These silent screams.
They’re in my house.
They’re in the seams.
They crowd around me.
They’re forming teams.
They close in all around.
They’re silent.
They don’t make a sound.
I open my mouth.
To let all the words come out.
My mouth is dry.
Just like a drought.

Love me as though you are a ship that’s lost the wind from your sails,
But never fearing the weather that I hold.
Love me when I am a raging sea at a bright midnight,
As deeply as an anchor that’s fallen against the ocean floor.
And love me more after the tide has broken against the shore,
Bringing a grey morning.
Love me through the thunder and lightning, the hurricane winds;
Until you are no longer afraid of drowning in the waves I carry.

Silence can be so loud,
And that’s what drives you mad.
The fact that I don’t care anymore,
And you lost something you never even had.

Now the pedal’s to the floor,
Driving all through town.
Yelling you can’t take it anymore,
You’re becoming lost and I’m nowhere to be found.

You begin to panic,
And wonder what went wrong.
This is how I’ve changed.
Loving you has made me strong.

Speedometer begins to climb,
You ask and ask.
But I’ve disappeared forever,
Gone like whiskey in your flask.

You buy another bottle and you drink it down,
While your speedometer continues to soar.
You speed around this ghost town,
Eyes grow damp and tears begin to pour.

Your vision begins to blur,
So blurry you can’t see.
Inside, this feeling is familiar.
I remember, every time you laid your fist against me.

He says,  “Let’s drive somewhere where no one else knows.”

All at once,
You ripped my heart out,
And threw it like a large stone
Skips across a lake,
Creating ripples in my calm waters.
I disappeared beneath the surface,
And you walked away from the shoreline,
And grabbed a different stone.

Restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows.
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
What did I know about drowning or being drowned?
Sorrow is my own yard,
And in short, I was afraid.
My life will shut very beautifully, suddenly
When everything broken is broken, and everything dead is dead, and the hero has looked into the mirror with complete contempt and the heroine has studied her face and it’s defects
Who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks,
Who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessively,
Who jumped off the Brooklyn bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten.

I used to pray to recover you
Who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard, wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts
Who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation.

Your most frail gesture are things which enclose me.

At twenty I tried to die.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.
Watching the others go about their days, likes and dislikes, reasons, habits, fears that self-love is the one weedy stalk of every human blossoming.
How do they do it, the ones who make love without love

Bang, bang, bang.
Say the bullets from the gun.
As I lay in bed,
And hear your other love,
Your video game,
Coming from the flat screen,
In the other room.

The bed is awfully lonely,
Maybe a little cold too.
But with that one thin wall,
Separating our hearts,
We’ve gone to our back up loves.
You with your controller,
And me with my notebook and pen.

We live in a world,
In a reality,
Where everything around us,
Seems to question our mentality.

Where the simplest thing,
Can drive us insane,
Make us lose our mind,
Be happy or live in pain.

We live in a world,
Where girls sit alone at night
Crying and curled,
Because of some social networking site.

We’re a part of a creation,
Where every male feels the need,
To be the alpha,
And fight anyone and everyone to succeed.

We’re part of an existence,
Full of ignorant and arrogant persons,
Where it’s not getting any better,
It only worsens.

We live in a country,  
Where anything and everything is considered racism,
Where the smallest thing causes the most drama,
Because something is taken for what it isn’t.

We live in a public,
Where only if you have dark skin,
You can throw the word, “******” around,
A replacement name for women, children and men.

We live in a reality,  
Where not remembering what happened the night before,
Is something we consider normal,
Alcohol and drugs have become something we adore.

We live in a society,
Where to get a guy to look at you,
You lose a part of yourself,
To him, someone you thought you knew.  

We’re all human beings,
Where *** isn’t something we conceal,
But talk about, like it’s nothing,
Something girls now feel the need to reveal.

We’re part of a human nature,
Where girls think the ticket to one knee,
Is having a baby, to make him stay,
But finding out a child isn’t what you thought it’d be.

