this poison ***** with my head
rotting my insides all the way up to my throat
i want to rip it out and throw it against the ******* wall
it hurts and i can't breathe anymore

i poured all i had into too many people who gave nothing back
and i have nothing left to give
i'm empty and i'm sorry

i used to love wandering around
until i got lost in your eyes
and never returned home

i heard that if i scream loud enough
you'll come back
but i've already spent my nights
sobbing into an empty space
where your chest used to rise and fall

or maybe if i pound my fists on the ground hard enough
i'll eventually reach you with my bruised hands

i grazed your cheek yesterday and i swear
i could still feel your lips on my neck
i could still hear your voice which sounded like gravel
i could still smell you;
lavender and rain

you told me "forever"
and now that's nowhere to be found

maybe you're clutching it with the hands i'll never feel on my skin again
while you're confined in a dirt prison made of things that used to be and have yet to be

i hope your bones become a home to the prettiest of flowers
because you'll know that i meant it when i said
"flowers will grow even in the darkest parts of your soul"
but *******
i never thought you'd have to take yourself away from me in order to find that out

now "forever" is just another arrangement of 26 letters that i'll never see because without you
i don't want to

i spend my days alone
standing in the rain
and then thinking of you

i'm still hoping you'll come home
and hold me just like you used to
while i sip my tea and you kiss promises onto my body

but you're there and i'm here and i will never taste the rain again because it will always remind me of you and the "forever" you took from me

i often tell myself that i'll never be good enough for anyone or anything or what others claim that i can amount to but i'm not even good enough for myself i'll probably apologize for taking up space when i'm six feet under of what i always thought of myself to be and so i'll tell myself that i'll sleep when i'm dead

i'm sorry but i don't miss you
you were a broken promise shouted into the void and returned as a whisper
you could melt hearts with your hands
then cut flesh with your words
you handled pain as if you were a lighter
and i was a stick of dynamite
we could blame it on a lot of things
but you're sixty percent water and you would put yourself out before you could even reach me and i'm tired of being afraid

*all i smell is the smoke

we know it's not
just a ten-letter word
so why do we try
to turn it into a beautiful lie
and simply disguise it
as simply a bunch of lines
and stanzas?
while we need constant assurance
that this disease isn't the only thing
that makes us who we are
we are more
than our mental illness
but these false illusions
that you call "poems"
make us think otherwise
depression is not beautiful
depression is not poetic
you can't make it
into something that it's not
and when you figure that out
you'll find that this irony
is now hypocrisy