No one knows how
to remind me that I’m
worthless quite like you,
mom.

No one knows how
to open old wounds and
pour them out on the kitchen
table for the world to see,
quite like you, mom.

And no one knows how
to remind me why I didn’t
want to live for the longest
time, quite like you, mom.

We may love each other,
but our immediate relationship
is just as caustic as Triflic acid,

and

you’re burning holes in my head,
you’re burning holes in my heart,
you’re burning holes in my soul,

but

It’s only day one and, already,
I can’t take much more of this.

You’re hijacking
my dreams and
forcing my reason to
walk the plank and
yet you hide your
jolly roger behind
a beautiful curtain
of handcrafted
self doubt and
insecurities.

It’s almost a cruel
joke that I’ve already
cut my wings to
daydream with the
stars, wishing for
sleep, but never finding
an ounce in this endless
sea of silent background
noise spiced with mint
and sage and bergamot.

I just hope that
my words will keep
me company enough
to not be lost among my
ever shifting thoughts and
anxiety driven panic attacks.

Faded colors

Dancing lights

Bleeding images

The smell of a cigar
and a half full glass
of bourbon whiskey

Who said this
couldn’t be my
heaven?

I can’t bring myself
to fill these boxes.

They remind me too much
of my independence and how
that part of me is being packed
away right along with my personal
effects.

Why didn’t I exercise one
******* ounce of self
control?

Why did I have to
destroy my chances
to live on my own?

Why is it that I
always tend to
***** up what
I have going?

Why do I always
trap myself back
in the same place
I’ve been seeking
to escape from?

Answer me,
God ******!

I could have stuck
a cigarette against my
veins and watched as
the alcohol set fire,
yet I still took to the
wheel in some half
attempt at making it
home.

The night escapes
my memory, tempting
me with broken visions,
half-hearted explanations,
and though I can never
be sure as to what really
did happen, I know
that I’m thankful for
not watching my mother
identify my body from
a stretcher in the morgue.

I wish I could find the edge of the world
and revel in its majesty for only a minute
so that I may know the splendor of life
in the reflection of the human soul.

I had my first taste of life last night.

It was an odd combination of
doubt,
desire,
depression,
hope,
and sudden relief.

And it left my lips
chapped and tingling-
craving for more.