We live world wide,
That if our pocket is without a phone,
We feel naked,
But still feel the ghostly vibration tone.

We live within a population,
Where we’re more worried about taking the picture,
Than actually living in the moment,
As we’ve been taught through lecture.

We live in a nation,
Where our country tells us to donate there and there,
Where children are being beaten and starved here,
Tell me, how is that fair?

We live in a world,
Where commercials promote awareness,
When that money alone,
Could make the problem occur less.

We live through life,
Where someone can hide behind a screen,
Sending hate, making fun of, and destroying someone,
Because they’re only being a teen.

We live in a domain,
Where suicide has become a voice,
A decision someone has made,
Because they felt that was the only choice.

We live in a world,
Where society has made us ugly,
A trait we’ve acquired,
But can’t somehow flee.

Your slow replies make me insecure,
Because I know that there’s always someone better.
Somewhere far or near.

Someone.

Who can rip you right from my fingertips.
Leave me grasping for thin air.
Grasping for someone who’s no longer there.

The black of night,
Brings in closure.
Some sort of light.
Something no one else sees.

Voices in my head,
Gives me some quiet company.
Listened to every word they’ve said.
Something no one else has heard.

Warm skin beneath my fingers,
Saves me from myself.
Your body on edge lingers.
Something no one else has felt.

I’m no longer alone,
You’re still here.
Nose filled with scents of your cologne.
Something no one has smelled.

Your sweet breath,
Lands upon my lips.
Brings me closer to death,
Something no one else will taste.

Two a.m.
A knock at my door.
Answering it,
As I’d done,
Too many times before.

The cab waiting out on the road.
Your eyes low,
The railing supports your body,
You slur my name,
And I already know.

We’ll just be strangers,
In the morning.
Go through it all,
over again.

But still I let you in,
Put some sheets, a blanket, and pillow,
On the couch,
Thinking that’s where you’ll sleep,
But I know you won’t.

I’ll lay awake,
And wait for you to show,
Wrap your arms around me,
Smell the alcohol on your breath,
And I already know.

We’ll just be strangers,
In the morning.
Go through it all,
Over again.

You’ll leave like you hadn’t even came,
I already know,
Because it’s always the same.

I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone,
Just your whiskey scent,
Will be lingering on.

We’ll just be strangers,
In the morning.

An invisible wall,
Placed between two bodies,
In the middle of a bed.

Two distant lovers,
Sleeping on opposite sides,
Together, and alone.

One warm blanket,
A couple flat pillows,
Two stubborn souls.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry it had to end this way. I’m sorry to put you through this.
Nothing I say would ever make you understand the pain I was going through. There’s no way to describe the suffering I was torturing myself with.
I tried. But five years is too long.
Too many nights of cutting my wrist, crying myself to sleep, then waking up the next morning and pretending everything was fine.
Everything wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine.
Imagining your funeral day after day after night after night is not normal.
Thinking of ways to **** myself had turned into an everyday routine.
I couldn’t remember the last time that I was truly happy.
A smile is too easy to fake.
I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.
I can only imagine that you’re going through Hell right now. And I never wanted to hurt you but I couldn’t live the way I was.
I didn’t know how to fix it.
John, please don’t do anything stupid. Mom doesn’t need to lose both of her children. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye.
And I know you’re probably thinking half of this is your fault because you’d caught me cutting more than once and didn’t say anything because I promised the last time would be the last time.
This isn’t your fault.
I know people will say that they never saw the signs. But I’m still trying to figure out how everyone has missed them.
Too many text messages telling people that I wasn’t happy and I didn’t want to live anymore. Too many text messages telling those people that I wanted to die.
Too many text messages begging for help.
Too many posts on social media asking someone to save me.
No one ever cares until something bad happens though. Because now I’m dead and everyone is trying to figure out what happened and why.
I only hope that when word gets around that I killed myself, all the people who received text messages or read a post that they ignored, will catch their breath because they know they should’ve done something.
But it’s too late.

