I remember it,
it was a warm Tuesday evening
and we were stumbling to the bus stop
that stood on the side
of the busy town centre street,
she was being herself,
telling me how terrible
I am
and how she hates every inch of me,
then she leaned in to kiss me;
this would happen nearly every day
but that warm Tuesday evening,
something clicked;
I took the anger I had felt for so long
and painted it on her body
with bruises
shades of purple,
yellows and blues;
she left me the next day
for a pretty boy she had met
a few days earlier;
we were never going to work;
she was crazy
and I was crazy for her;
that 'love' did not bring me joy
and hope,
it brought me suicidal thoughts
and hard liquor;
I still remember it,
the day I broke into a million
tiny little pieces;
I still find myself searching
for those pieces
and it kills me every time
I realise I can never get them back;
but I am trying
to re-build myself
with the little pieces
I managed to cling on to
in the shock of the fall

my hands are shaking
my bottom lip is trembling
and I stand,
like the rocks that await
to be hit by the sea,
I raise a fist and take it to
my own left upper-arm,
it hurts a little
but not enough,
I do it again,
raising my right fist
and striking it against
my other arm,
this time it hurt a lot more,
but I'm still not satisfied,
I hit and I hit
for around twenty minutes
until my arm is all kinds of colours;
blue, purple, yellow,
I am covered in bruises;
I am crying now and my vision
is blurred;
I pick up the phone and listen
to the voicemail you left for me
when I was too drunk to say my own name,
and I lie down on the floor
trying to remember
how your lips moved
when you spoke your words of hate
and how your eyes would always fill with tears
when you saw me take the bottle to my mouth

I feel it making it's way
through my body
like the shiver I get when you touch me,
or the burning sensation I get
when I'm pouring ***** down my throat;
I feel it making it's way into my heart
and into my lungs
like your love,
or my cigarette smoke;
I feel it tightening it's grasp
around my neck
like your hands,
or my noose;
I feel it killing me
like the cigarettes,
and the *****,
and the love

I just need to be left alone,
but don't stray too far;
I just need to know that you care,
but don't let out too much;
I just need to be able to stand
on my own two feet,
but don't let me collapse to the floor
for I fear my bones may break;
I have grown weaker
and my mind is slowly sinking
into a comfortable nothingness
and soon I will be sleeping
with the dead;
I just need to wait,
but I'm staring at clocks
with broken hands
and they've lost
their voice

the beauty that comes
from that little black pen
of yours
is more than what will ever
come from the stars
and the moon,
or the sun
and a clear blue sky;
your mind is working
so fast
and your pen still manages
to keep up with your train of thoughts;
your words scribbled on paper
are better than any
misty lake
on a cold Sunday morning
or a silent forest
on a dark Tuesday night;
your pen carries every single
emotion
from your brain
to the paper it is dancing over;
your beauty is
written through
that little black pen
and you should never
stop writing,
even when you feel empty,
you can find something
to write about;
never
stop

when asked the question
"why?"
I reply
by shrugging my shoulders
why?
I don't know,
maybe I am depressed
or maybe I am just
sad,
maybe I need another cigarette,
maybe I need to pour myself
another drink
or maybe I need a half-naked
pretty young girl to **** whatever
has clawed it's way into my skin
out and into the sweaty,
dark room I sit in,
so it can evaporate,
rid itself from my being;
no matter how much
I smoke,
drink,
****,
the loneliness still carves it's
entire existence into my bones
like lover's names in trees,
it leaves blood stains
and leaves me longing
for so much
more

I know I should stop,
I have told myself
a thousand
*******
times
but my mind won't listen
when it is restless and
needs comforting,
I am lighting
cigarette
after cigarette,
drinking *****,
whiskey, gin,
anything hard
to really put an end
to the voices in my head;
but they keep coming back
they're not backing down,
I'm being eaten
from the inside out

I could stay drunk for days,
I love the way I can't feel
my legs
or my head
and I can't see
what's in front of me;
I love how I can punch anything
and everything
and not feel it,
and I absolutely love
stumbling home
with ****** knuckles
and laughing at my own
stupidity;
I see inside of myself
when I'm drinking,
I see it all;
all the anger
and the pain,
we don't talk,
just look,
and that is enough,
to know that when I
inform people that there
is so much more to me
than what they see,
and they tell me I'm being
silly,
I know,
I know,
that you exist

WHEN MY BONES BREAK
FROM THIS LIFE I'VE BEEN LIVING,
WILL YOU BE THERE
TO PICK UP THE FRAGMENTS
OF MY ONCE-LOVING STABILITY?

I shake and I tremble
just trying to get my thoughts
in an order that works;
trying to get them
to assemble
in a way that makes
them easier
to understand;
left, right, centre,
nothing is fixed;

so,
the only thing left
is to
leave the thoughts,
make them go away
for a while;
drink,
****,
smoke,
thinking is painful,
numb the ******* pain
for a while

stumbling home
in the evening
with my breath
smelling of cheap beer
and cigarettes;
people worry,
I tell them not to;
I do this for me,
not for attention
or sympathy,
I do this to feel
more alive,
because I feel so
dead inside
and my thoughts
are racing;
drinking shuts them up
for a couple of hours
and I feel better;
I feel sick,
but I also feel
great,
like I can do anything;
like nothing can hurt me;
is this what death
tastes like?
god,
I hope so

she told me
I broke her heart
but she
had mine
in her hands
and she
was holding it
so tightly
and she
was stopping it
from beating
and she
was killing me;
what was I
supposed to do?

and I know
I said I’d be better
and I would
do more,
but honestly,
everything is
falling apart
and I have no
motivation
to catch the
broken pieces;
I don’t have
the patience
to tend to the cuts
on my hands
after fumbling
with shards
of my broken
bones
and I’m
losing pieces of
my mind
every single
day;
I’m so scared;
nothing makes sense
anymore
and I don’t even
want to be here