I've got scars on my wrist
I've got scars on my wrist from the time I got too drunk
I got too drunk because I wanted to be brave enough
To be brave enough to tell him I loved him
I told him I loved him in the same breath as I told him I was dying
I was dying because my eyes wouldn't stay open
Eyes wouldn't stay open because I kept closing them
Kept closing them because I didn't want to see the blood all over one of the good white towels
All over one of the good white towels because I tried to wash it off in the shower but it kept bleeding
Kept bleeding because I cut deeper than I thought I had
Cut deeper than I thought I had because I couldn't feel it
Couldn't feel it because I was too drunk
I was too drunk because I drank all the beers left in the fridge and the ***** in the freezer
The ***** in the freezer because the beer wasn't strong enough
Wasn't strong enough
Wasn't strong enough

We used to spend hours
driving around looking at houses and
I never understood why you went to
the middle class neighborhoods
with the big homes that all looked the same and
pointed to the ones with
heavy wooden doors and thick brick walls
and all the cars in the garage and
called them your favorite
until I heard your voice crack when you said
they just look so sturdy
and I knew that
your walls were rotting and
falling down and
your foundation was cracked and
your windows were shattered and
the ceiling was starting to
cave in and
you liked the
big homes with
heavy wooden doors and thick brick walls
and all the cars in the garage because
they were
strong
when you
weren't.

if I promise I don't love you can you hold me again
can you trace your fingers over my thigh and pretend it's not a sin
can you hold my hand and pretend that it isn't too cold
like we used to do before I got too sad and you got too old
can you kiss my neck like you just want to touch me
can you press my head to your chest so I can feel your heartbeat
if I promise I don't love you will you tell me that you love me

attacked me like
a rabid dog
eager to taste flesh

bit into me like
raw meat
(because really that's all I am)

tore me open like
wrapping paper on a gift
you weren't supposed to see yet


I shut down like
a restaurant with health code violations
infested with rats

fell into you like
pavement
from thirty stories

poisoned myself like
a carbon monoxide car garage
falling unconscious long before death

I am walking toward mirages
with the knowledge that they are fake
but with the thought that
moving to a new area of the desert
will not hurt anymore than remaining sedentary,
and I am thinking that maybe
if I walk far enough in one direction
toward these delusions
eventually I will have to reach something
other than sand
because this wasteland cannot be infinite and
I know these visions are malignant figments of my imagination
but one day there will be an oasis
that does not disappear at the touch of my dusty palms
and this will be what I have been walking toward
all this time
and these mirages are not lies,
they are promises,
they are foreshadowing
of a place better than this and
I cannot ignore these signs
because they are the only things
that keep me from sitting so long in one place
that I erode my own grave into the dirt.

just lie to me and say the emptiness will go away someday,
tell me it gets better,
tell me I won't always feel like this.
I need something to hope for,
something to look forward to.
I don't want a light at the end of the tunnel,
I want the tunnel to be lit on the inside, too.
I don't want to wait until the end to finally be able to see.
improvement is not getting used to the pain,
improvement is the pain going away.
if you had a hole in your hand your entire life
yes, you would get used to it
but there'd still be a ******* hole in your hand
and I am trying to hold on but everything keeps slipping through the ******* hole
and no one is telling me how to make the hole go away,
they just keep saying I'll learn how to live with it.

I have a friend
who is in a state of
constant action.
Whether it is
talking
or walking
or kissing
or smoking,
she is doing.

I never understood why,
never understood how she could
always be bored
when things slowed down,
never understood why
silence wasn't peaceful to her,
until now.

When there are demons in your head
that whisper into the empty spaces,
you look for other sounds to drown them out;
you look for something
-anything, really-
that gives you something to think about
other than the aching in your chest.

But soon it becomes less of a habit
and more of a necessity.
You start getting desperate,
calling friends at 2am,
sneaking out to walk to the park
because at least you're not
trapped in your ******* room,
and with desperation comes regret.

You start doing things you're not proud of
but at least the demons were quiet
while you were doing it
so you do more to
forget about that regret
and so on.

And it works for a while.
But the demons will creep back in,
hiding between teeth
and in ash
and under beds,
until eventually
there is no where left
for you to run.

Drunken words
tumbling out between
sips of liquor,
eyelids
heavier than usual,
she thinks
I can't tell
when she's been
drinking
but I have been here
through days when
she swallowed nothing
but whiskey and
antidepressants,
through
sobbing nights,
these walls are so thin
I hear every
tortured breath,
I have been here
through hollow chest
and empty bottle,
and she has never been
a mean drunk,
only honest,
but it seems like
she only tells me
she cares through
wine-stained teeth
and I wonder
if she can hear
my heart break
every time she slurs
the words
"I love you".