Dandelion dust,
Falling like leaves,
Floating away in the warm Spring breeze.

Eyelash landings upon soft skin,
Reminiscing on old memories,
Seeming to be lost within.

Making 11:11 wishes,
For soft, light, fingertip, kisses.

Swinging.
Back and forth.
Legs in.
Legs out.
Concentration.
Free mind.
Wind.
Height.
Air, sky.
Clouds.
Gravity.
Ground.

“If we played tag,
You’d be it forever.
It’s the dawn of a new era,
And you’re about to sever.”

That’s what she said to me,
Before she grabbed me by my hair.
She dragged me all around,
Then finally into her lair.

She held me hostage,
Tortured me every way.
Made me feel the guilt,
And said I would pay.

I told her I couldn’t control love,
And he fell for me.
Tried opening her eyes,
So she could finally see.

She still wanted revenge,
Over things I couldn’t control.
After torturing me some more,
Death would surely take it’s toll.

She told me she’d let me go,
If only I broke up with him.
But I would rather die,
Then ever let her win.

In that game of tag,
No one ever won.
I would die again for him.
Because he was the one.

Package gift:
Flaws are guaranteed,
Should be loved and accepted.

I shook the devil’s hand and looked him dead in the eye the night I put the barrel of a shotgun in between my lips
While I stood on the edge of a chair with a noose around my neck.
Killing two birds with one stone.
The feathers of the bird deep inside me would be ruffled after the bullet raced through them,
Shearing them apart like a combine moves through a field of corn.
The bird on the outside of my body would finally learn to fly after the bullet struck the inside of my mouth like a flashlight lights up a dark cave harboring a family of bats
And right before I fell limp to the floor, no longer able to hear my own heartbeat inside my ears,
The noose caught my fall, tightening around my neck.
The night I stood on a wooden chair, holding my own death within my hands in complete darkness around eleven because I wanted to be an owl instead of a raven,
The chirping inside of me wouldn’t quiet.
I heard the voices of wings outside the window in the tree I’d thought about soaring from; telling me to stop or cheering me on, I don’t know.
But if I would’ve put the single round inside the chamber of the gun or slipped the slightest bit from the chair,
I’d know how it feels to fly.

Three years have gone by.
A little over one thousand days
And it’s been thirty-six months.
I don’t know why I’m still counting
Each dawn that passes by.
I don't know why you haven’t called
To tell me that you miss me
And that you want me back.
But I do know that slowly the nights add up
And soon it will be forty-eight months
One thousand four hundred sixty days.
It’ll be four years
And I will still be wondering why
We haven’t spoken.

I shaved my head this morning.
The sun hadn’t yet conquered the horizon
But the birds outside the window cheered for me
As I pulled the shaver from my forehead to my crown.
My tiny fingers gripped the electric razor,
Holding on for life,
As it were much too big for my nervous hands.
I cut my skull three times before allowing myself to cry.
I peeked at the blonde clumps of hair that rained
To the cold bathroom tiles and puddled around my feet.
After finishing, I went to lay in the arms of my blankets,
While my pillows kissed the back of my head,
Healing the nicked wounds scattered over my skin.
I left the hair to sleep in the sink and over the floor.
Welcoming the sun rise, it felt warm against my bare skull
And I wondered if this was how heaven felt like,
Walking up to the gates.

There’s no rocky, narrow shoulders,
Lining each side of the highway,
Waiting for sets of tires to roll,
And pull over on.
There’s no rest stops,
Every few mile markers,
Offering you a place to stop,
And take a break from the same scenes.
A few too many sports cars,
Who’re just in a hurry,
Passing all the semis,
In a race to get to the finish.
No overhead signs for information,
Telling you which way to go.
Just one at the end of the journey,
Telling you that you’ve completed the drive.

You tilted my chin back,
Tucked a strand of hair behind my ear,
Kissed my lips,
And whispered,
“Love you more.”
And in that moment,
All of the anchors that’d been holding me down
Weren’t a match for the rushing waves,
The salty sea,
Or the deep ocean floor.

