I have become quite skilled
At downing a glass of scotch
Without blinking
I needed to learn how to fill myself
With something other than you
I have become quite skilled
At drinking two bottles of wine
In one sitting
Alcohol is the easiest way
To wash you off my tongue.

The thing that *****
About relationships
Is that you either break up
Or get married
To be honest
I am not quite sure
Which terrifies me more.

You weren't as great
As I painted you out to be
Maybe I'm just a good artist.

My depression
Wears a leather jacket
Smokes a cigarette against an alley wall
And asks me to dance with him
His voice is a scratchy mess of desire and impulse
His mouth is fresh of whiskey and regret
He extends a thin pale arm
And asks me to dance
Most times
I decline
Do my best to refuse politely
Even tango with mania instead
As an attempt to avoid him
But there is so much temptation
In darkness
And sometimes
It is hard to tell the difference
Between light and pitch black
Between white noise and screams
My depression
Whispers to me with heavy breath
Calls me baby girl
Tells me
That he can love me so well
Reminds me
That no one else will
Offers me rough hands
Convinces me
That they are the only ones left open
I do my best to resist
But almost always end up giving in
Eventually letting him hold me
Rock me back and forth
His arms feeling more haunted than house, than home
I watch
As he replaces the blue in my eyes with empty
Turns my occupied body into vacancy
He strokes my hair
And in my ear, says unworthy
Paints me ugly
Tells me that I am not pretty
And that nobody will ever want somebody like me
But that he does
So why shouldn't I love him back
Give all of myself completely
I think of all the ways he will treat me
Wonder if he is going to hurt me again
Know that he is
He will wrap my wrists into bleeding when I am lonely
Fill my mind with nightmare when I can't sleep
It is only after saying yes to his proposal
That I realize I do not want any part of this
My depression
Is the hardest lover to break up with
And every time I keep coming back
I always come back
My depression
Is the train I cannot step off of
I am too afraid of letting go
All of the paths intersect together
And the route is bound for destruction
It is unhealthy
To love something so volatile
But the clawing turns into comfort at night
And I do not know
How to sink my nails into something other than skin
My depression
Smokes a cigarette
And I watch the ash fall to the ground
As I fall to the ground
Like a bad habit that is all too familiar
My depression
Is nicotine
My depression
Is alcohol
My depression
Is an addiction
I keep coming back.

You promised me the stars
When all you could give was dust
You were an architect
Built up my hopes with such detail
Painted them into a pretty illuminated future
Almost as bright as the city of angels
A one bedroom apartment in the middle of expectation
You colored my doubts intricate
Swore on my last handful of trust
That you wouldn't waste it
There was only so much to begin with, you know
You promised me the stars
But all I got
Was dust
The residue of the kick-back from your boots
The leftovers you forgot to take with you
You promised me the stars
And gave me nothing
I am not an architect
But I am attempting to build my own sky
Without you
Stars and all.

I cut myself into pieces for you
So that maybe
I would be easier to swallow
You somehow still managed to choke
On my rough edges
On my bitterness
I am not sweet
Or saccharin
But I refuse to be forgotten
I will stick on your tongue with no remorse
You may have spit me out
Still in pieces
But I will become whole again
Soon enough
And I
Will linger
On your mind
My skin
Will linger
On your hands
And my taste
Will linger
On your tongue.

Some nights
I stand on stage
And read lines I have written
Lend my soul to strangers
And hope they enjoy it for the hour
I look out from blackness
To a crowd of many faces
But none of them
Are for me
Afterwards
I step out to greeting hands on shoulders
Smiling patrons with admiring words
But none of them
Are familiar
None of them
Are for me
I do not invite
Those I love
And the ones I do invite
Never come
Because they don't really love me at all
I do not invite
Those who do
To come watch me dissolve
Underneath these bright lights
I do not spill myself out
To those who already know what lays inside
My poetry is a blanket for everything ugly
And there is no need
To place it on those who have already seen what is underneath
Some nights
I am saddened by this
By entertaining a crowd that knows nothing more
Than my name and writing
Yes they have seen me bleed
And to them,
It is nothing more
Than an act
But there is no clotting after the show
No army of white blood cells to end the spillage
It is just me
Along with the remnants of what I've poured out that day
What people often forget
Is that my words follow me home
Some nights
I share them with others
But most nights
I keep them to myself
And every night
They stay with me
Sleep in my bed
The only good is in the reassurance
Of knowing they will be there
In the morning
Unlike every other
Who has left after the ******
Everyone
Always leaves
And I am afraid
That if I wring myself empty
To those who already love me
They will do the same
I do not know
How to clean up my mess with pride
I only know
How to sweep it aside
So for now
I will continue
To stand on stage
And read lines I have written
Lend my soul to strangers
And hope they enjoy it for the hour
I know they will
My performance
Is their escape.