apology accepted,
trust denied.

"It happened eight months ago. You should be okay by now. It isn't an excuse." I'm told after admitting I don't have the drive to really do anything anymore. I really wasn't trying to use it as an excuse.

Today I was going for a run,
It was beautiful out. The sun was hitting the trees in such a way that I would never be able to capture fully with a camera.
I had just gotten back from a family party.

I was thinking about it, who I saw, what went on, something was missing, someone was missing, suddenly I was not running anymore.

I was crying. I was hunched over trying to compose myself. I began to panic.

The words from his note, "I'm sorry" flashed in my head like police lights. What could I have done? I asked. There was nothing you could do. I told myself.

Each realization hit me like a bullet. Memories flooded into my mind. Just short beautiful moments.

I tried to push them back so desperately. I want to save them. I do not want to wear them out to the point where one day I will not be able to remember the crinkled eyed smile I loved so much.

I tried to catch my breath. It was no use. I couldn't.

I haven't been able to since September. I don't feel like I will ever be able to.

Almost eight months ago my grandfather took his own life and I'm told I should be okay. I'm told I should be able to go about my life normally.

"Okay." I respond.

"Even your own body hates you,
enough to betray your mind."

The coldest thing
I could have heard
on that day
was what you said.

It was a bad day,
A hot day
full of my burning fear
and your scorching desire.

But what you said was so cold
So cruel
So utterly and completely terrifying
and absolutely humiliating.

"Even your own body hates you,
enough to betray your mind."

I could tell by the way
that she ran her hands
across her own skin
that she hated herself.

The way she stared
sadly into the empty space
That girl would never
love herself enough.

But she never gave herself
time to learn how to love.
Dead by her eighteenth birthday,
no one ever claimed her.

Whether it was the drugs
and alcohol and sickness
or her own hatred that killed her,
I will never know.

You made me promise
that I wouldn't fall apart
when you were gone.
You made me promise
to eat when I needed to,
to draw like I always did,
and not to cry too much.

But the spiderweb cracks
only lead to shattering
far worse than a simple break.
I guess I broke my promise
because I can't breathe
without your scent in my lungs.

I know I promised to stay whole,
but this is one promise
that I cannot keep.

"do you love poetry?"
"yes, and art and books."
"so you love all the beautiful things, do you love yourself?"
"no."

*and i thought she loved all the beautiful things.

"The problem with suicide is that when it becomes an option in your mind, it's always an option."

La tristesse durera toujours.*

–Van Gogh

Our memories last only long enough to allow us to learn a lesson, that, by the time we are done learning, we have already forgotten—our minds wiped blank by encroaching knowledge, a new lesson, making it’s way into our mind.

It’s a ****** wheel. All the activity cancels itself out.

to work towards a goal; to **** yourself slowly
to remain still and try to remember happiness; you will die unfulfilled
but even the most fulfilled men and women
die, only to forget,
Even the happy
die, forgotten

So our lives are cruel continuums
circular tail chasing
quick whiplash memory
depression.

I **** myself slowly
boiled in the human condition.

beaten by a life
that never mattered

If you accidentally
             fall out of love,
Do you just dive
                back in head first?
           Feet first??
                     Eyes closed???
        Cannon ball????
             Or
Do you walk away
       Cause you can't swim
And you're scared to death
                   of *drowning?????