The sky was overcast,
A gloomy sort of feel to the air,
A gray haze cast over the corn stalks.
The breeze was brisk,
And brought goose bumps to my skin.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself,
Reminding me of how you used to hold me.
I took a deep breath and watched my exhale
Disappear into the wind, my imaginary
Cigarette smoke leaving my system.
Only about an arm’s length away,
I thought I saw something fall.
Looking up into the sky,
I saw nothing, but
When I put my hand out,
Palm up,
A small white flake landed on my mitten.
Autumn had passed, winter was here.

Haven’t talked to you in a while.

Deleted you from my life.

I’ve done everything I can possibly do.

Except,

Get over you.

The only thing that is certain,
Death.

Whether it comes today,

Tomorrow,

Or fifty years from now,

It comes.

Hovering like a bumblebee,
Waiting to sting,
Or rushing out of nowhere,
Unexpected,
Like a freight train,
Arriving at its destination,
Marking the end of one journey.

I cut myself again for the last time the night before last, proceeding to fall asleep, hoping I wouldn’t open my eyes this morning.
Waking up to a floored mascara line so straight down my cheek, I didn’t know tears could glide so unbent.
Ruler aligned cuts stand ***** like railroad ties over the flesh of my wrist.
I walk around, careful because I’m concealing a secret that only I can possibly know.
The bracelets hugging the veins in my wrist are nothing but a fashion statement working to disguise the cuts that haven’t yet turned to scars.
I walk around, half hoping someone notices, but still praying they don’t.
The feeling as if everyone around me can hear the thoughts whispering inside my head as they grow louder the more I try and look someone in the eye.
Can they see that the dam inside my eyes broke and was put together when I focused on keeping the blood contained from my wounds?
Gambling with the idea that the people I walk by and next to and towards know that I tossed and turned too many times to remember.
Risking and hoping the **** Band-Aids won’t draw attention to the damage I’ve done to my skin,
Until I take them off, allowing the cuts to breathe,
To heal into scars.

I want to find the
Darkest depths of your soul, and
Love without limit.

“Do you think there’s such thing as loving someone too much?” I asked him and searched his face for his reaction, which he didn’t show.

“What do you mean?” he questioned.

“I don’t know, do you think it’s possible to just want to love someone so much and save them, when maybe they’re already too broken to be fixed. I mean, maybe it would have been better—

“Don’t say that.” Michael interrupted, “Noah, don’t say that.”

“I don’t know, Michael. I mean, if she’s really that unhappy, was I in the wrong to send her to rehab? Was I wrong to want to save her and make her happy?”

“No, you’re not in the wrong.”

“I mean, if she really doesn’t want to live anymore, am I being selfish for wanting to keep her alive?”

You,
You don’t know.
You have no idea,
What it feels like,
To miss you.

You,
You walk around,
You live on,
Like it’s nothing,
To miss you.

You,
You are more than okay,
You live through each day,
Without knowing,
That *I miss you.

your fire surrounds me,
wraps me in warmth.
your arms of fire
engulf me in a safe haven.
this asylum is my home,
scars on my wrist, my keys.

Your name shows up on my screen.

Two options:

To answer or deny.

The other direction calls for my attention.

I would never
Refer to myself
As a
Murderer.

There's no blood
Stained on my hands,

Except my own.

For every yellow cab maneuvering
Through the city streets,
Holding people who sit in the
Backseats, dreaming of what
Heaven might look like.
For every skyscraper standing
Within New York City,
There’s at least two people
Who stand on their roof tops
Dreaming of how it feels to fly.

Walking through a ghost town.
Mind in a trance.
Moving slowly about,
Never in the same stance.

Only one tall street lamp,
That just burnt out.
Leaving me in the dark.
Going out of my way, no direct route.

Dark, cold, misty night.
Substances making things unclear.
On this lonely walk,
Nothing is ever pure.

