Listen closely for
creaking floorboards
above your head.
Memorize his steps;
how he walks gently
when you are not alone
but plays music
with his shackles and
dances on granite soles
while you are sleeping.

When you wake
in a cold sweat,
know that he is there,
that he is with you although
you cannot see him.
He is a cold draft
after you take a bath,
he is the book you could have sworn
you put back on the shelf.
He is begging you to turn around,
to feel his touch,
to remember how
that book had started
your first conversation.

He will tune the radio to
your song and
play it louder
and louder
until he sees you fall to
your knees with his memories
cradled in your bony arms.

As you watch him shatter
the picture frames beside your bed,
remind yourself that
he is not malicious;
this is still the
pastel-eyed boy who's hands
made you feel safe,
he is trying to prove that
he exists,
he is shattering glass
with his illusory knuckles,
yearning to feel a sensation
that he can no longer perceive.

You are letting go of him.
You are telling him to move on.
He is alone in a dark room
and you are begging him to
go toward the light.

You come back to an
illuminated house.
Every lamp has been turned on,
every candle lit.
He is flooding you with light
because he cannot find his own.

I was right there.

As he gripped her waist in one hand,
she glanced in my direction
long enough to force a nod
when I asked if she was okay.

His fingertips traced their way up her thigh
as her breath became more shallow.
I asked if she was okay.
She said yes.

With his cold breath on the back of her neck
and his arm pulling her closer,
he whispered something that I couldn't hear.
She said she was fine.

I was right there.

I followed her when she left.
I found her sitting on the restroom floor.
With every sob her body shook in my bony arms.
I could not protect her.

I was right there.

I am so sorry that I did not save her.
If her eyes had screamed a little louder,
if I had looked a little closer,
Maybe then I could have stopped him before it was too late.

**I was right there.

All of my firsts,
all of my beautiful memories,
my sacred bonds
have been cracked open,
tainted,
the ties have been cut,
I am drifting,
floating off,
I have no anchor to drop.
I have given away
everything I can, and
there is nothing left of me
to offer but
salt water pouring from
my heart, trying to nourish
this thicket weaving through
my rib cage.
My collar bones are
shelves holding books and
love songs that I
can no longer listen to.
My knees are rubbed raw,
carpet burn from kneeling
before a God that only
called me a sinner,
I have nothing left to offer.
Palms facing upwards on
the ends of outstretched arms,
I have given away all
that I can,
I have siphoned the very
blood from my veins,
I am empty.

You asked me why I don't eat meat
and I told you that I can't stand the idea
of being the reason
a living creature gets hurt.
You told me
They'll get killed anyways
and I didn't have a good argument
other than
I just don't want to be the reason.

You asked me why I felt so guilty about the cuts on your arm
and I told you that I can't stand the idea
of being the reason
a living creature gets hurt.
You told me
I would have done it eventually anyways
and I didn't know what to say
other than
*I just never wanted to be the reason.

On the floor
in my living room
with my head on your chest
and your arms around me.
The tv was on.
I don't remember what show.
I remember the beating of your heart.
I remember how shallow your breaths were.
I fell asleep.
When I woke up,
I rolled over.
Glanced over at you,
said good night,
walked upstairs.
I wonder how you felt.
I don't know why I keep doing this to us.

Arms tight,
grabbing fistfuls of t-shirt,
your mascara wet on his shoulder.
This is the hug you give
when something is falling apart.

This is the hug you give your ex boyfriend
when you promise you will still be there for him,
this is the hug you give him
when he wishes to stop existing,
this is the hug you give him
when you tell him you love him,
this is the hug you give him
when he doesn't believe you,

these embraces will break your heart,
they will make your ribs curl in on themselves,
they are apologies for the harm you have caused,
they are guilt for the scars you have left,
they are acknowledging that
terrible things happen to beautiful people,
they are the realization that
you are not a beautiful person,
you are a terrible thing.

Nothing has ever broken my heart more
than feeling yours beating
*and knowing you wanted it to stop.

Sorry if I'm rude or unpleasant
I just can't breath
These whirling winds of conflict
Don't sit well on my shoulders
I don't do well under pressure
Of a blanket and hopeful eyes
Excuse me if I snap
I just have whiplash
Things never sit straight in my mind
I think I've forgotten how to be

1.
A boy dropped his pen on the floor next to me
and I took it.
I said it was mine when he asked about it.

2.
I didn't cry when
my cat
or my dog
or my great grandma
died.

3.
I read the text.
I just didn't want to talk to her.

4.
I broke up with him
on the phone
because I thought he might cry
if I did it in person.

5.
I stopped talking to him
when I got a boyfriend.
I started talking to him again
when we broke up.

6.
We flirted for 2 years.
He told me he loved me.
I told him he was like a brother.
He started doing ****.

7.
I knew his dad hit him.
I didn't tell anyone.

8.
I told her to stop talking to me
because she was too depressing.
She went to rehab for self harm.

9.
When he told me he wanted
to **** himself,
I told him a million reasons he shouldn't,
but never once said
*don't.

I'm sorry I took so long to get this stuff back to you.
I don't want to come back into your life now.
You seem happier than when I knew you.
I think my cons always outweighed my pros.
I'm sorry if I hurt you.
I tried so hard not to, I swear.
Things just fall apart.
This isn't meant to be sad.
**** it.
Alright, positive stuff.
I hope you're okay.
I hope you know things will always be okay.
I'm sorry we don't talk anymore.
I think we're both getting better without each other.
I think you're getting better.
It's hard to tell.
Please get better.
Godspeed.

You called me selfish.
For a long time I felt guilty,
until I turned you from a victim
into a villain.

As the anger has faded
from the lights of an ambulance
into the dull, neon red glow of an
emergency exit sign,
I have begun to realize that

you saw me as the bad guy, too.
You probably still do,
and maybe I am selfish,
and maybe I want to apologize,

but what if they're all right
and you were just trying to
get me to say sorry?
What if you're just dying to
see me come crawling back to you?
I don't want you to think
I need you,
because I don't,

but I'm not selfish,
and I don't want you to think so.