I've sat and I've thought. I've found
purpose and I've lost it. The cigarette,
I sip it slowly and strongly, surely it
fills what is empty inside me. Ember
that sears, smolder, singe, a hope that
in the life of a cigarette, we burn out
but are absorbed by the air that
surrounds us, lifts us. If I close my eyes
I can dream and if I close my hands I
can grasp; two realities collide and the
nothing becomes something. We have
the memories, the stains, that politely
remind us of moments since.
Remembering what each breath felt
like, what each breath was for.

With no true friend around I talk to myself.
Or maybe I'll head outside and tune in to the clouds
I've never been intentionally hurt by a flower.
And the grass breathes life into my restless soul.
The breeze carries me away from this plastic world.

I don't belong here amongst the dour faces and slippery minds
Why was I forced to leave the light and inhabit this body?
Some say choice, others say fate. Above me the cosmos twirl indifferently.
A lone tear slowly weaves its way down my creased cheek.

Awakened mind
Body trapped
In reduced consciousness
Laying in a comatose state
Stitched to the mattress
Frozen
Cannot speak
Cannot scream

Repressed hysteria
Suffocating
Under the weight
Of the invisible intruder
The presence
Anchoring me down
Obstructing my breathing

Dark shadows
Dancing
By the chest of ****** drawers
An apparition of a bearded ******
Standing at the edge of the bed
Appears
Dark particles of fabric fill my eyes
I fight the fight
This shall not be my demise
Wake me up
I will die another day.

Sometimes ***** tastes like you.
Like having *** on the bathroom counter.
Like pizza movie nights.
Like getting high on the roof while reading poetry.
Like eating you out in the back of that church.
Like crashing that car in the field behind your house.
Like playing the guitar on your back porch.
Like the sound your horrid contagious laughter.
Like drawing hearts on each other's backs with crayola markers.
Like your tongue after the first cigarette.
Like you and me.
Like you.
Like us.
Like you.

i think ive fooled everyone.
they all believe im happy.
that my laughter and smiles are real.
and yes, sometimes they are...
but, id rather see the blades and the blood.
and the real smile that creeps onto my face as
i press d
               o
                  w
                      n
into my skin and the vein opens up
and the blood starts pouring out.

i see myself doing this every night.
i know one day that i am bound to relapse.
i know that one day i wont be able to take it anymore.
i know that i probably am a bit crazy... probably even on the verge of psychopathy/sociopathy...
but, i am trying. i am trying to stop and i guess thats all that matters.

sometimes i believe that i should've killed myself last year,
but then i remember that i wouldn't have met half of the people that
i have come to love today.