Mind begins to blur,
Putting together things unseen.
Everything out of order.
This system is no longer clean.

Everything begins to soar,
Taking me on this high.
Fighting a domestic war,
I can’t even tie.

But after I surrender,
Coming down from way up there.
Everything goes back to normal.
The world where I still don’t care.

You stand in front of the mirror.
Looking at your distorted image.
Mascara ran down your face.
Tear tracks put in place.
And you can’t bare to see it.
You ball your hand in a fist.
And punch the reflection.
Shattering it.
Falling to your knees.
Glass cutting your legs.
You grab a sharp piece.
You drag it over your skin.
Across your wrist.
Creating a never disappearing scar.
You feel like you’ve hit your lowest point.
But you look up.
At the little piece of reflection.
That didn’t fall out of the frame.
You look at yourself.
At that little piece of glass.
And you realize.
It’s just a bump in the road.
This too shall pass.

I remember spinning  in circles around the brown, hardwood floor,
My tiny hand grasping tight to mommy’s outstretched finger;
The sound of music from the live band was filling my ears,
While the laughter was spilling from my smiling mouth.
My dress was ballooning out like a doily,
While perfume and cologne were sneaking through my nose.
Mommy was twirling me all about,
Like a miniature Cinderella, glass slippers on my toes.

You used to pick me up,
And drive me around town.
I had my feet on the seat,
The window down.

My hair was blowing in the wind,
But I didn’t care.
I was riding there with you,
When I could’ve been anywhere else.

Time change.

Now I’m driving my own car,
One hand on the wheel,
The other wiping tears away,
Not knowing what to feel.

I see your car,
Everywhere I go.
But never your face,
Someone’s I don’t know.

But my heart still jumps,
Thinking it might be you.
Butterflies form in my stomach,
Wishing it was still us two.

Time change.

There’s some other girl,
Riding in my seat,
All around town,
Up and down every street.

Though you are small, and may seem like the smallest grain of sand on the beach,
There are many things to know before being washed into the ocean of life.
Listen to the shells, for they’ve been on the beach far longer than you have.
Make a wish at 11:11. (Don’t worry if you forget in the morning, it’ll come again that night.)
Cross your fingers for extra luck,
Accept a date to stargaze in the middle of an open field in the bed of a pick-up truck,
And while you’re gazing at the stars, don’t forget to make a wish on the one that’s shooting across the sky
And while you’re lost within that pair of blue eyes, get lost within a field of dandelions.
Pluck one that you can make a wish and blow into the wind.
And don’t worry if Prince Charming hasn’t swept you off your feet,
Create your own imaginary prince; he won’t break your heart,
And keep a couple imaginary friends along too; they won’t stab you in the back.
It’s okay to dance and sing in the car, you won’t ever see those people who’re next to you again,
(Unless the next light turns yellow, in which case, the gas pedal needs love and affection too.)
You’ll get nerves, but don’t ever bite your nails or crack your knuckles, back, neck, or anything.
Arthritis isn’t something that goes well with the wrinkles that’ll come too.
Grow wisdom, but don’t forget, you’ll always be a child at heart.
Make sure the length of the dress that you buy for the date would be approved by your grandmother.
Don’t forget to always add sprinkles with your ice cream while on that date,
And why should dessert be saved for last? Eat it first; otherwise you’ll be too full.
And as you’re driving home that night, don’t forget to turn your headlights on,
And remember to wear your seatbelt, no matter how short the distance.
Remember that it’s okay to break curfew every now and then; you may not ever get those moments back.
Keep in mind, if your date is on a Friday, don’t be out too late, or you’ll miss Saturday morning cartoons,
Which also means, don’t ever eat the marshmallows from Lucky Charms until the very end.
And say Prince Charming still hasn’t rode in on his white stallion,
The refrigerator is not who to call to cure your boredom (Unnecessary calories are not your friends.)
Instead, call your mother, because you’re never too old to cry to your mom.
When you see those storm clouds approaching, don’t hide inside,
Put on your rain boots and dance in the puddles.
Don’t be afraid of the waves that are washing up on the shore.

