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  Dec 2015 Kay
Tom Leveille
someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand
Kay Jun 2015
It's hard, i'll admit. Or maybe, like you said, I make it hard. But the thing is, my love, how do i really begin to talk about something I know naught of ?How do i describe the numbing sadness,  the devastating mental pain?
How do i even describe anything ?
Sometimes I wish I could just end it all, it's so hard being strong and to smile and try. I'm weak, I know. I could have never been like you. I tried so hard. Yeah, I'll admit, those thoughts still cross my mind every now and then. And yes, I might have given in a few times in the past.
There are still days where i eat nothing, and I bleed, and drink and do all those bad things I promised not to.
I guess, today-tonight, is one of those nights.
  May 2015 Kay
Tom Leveille
have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?
Kay May 2015
To anyone who has cared,
I'm sorry I leave you with this burden upon you now. To bear the weight of another lost cause. I am sorry I left you with so much mess to clean up. Clorox removes the blood, but the image is still there, isn't it ? I could apologize for everything, even by existence truly. But I am tired. I have exhausted all that was in me. My soul is tired. Tired of being strong. Tired of trying to please everything, and everyone. I am tired of being who you want me to be, I am tired of being misunderstood. Of having no one care enough to pull me back in when I needed it most. You made it obvious tonight, that you were tired of me. Tired of me, and my emotional baggage. Of my demons, of my problematic life. Trust me, I dont blame you. Anyone would have exhausted faster than you did. You pushed til it was evident, you were running on your last bits of sanity. I am sorry, I did everything I promised that I wouldn't do. I've made it harder for you; although so many times, I've tried so so much harder to make it so much more easier. I always failed. One of the many things I was never good at. Although, I'm staring at my screen, the luminosity hurting my eyes, wishing you'd try and push and care. I put myself in this position. I lied and said I was okay, I wasn't. I was breaking, being torn apart into pieces so unrecognizable. I was crying, I was heaving, and you pushed. I saw, but I pushed back. And i guess, Sweetheart, I guess that you simply couldn't take it anymore. I dont blame you. I'm horrible, a mess. You deserve better. A girl who would sing you lullabies with her smooth soft voice. Someone who threaded easily and gracefully. Rather, not a person who cried and screamed in agony because of her own personal torment. Not a girl born with two left feet, so clumsy I was in everything. I say was, and not am, because all I feel now is the dying embers of a soul that once was. And not is. All I feel is the ashes of a life that could have sprouted vibrantly and beautifully, but rather allowed the weeds to consume her. You were never one for poety, and I guess you'll never understand what I say, would you ? I guess I could apologize for that too. Even when I'm gone I'm confusing you, causing worry and doubt and hurt. What a sad excuse of a life, right ? I'm sorry I let you in so much, only to bring you so very down. I should have saved you from the fall. Who knows, you might just never read this. And all my words, my inconsistent, depressive ***** would be lost to times. I am a waste. A sad shell of a girl, a ghost of a pretty face. I left you without a warning, without a whisper. Without a sound. Im sorry my love, for the incomparable grief that I have ensued to your sensitive soul. I hope you do find someone better, I hope she treats you like I should have, like I couldnt have. I could have heard you said, I pushed you away, it was my fault. But you just wouldn't understand how depressing it could get. How ******* sad I felt. I haven't talked to anyone in the past 3 days. I lied when i said it was just today. I lied because you had exams. Maybe one day, you'd find this, and you'd hate me even more for the fact that yet again, she's hidden something from you. Yet again, I have lied.
I'm sorry.
Maybe the ***** would hit my veins before I do. Maybe the meds would.
And maybe, you'd be happier eventually without me around.
I'm sorry love. I'm sorry.
And maybe you'd figure out that I'm gone when you're done taking your space as well.
Kay Mar 2015
I cant remember the last time I felt the real pang of depression. Their words just pass through me, it doesn't sting anymore. The way you constantly make me feel inadequate doesn't even bother me like it used to . And sometimes, then I wonder, what if i got so used to the constant pain and sadness, that I, in a sick distorted way, made the feeling normal, and live in it, like it is my shadow, unfurling and consuming me, turning me to stone. But it scares me, the way I just don't seem to feel. I'd never be good enough, I would never be good enough; that is something I've seemed to tell myself so much that now it just causes a slight shrug, or the soft remembrance of that sickening feeling in your stomach right before you were about to cry. Am I okay ? Would I be considered okay ? Why can't I show empathy for the people I care about ? Where has my emotion gone. I see the world in varying shades of grey. There is nothing exciting to my life anymore, I have given up what once seemed to be enjoyable, and replaced it with this sickening grey tinted glasses. I can't draw, my imagination always evades my endeavors to express what I keep bottled in the far depths of my rusted soul. I can't paint. I've lost the joy of colour and everything I create is never good enough ( Like myself.) But, somewhere inside my head, I do know that I'm somewhat comfortable with this lack of feeling. I don't mind not crying, not feeling, not expression. I feel like I am just a fleeting shadow on life's tapestry, not even an image. But I do not mind the lack, *I have made the grey scale my home, and the shadows are my friends.
Im trying, i swear.
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