Knives in my knee
Needles in my wrist
Everything feels wrong
My knuckles turned white
So I stopped holding on.

Why did you take me off medication?
I said I was feeling better
You thought that meant ready
But just because the symptoms begin to dissipate
Does not mean the disease has been cured.
I never used it as a crutch
But now I start to feel as though it was one.
Something to keep me balanced
To keep me at a flat line
Rather than constantly spiking up and down
Left and right
In different directions.
I don't think a person can just stop being
Manic depressive and anxious.
PTSD doesn't simply
Go away.
That mood disorder, similar to bipolar,
That I cannot pronounce does not just
Fade out over time.
It is always there, it is just managed.
Now with no medicine
No therapy
No help from those who are supposed to be there for me
What am I to do?
I purge
I drink
I smoke
And that is the best of it all.
Shortly after I begin to sink.
You may think I am being melodramatic
But this is the life of a self-medicating person
Who has nowhere else to turn.

You were like a train coming at me head-on. I saw you from a great distance, but I couldn't be bothered to move. Don't kiss train wrecks.
I wasn't afraid.

They say the seconds before your death are elongated, that time feels different there. The clock ticks in an altered fashion. What is nothing but a mere millisecond, a second if you're lucky, is outstretched in the passing between life and death. That's how our time together felt.

DON'T KISS TRAIN WRECKS

Like any other story,  my happiness was short lived. Reality intervened and that collision was far worse than any train wreck. You told me it was foolish, to presume we would ever truly be good together. You spoke these words in such a way, like I should have known- and oh, I should have. Don't kiss train wrecks.

You were but a passing train. I was lost, stumbling stupidly in your way, as if I was appointing you to save my life. Irony had never been so cruel.

I felt a numbness in my whole body.
And then there was smoke and it was dust that I'd become once more.
Don't kiss train wrecks.

tired eyes
fingers
tapping
typing

a train
rattling the window panes
he swears
the vibration
makes the cracks
get wider

a drag
of greyness
heavy
taking life
out of his lungs

an empty page
the key of his type writer
held down
all at once

confused
rain
splattering
what's wrong with the sky
when it's blue

grinding
the joint
a bird's call
making him miss
his cat

he longs for turmoil
he longs for piece
he gets neither