Do you know how many times my mother coughs so hard in an hour that it still surprises me she hasn’t lost a lung?

I wonder if all the money that she spends at the gas station on that tiny cardboard box was saved instead of spent, if she could manage to pay the bills before the late notice arrived in the mail.

How many times do you think she tries to quiet the change being pushed around the tabletop as she counts out the quarters, the dimes, the nickels, the pennies before she has enough to slide the coins across the counter at the station?

How many times is her anger thrown at me because nicotine is absent from the house?

I can only imagine the color inside her chest, protecting her lungs with a black tar after too many years of flicking a flame to a thin white candlestick stuck between her lips.

The house smells of smoke and the yellow filter lines the walls, around the frames that hang themselves by nails.

I clean the mirror and see the paper towel golden from the lingering tobacco.  My clothes reek of a stench so strong no amount of perfume seems to be enough.

I’m paranoid that every time I’m in a room of people and someone mentions that it smells like smoke, if they know I harbor such a scent that I pour it off second handedly as if I inhale the drug too.

I open the mailbox and the temptation to “lose” the coupon booklet addressed to her grows stronger.

The business cards labeled with a barcode on the back subtracting a dollar off when you buy two packs strengthens the urge to scrabble up the silver coins or summons the question, “do you have five dollars? I’ll pay you back when I get paid on Friday.”

Friday never comes.

I often think about how much longer it will be until all the money spent on tiny cardboard boxes will be split between tobacco and medical bills.

How long can you smoke a pack a day and still be cancer-free?

And I wonder how it’s fair to watch your mother gamble with her life each time she places a thin cigarette between her lips.

Russian roulette with cancer is a game she’s become too good at.

After you ignored her legs that she held clamped together so tight that magnets would be jealous of the strength she possessed to try and keep you out,
Did you confuse her groans of pain as moans of pleasure?
Did you not see the tears of shame glistening on her face?
Why didn’t you listen to her when she yelled for you to stop because of the pain you were causing her?
Is having *** with someone as she lays anything but still on the floor comfortable?
When she dug her nails into your flesh and bit with teeth into your arms, releasing the pain you forced on her, returning it into the monster who destroyed her,
Did you think that was permission for you to start again, when she had yet to finish fighting you off for the first time?
How did you confuse her silence when she finally laid still because she knew she could not push you out from inside of her as enjoyment?

To whom it may concern:

I’m sure you have a million questions running through your mind, much like I did before making this decision. I’m sure that deep down inside, you are hurting, just like I was. You may never forgive me for what I did, but just know, I held on for too long. This wasn’t a decision that I made on impact because I was having a bad day. It had me thinking for quite some time and I finally came up with what I thought was best. I was tired of waking up every morning and faking my smile. I was tired of waking up with swollen eyes from crying myself to sleep. I was tired of constantly washing my pillow case from all the mascara marks that had appeared from crying myself to sleep. I was tired of telling you that nothing was wrong and that it wasn’t your fault. All that had been a lie. Everything was wrong. And it was your entire fault.

Sincerely, I’m sure you know by now.*

Imagine waking up and finding that note lying on the soft white sheets next to you. Imagine the thoughts that ran through my mind. Imagine seeing the blade covered in blood on the nightstand that belonged to your girlfriend. Imagine my heart start racing.

I looked around the room. All was quiet like any other normal Sunday morning. But instead of waking up next to Sutton, I woke up to the note that had replaced her.

Sutton had a history of depression and had cheated death only twice as far as I knew, so upon finding the note, I almost had a heart attack. She’d been released from the psychiatric hospital about a month ago. The doctors thought she was better, everyone thought she was better. Whenever I went to visit her after work, she’d seemed happy to see me. I noticed her face light up several times. I’d hold her hand, just to make sure she hadn’t cut herself again since the last time I’d been there. And as far as I could tell and see, she’d been clean. So a month later, when I got the call that I could go pick her up, I was more than thrilled.

