THE WAY YOU SMOKED YOUR CIGARETTES.
Burning your lungs,
inhaling your sadness.

THE WAY YOUR THOUGHTS ROT IN YOUR HEAD.
And how you still denied
yourself forgiveness.

THE WAY YOU HELD ME ON WINTER NIGHTS.
And how your heart
was still colder than me.

AND THE WAY I WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH.
No matter how much
I tried to be.

You were heart wrenching.
Like the very last lines of a poetry book.
But unlike the words traced onto paper;

I couldn't save you.

Everything I say is uninspiring and redundant;
I used to be able to string words together
until they interlaced into something beautiful
but now the words can't seem to reach my mouth.

I'm paralyzed.
That's the only word to describe it;
paralyzed.

When you try to inhale but you can't.
When you try to move on but you can't.
When you give it your everything,
but you simply, *******, can't.

So life now consists of the little things,
negative thoughts and self-medication,
bad habits and self-mutilation;
sometimes bloodied,
sometimes bruised,
sometimes both.

And I won't pretend to know anything because
ignorance is kinder on damaged hearts.

But I called to God and he didn't answer.