as much as i don't have my ****
together (as much as i forget to
do my dishes or take out the
trash or breathe regularly) i
would have figured myself
out for you,   would have
taught myself to be tidy
and small, would have
studied   the    art    of
going  a   f u l l   day
without  having  a
panic       attack,
would   h a v e
read   up   on
how  to  get
myself  out
of bed and
i n t o  the
s h o w e r
every  day.
i     haven't
watered my
plants   since
the  first  week
o  f      j  u  n  e.

i think
i've forgotten
how to write.
they say you're
supposed to push
through that, but i
keep writing the
same thing over
and over again. i
can only say "holy
**** i miss you" in
so many ways. i
used to say it in
laced fingers and
lingering forehead
kisses. now i say it
in every syllable of
every word i've
posted on the
internet in case
you might see
them (aside from
the fact that they
would otherwise
drown me in my
sleep) and in
desperate
searches
for notes
that i just
maybe didn't
grab when i
threw out the
final pieces of
your things last
month. i don't
know how to
do this, Ryan.
i can't do this.

why
is       it
so hard to
tell          you
g o o d n i g h t
when i know
i'll see you
again
come
morning?
i read once that
the soul doesn't know
time   or   reason,   it   only
understands when it's
not whole.  i guess
that means
you're
m   y
missing
piece  ,  the
one    i've    thought
was too lost to be found
(my      hands      don't
s h a k e     w h e n
y  o  u   '  r  e
around)

strip me down
so that i'm just
skin and bone;
tell me i am
everything
that you could
ever want,
tell me i am
everything,
tell me i am