The corner of my room with the mirror has always put me on edge,
I feel like I'm going to see something in the reflection that isn't me
and there are voices at night,
I can hear them whispering and
I think this house is haunted
because these demons couldn't have come from my head,
they say things I can't repeat out loud,
and these malicious beasts have been feeding
on guilt and blood and *****
and it seems like they are only getting hungrier.

They are trying to **** me.
I have watched them scheming,
scratching pen over paper,
throwing out any idea they can think of
because nothing is inhumane
to creatures that are so clearly inhuman.
I have tried to get rid of them,
hung crucifix in doorway
because faith is a kind of submission they do not know how to compete with
but they slide in between floorboards,
promise to stay quiet this time,
and although I don't believe them,
I do not bother arguing.
I know they will not yield to my flimsy cries of hope
and if I have to settle on sharing my home with strangers
or not having a home at all,
the choice seems clear.

I know that their plans still hold true,
they have already picked a date and a weapon,
but I am too tired to fight.
I have tried running away
but the moment I step out of bed my legs quiver and my knees fail
and my stale mind tells me it is not worth the effort.
I think they have started poisoning my food
because I am always fatigued
and coffee and pills cannot suppress
whatever it is they are doing to me.

When I stand in the corner of my room and look in the mirror
I see eyes that were once bright
now turned bloodshot and heavy,
hands shaking as they try to
rub the bruises out of my skin,
scars, everywhere.
I am starting to look like them.

Don't want to do this
don't want to be here
don't want things to get better
just want them to end
just want to drink myself to death
just want to die
want to be gone
want to slice up my arms
want to bleed out
want to wake up in a hospital bed
want to stay there forever
want to stop trying to recover
want to get worse
want to die
want to die
want to die

I relapsed in every way I could last night and when people ask about my scars I have trouble saying "I used to cut" because I feel like I'm lying to them and when she asked me why I did it I didn't know what to say other than "I'm drunk" and it was one hundred and one degrees Fahrenheit today and I wore a flannel shirt so my parents wouldn't see the canyon I carved into my arm and I didn't get out of bed until four PM because of my hangover and my mom brought me Advil and seltzer water and it breaks my heart that she helped me and I couldn't tell her what was wrong and I don't know how to ******* help myself anymore I feel like such a lost cause and I think it might be better if I just killed myself because then I wouldn't have to deal with this and I wouldn't keep hurting people and I'm sorry I keep doing this I'm sorry I don't know how to handle this I'm sorry I'm a bad person I'm sorry I stole your ***** I'm sorry I got blood on the sheets

There were moments,
days,
months
when I didn't think I would make it this far.
I keep thinking back to when everything broke,
to when I started sinking,
and I am wondering how it is possible
that I haven't hit bottom yet.

I'm wondering if there is a bottom.
I'm wondering if maybe,
you just keep sinking,
and sinking,
and sinking,
until eventually you run out of breath
and your lungs force you to inhale salt water
because it is the only thing left around you.

You're supposed to let out little bubbles of air,
never all of it at once.
Your body can keep using the oxygen left in your lungs
and you can breath out the carbon dioxide,
but eventually your chest will be empty.

And then you will swim.

That's when you kick,
pull,
claw at the surface,
drag your water-saturated body
toward the place you used to call home.

You will not make it.

You have been falling for so long
that it is impossible
to make up for the time lost.

Keep swimming.

As you get closer to the surface
your lungs will ache from oxygen deprivation.
Your legs will not be as fast or strong.
You will begin to lose consciousness.

But the sunlight will start to break through.

Ultraviolet rays penetrating the surface
will caress your arms,
you will remember what safety feels like,

you will smile.

You will close your eyes.

You will stop fighting the pull of gravity.

Corpses float.

I'm sorry I stole your *****.
I'm sorry I texted you drunk.
I'm sorry I yelled at you.
I'm sorry I always forget to take my medication.
I'm sorry I still haven't told you I've been seeing her.
I'm sorry I fell asleep.
I'm sorry I cried on the phone.
I'm sorry I texted you on New Year's Eve.
I'm sorry I can't love you back.
I'm sorry I sent you pictures.
I'm sorry I sent him pictures.
I'm sorry I blamed you for my heartbreak.
I'm sorry I only come to you with heartbreak.
I'm sorry I forgot to water the plants.
I'm sorry I got blood on your jacket.