Shot follows shot.
Drinks on drinks.
Baccardi courses through my bloodstream.
I'm drowning in ***** and in my memories of you.  
And the acid burning its way to my stomach,
Is easier to handle than the hollow feeling when I'm sober.

“1. When you’re trying to fall asleep at night and it feels like your world is crashing down on you, walls closing in, suffocating you as you clutch his pillow to your chest, breathe. It’ll get easier every night.                                     You'll be okay.
2.When you’re out at the mall and you see a couple holding
hands and kissing, don’t text him that you miss him. Remember that there was a time before him and you were fine. So breathe.
You’ll be okay.
3.When you find out he’s met someone new, you will
shatter again. Your knees will cave beneath you and you will cry, and scream, and plead with God to give him back to you. Just remember that it’s okay to not be okay all the time and to try to breathe through the pain.
You’ll be okay.
4.One day, you’ll wake up, and you’ll go about your day,
not realizing that you didn’t think of his smile and those big brown eyes once. But until then, breathe.
You’re gonna be okay.”

Black figments flitting in the corners of my mind.

Shadows fluttering and swelling on the winds of memory, pressing      and closing about me.

Darkness, blinding and choking the light I struggled to gain.

I see blinding light, shredding shadow and opening the world, saving me from myself.

Your eyes.

I just wanted to say
that I forgot what I wanted to say
because you look so cute bending over
to scoop the cereal out of the bottom container,
and your smile slants just like a three-day crescent moon
when you spill some Fruity Pebbles on the ground,
or how you cradle your cup of milk
like sometimes you cradle me when we’re half asleep
and our dreams start to play tag with one another,
dressing themselves in the fog we’ve created
from the steam our kisses drag out. And I guess I get
how ******* you get when you’re sneakers are unlaced
but your mind is tripping between hours spent here
smoking this and banging yourself up with that. I guess I get
how you can loose focus, but I’ve caught you at your lowest
and I’ve straightened you out just by kissing the pressure points
until you’ve been strained like elastic and your heart has thickened.
I just wanted to say
that I forgot what I wanted to say
because you pull at my thighs like I’m made of clay
when we’re messing around in the shower,
letting the water fall around us like our own little storm—
you’re the perfect sound of thunder. But you’ve left me
in puddles on my carpet, pulsing to the beat of my fluid heart
as I try to remember exactly what it is about your face that I love so much.
I bet you’re getting tired of hearing me ask if you’re up,
of if your’re busy, or if you could just knock on my door two times
instead of once so maybe I could feel it through the thick skin
I’ve grown over the years of stopping and locking and shutting down.  
And I guess I get that. But I also, just. . . you—
I forgot what I wanted to say.

I walked into the laundry room
to a couple folding into each other.
Her chartreuse camisole and his
evergreen boxers pined for a bough
break in the noise of twenty-something
cents rattling in the dryers.  
They talked about peeling off
and sorting each other's skin layers
by darks and lights, trying to find
a neutral blush they could blend on.  

My towels had three minutes
left on the spin cycle, so I walked past them into the dim-lit room, took
a seat on a dryer, and turned around
to face the cream brick wall and
pipes cutting on a diagonal, dividing
it into lights and darks.

Do not go to college
       until you are actually ready.

Desks and chairs and messy hair
Student rankings, must compare.
Always having something due--
Wake up at eight, slept at two.

Coffee, Red Bull, I need more
To push through my every chore.
My health and sanity is growing ill,
But all I need is an Adderall pill.

"It will be worth it in the end," I'm told,
But this college thing is getting old.
Always working and losing sleep
Because I have straight As to keep.

"Amazing essay," "Good job!" they say,
But they don't know of the price I pay.
They never listen to what I need or want
Unless it's in Times New Roman, 12 pt font.