when i came into
work this morning

you were upset
on the edge
just waiting for a call
from your brother

last night your niece
tried to commit suicide

(she wouldn't have
made it if her twin hadn't
had an odd feeling and
called her)

my stomach dropped
i don't know this girl

(they found her passed
out with empty bottles
of xanax and
cough syrup)

you told the story
over the course of
the day unfolding family
details like clean laundry

(critical condition
and now her dad has to
go to the police because
she doesn't take xanex)

"why would
she do that?
she only totaled
her car it wasn't
that bad why
would she do this?"

i didn't say
anything
thinking maybe
it was just the
thing that pushed
her over the edge

and the day wore on
you weren't quite
there mentally
i could tell

but on the other
hand i wasn't really
either too busy wishing
i was your niece.

lipstick stains on
paper coffee cup lids
my brother always
told me i would have
to sit back and watch people
younger and more
inexperienced than i
succeed while i suffered.

oh but i
think he
was wrong
three conversations
and one free cup
of coffee later
things are starting
to look up for me

and i'm thinking that
i am the younger
one succeeding while
elders suffer.

(on the flipside i
don't want to be
making sandwiches
for the rest of my life)

and i wonder sometimes
if i'm just naturally
gifted or if i just naturally
try too hard to be liked

(or there's an offchance
a slim blueish sliver of
possibility that the stars
have all been lined up for me)

anyway that assumption
however incorrect it may
be is better than
last week when i
was thinking that no longer
was i good enough

*(but scratch that
nothing i ever accomplish
or that the skies
have pre-established
will make me believe
i'm good enough.)

steeped my
skin in ginger
a bathtub brew and
sweaty forehead

but i was
the teabag.

when i shut
my eyes
all i could see
was red lines

rubbing where
they should be
remembering
squinting my eyes
in main street sun
thighs burning

(dear goodness
i don't know how
i ended up here
again after so long)

opened my eyes
saw my wrists

white and
whiter scarred
but i always
picture them as
red and
redder slit.

gasping for hot
and humid air
motivation is
strangely illusive
but visualization
forever inclusive.

i'm boiling alive
or bathing to die
in scalding bathrooms
of appalling apathy.

stop it

i know you're
lying in bed
and i know that
before you fell asleep

you went through a
mental list of all
the people you love
and prayed for each one

and i know
that i was
somewhere there
in your liturgy

stop it

i mean
it's great that
you know what
you believe like that

but please
don't get me
mixed up
in it

i don't know
why but
the thought is
bothering me tonight.

a guillotine
vs. a guilt

i don't believe that
i have anything
to truly regret

but guilt
is so appealing

i don't believe that
execution is still
widely used

but death by society
is still oh so feasible.

have you ever
felt homeless?

i have
living like a
stranger in
a glass guesthouse.

but then i took
a baseball bat to the
transparent walls

and now
i just feel
homeless.

what shows the true
color of a house as a home
is the number eyes watching
through the windows

is a home someplace
out of the cold and rain
or is a home someplace
outside of icy critical pain?

a house
vs. a home.

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

cornstarch feet
toothpaste running
through my hair
listen to the vinegar hiss

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

petroleum based
insecurity wrapped in
a greasy old bandanna
the stuff of family feuds

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

i know that i often
feel about the size
of the proverbial
postage stamp

but every steamed up
monday night i try
to convince myself that
i'm safe in my own skin

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and sound now)*

go ahead
choke me
in your eyes
strangle me
tangled up in
unjust judgement

i'm always told
that i'm too
critical
but spend any time
under my nails
and you'll start
to realize why
i'm cynical.

it's not that
i'm not sincere
it's that i don't
know how to
convey that i
actually care

(what a complex
color scheme
so bright and
busy on the mind
i can feel your eyes
picking it apart)

because i've
worked hard
to look like
i don't
worked hard to pretend
i don't need you to care

(and how my words
start looking
unconventional
formulated to seem
like something i
never was)

i wasn't
not really
it was just the
here's the thing
how do i say
tired?

(i don't think i'll
ever see you again
and i don't feel as old
as the others seemed)

i'm grateful
for your gifts
and kind words
i really am

(i cashed your checks
months before
hitting the post office
go ahead and
call me a
heartless *****)

just know that
i haven't
spent a single
cent of it

it's sitting in
my checking
account just
waiting and
wondering how
much of
my hospital bill
it will cover

(but if there's anything i can't
do that's blame you for wanting to
contribute to the side of my
personality that you never knew)

please put your money
where your intentions are
and you know what they say
about good intentions

(that the road to hades
is paved with them)

but they never did
mention which one
of us was heading
towards hell.