After picking her up, we had gone out to lunch, and spent the day together. We walked around the lake, holding hands, talking about what each other had missed. I fell even more in love with her, as if I didn’t think it was possible. She was back to the girl who I’d fallen in love with my senior year of high school. Happy, smiling, enjoying herself, just the way I liked her.

I threw the covers off of me.

“Sutton.” I whispered at first. Then, realizing she wouldn’t hear me, I said it louder. “Sutton.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and got up. I went to the bathroom where the door was closed and pressed my ear against it. It was silent and I didn’t think she was in there. I tried the ****, but it was locked, proving my previous assumption had been wrong.

“Sutton.” I said into the door. “Sutton, are you okay?”

There was no answer and my heart started pounding even louder.

“Sutton.”

I went back over to the nightstand by our bed and opened my wallet, retrieving a credit card from one of the many slots. My dad had shown me this trick when I had been just a little boy. Taking the card back over to the door, I slid it through the lock on the door and heard the latch move, allowing me to twist the **** and open the door. Sutton was sitting on the side of the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands.

“Sutton.” I whispered, opening the door wider.

She continued to remain silent.

I went and knelt in front of her. Trying to look up into her eyes, but they were closed. I reached forward to take her hands in mine and she pulled them closer to her.

“Sutton, don’t push me away.” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head the slightest bit.

“I can’t help, if you don’t talk to me.” I whispered.

She sniffled a couple times, and wiped some fresh tears away from her eyes. I took my hands slowly towards her again, and when she didn’t pull away, I softly grabbed them and held them in mine. I squeezed a little tighter and pulled her gently into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.

“Talk to me.” I whispered before I placed my lips on her forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s hard to say what’s wrong when nothing is right.” She whispered.

I squeezed her tighter and started rocking her back and forth. After a couple minutes, I pulled her arm away from my chest and examined her wrist, where I discovered fresh blood from cuts that would soon turn to scars. I tilted her chin up, making her look at me. Her eyes started watering from tears that would soon begin to pour. I wrapped my arms tight around her and pulled her close to me, as I heard her begin sobbing. Rocking her back and forth, I rubbed her back.

“I need help.” She whispered into my chest.

“Shh. I know. It’s okay.”

Strangers in every day clothes continued walking back and forth in front of me, as I sat in the most uncomfortable chair there could possibly be, with my head bent in my hands like Sutton had been that day. Holding back tears turned out to be harder than what I thought. We had stood at the front desk, preparing to check her in, when she had suddenly had a change of heart.

“This is a mistake.” She said.

I looked at her, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t need this.”

“Sutton, you wanted this.” I said, “it was your idea. Remember?”

“But, I don’t want it anymore.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I just don’t.”

“Well, that’s not a good enough reason.” I explained.

“Please, don’t make me stay here.” She pleaded some more.

“I’m sorry, Sutton.” I said.

“If you love me, you won’t make me stay.”

“No, if I love you, I’ll do just that.” I explained. “You’re not healthy. You need this. It’s not permanent. You won’t be here forever. Just until you get better.”

“So you’re saying there’s something wrong with me?”

Playing the guilt trip had always been something she was good at. She had me wrapped around her skinny little fingers because I was so head over heels in love with her, but there was no way she was getting out of this one.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No denial.”

“Sutton. Stop. I love you.” I said. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

“No, you’re doing this because I’m broken.”

This is just to say,
I drove to the cemetery and visited your grave today.

A tear rolled slowly down my cheek
And in my legs, I grew weak.

In the air, I felt the warm breeze,
And I knew that you were watching me kneel upon my knees.

The clouds rolled away and the sun kissed my face,
I was used to distance, but this was too much space.

I ask for forgiveness for being such a wreck,
As I touch the dog tags that now hang around my neck

There was no way that I could understand
Why I was left holding a folded triangle flag within my hand.

I cursed the war that brought ruin to my life,
I cursed the war for claiming my wife.