about it different ways-- through crushes and infatuations and "s(he)'s hot" 's
but all us non-lovers
we're trying to love

The black and white butterfly is now stained red and purple.

When I was 16 my mom decided that the best way for her to feel good about her body again was to get plastic surgery.
Now my mom was always beautiful.
She was petite, had a tiny waist, full hips, and an overall curvy body.
In my eyes, she was perfect and I would've loved to look like her.

But she was unhappy.

Her stomach wasn't flat enough.
Her thighs too big and lets not even talk about the **** she felt was too small.

So cut, cut, cut away.
Tear her open.
Take the undesirable parts away and throw them out.
Never speak of them again.
But add some there.
Too little.
Not enough.
Don't worry about the person under all that skin.

Make them pretty again.
Make them pretty again.

And now look at her.
Hunched over because "beauty is pain."

And the butterfly tattoo on her lower back bleeds and red and purple, the colors of her bruised skin.

There is an overwhelming sadness washing over me,

I don't know how to surface,
            Or rid myself of this darkness.

A constant ebb and flow of numbness,
              Rolling, up and down my paralysed body.

I'm so sorry, I have wandered here again.

               Drag me out,
                                      Teach me how to breathe.