you were so angry that
you couldn't even speak
and i got so upset that i
ran to the bathroom to *****
and as i clutched porcelain
you rubbed my back
then walked me to the kitchen
to refill our cups with more
coke and whiskey, and we drank
and never talked about it again

i'm trying to figure out
how many times the words
i can't do this to myself anymore
will run through my head
before i give in to the voices
fighting back with, "you're so alone."

you'll see him again-
different face, a different name,
same situation allowing you
your make believe fairy tales
starting with an innocent smile
and ending with empty veins
spilled on the bathroom floor-
you can't clean that up, but
at least you got to be held
during all the chaos.

this is me, learning
what the space between
never and again
really looks like.

all i want right now
is to write something
heavy enough that you will
collapse under the weight of it
so i will be left with pieces of you
like the way you pronounce the word "milk"
or what your hands do
to the inside of your arms when they're bored
and i know they cut your hair and threw you in a cell
but i hope you feel this as i'm writing it
i hope you collapse
i remember all those different moment
at random when someone would say your name
or smirk like you used to
like you knew something about me no one else did
but i'm bad at keeping secrets
and i want you to collapse
and i want you to feel this
and i wont pick up even one piece of it

and i still love you so ******* much

give your body to a winter's boy-
he'll lay you down, strip your clothes
and you'll undress even further than that
but he'll leave you in the cold
and push your so far under his bed
he forgets he ever had such parts of you
in his own two hands and
never gave them back
you're frozen, now,
and you wait all spring
to find summer's girl
and all she does is hold your hand
and you're standing in a pool
of the ice melted around your skin.
next thing you know,
you're in a palet she made on the floor
on her balcony, overlooking the railroad
and the greenest forest on the other side
and it's 3 in the morning and
you're smoking a cigarette
to get rid of the taste of alcohol and sugar
but then you kiss her and
she tastes the same way.
you don't want the season to end
but you're still watching yourself
glow from the inside out.

I'm a ******
I don't do drugs or drink
my only flaw is how much I think
I don't believe in God but I believe in me
And I don't know where I belong on my family tree

I don't propose that **** is based on a girl's clothes
I suppose I'm dumb or brilliant but who really knows
You could say that I'm narcissistic or have low self-esteem
with a girlfriend with a pocketless pocket and a head full of dreams

Whoa that didn't flow, that last line
Imperfect effort seems to be an attribute of mine
Look at this rhyme scheme, it's so diverse
I guess I can get away with this; I couldn't get any worse
One favorite, three favorite, fifty-four
Give me validation, I could always use some more
Hello, Hellopoetry! You've been so forgiving
of my beautiful poetry that reflects an ugly way of living
Tell me, tell me: Should I write more?
What if my sadness is gone, and my melancholy no more?
Will you still love me if I write about crinkle-cut fries?

"****. No more suicide poems, does this kid still try?"

Is there still a Josh Haines if he no longer cries?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he doesn't wanna die?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he starts to fall?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he gets it all?
Is there still a Josh Haines after every kiss?
Is there still a Josh Haines after he writes all of this?

Eh. Maybe, baby. Maybe.

15, sitting on the edge of your bed,
you told me that you couldn't love me
because the small of her back
fit so perfectly pressed against your palms
and the pink colored thighs matched
the flushed cheeks, and it always,
always drove you wild to watch her
strip down, layers of cotton, denim,
lace.
i asked you if the weight of her own
existence kept her up at night, or
how she got that crescent shaped scar
placed delicately under her left eye.
the blank stare you replied with
made me wonder what the point
to seeing someone naked was
when all they take off are
their clothes.

6 months later, you tell me that
skin renews itself every twenty seven days
and it's been 4 weeks since
you last held her. you smiled
with full lips and said you felt like
you finally rid yourself of her.
it's been a year since
you really spoke to me and
i'm still wondering how
you could love someone if
all they touched was your skin.