You're not a solider
You're not a veteran
But (you've) fought more battles
than one
And you've (got) the wounds lining
Your thighs and wrists to prove it
You have more weapons than soldiers
are allowed (to) carry
You fight a new battle each night
But somehow you're still (hang)ing
(on)

I hate to say brb(be right back)
I hate to say text me anytime
I hate to say goodnight
I really do
Wishing I could stop time
We'll talk everday without saying goodbye

And I wonder if we'll ever meet
*Cause you're on the other side

This is the kind of cold that makes your
teeth feel like they have skin.
This is a twenty lined story about
your beggar arms and your open hands.
This is about finding warmth in whiskey
when you’re not much of a drinker.
You can’t even hold your water let alone
your drink—or your tongue, or your heart.
One glass too much and you’re vomiting
sonnets into the phone, into the gutter.
***** something into me.
I don’t care if it’s last night’s Chinese
or last year’s tears.
The world isn’t in your books and maps.
And it isn’t out there.
It’s here.
It’s here.
Take my gloves for the cold.
They’re yours, okay?
Our hands have always been the same size

Another lonely day
For me to get through
I need to find my way
But that’s hard to do.
Sobriety hurt so bad
I wish to forget
But I gave it all I had
I knew I couldn't handle it.
I need to find a high
And ride it 'til the end
Without it I can't get by
Drugs are like my best friend.
It picks me up when I'm low
And at times gives me hope
It helps the real me to show
And even helps me cope.
It never lets me down
And it never tells a lie
It takes away my frown
And it helps me to get by.
Drugs are like my best friend
When I’m left all alone
On them I'll always depend
Because I’m scared of the unknown.
Its been a hell of a ride
But now it must end
I know deep down inside
Drugs aren't my best friend.

I have never known love.
I have never been held by somebody who said
“We fit together”.
There has never been another
And that is fine.
I can’t live up to someone’s standards
And I can’t give more than I can take.
Of my heart to only one.
There isn't a part of me
That I can let ache
Because I need him by me.
I can’t give up drinking, and messing myself up,
Until I am tangled and bent.
It is my art, and it is an instinct
To remain convoluted and tormented.
It’s not a burden I can lay on someone without guilt.
Everyone is shallow to some extent,
And unless he is beautiful superficially,
I won’t be able to step out holding his hand.
Walk, head held high,
Telling the crowd that yes, he is mine
And I am his.
There are parts of me I love,
Slender ankles, fragile eyes,
But too many that I hate.
So it is impossible to believe someone
Who tells me that I am deadly
Beautiful,
Until those parts are blotted out, fixed.
I will continue to have to deal with anorexia and depression,
States that will always threaten to asphyxiate me
And I understand these are things that most people can’t understand.
This sort of continual struggle
Which I let creep beneath my thoughts
Every single ******* day.
Parts of me that are locked away,
Quietly pushed to the furthest corners
Under the bed
Shamefully.
There are dreams of coffee in the morning,
Cigarettes after ***,
Fingers down my back,
And falling asleep on his lap.
But I am unsure of what to say, and how to act
So he won’t have feelings of being oppressed or worse
Unloved.
I swing between extremes,
And there is no in between.
I live explosively, and that’s not something
Easily accepted.
Terrified of all these rules and warnings
And reining back,
I would rather be alone.

It’s a different kind of Friday.

One where, if I inhale deeply enough, I might catch the tail end of your air.

One where, with arms fully extended, we could possibly graze fingertips.

One where you are as near as you have ever been.

Today, you are as near as here.