i think im coming to terms
with the thought of not having you.
as mine,
with me,
in my arms,
against me.
i can say i have moved on.
that the buoy you left
in the river of my memories,
the ripples of your smile and laugh,
they no longer touch my shores.
i can say this all i want.
it would be a lie.
i know this because the thought of you
with anyone else
makes me feel
sick

[repeat]
in the morning i miss you
in the afternoon i want you
in the evening i need you
late at night,
im glad im not with you
[repeat]

******.
In so many ways,
in every sense of the word.
******.
In the head,
by my parents,
by own personal vortex of self-pity and self-hate.

Red and black spots cloud my vision
when you slap me
with your words.
You tie ropes around my hands,
my chest,
my neck,
when you run around my questions,
dodging and ducking.
I can't breathe, and you wont ******* Listen.
Because you're right. You're always right.
You spin and spiral in your roundabout conversations,
but you can't see the Gaping Hole in the center of the tangle of
things you just said.
But I can.
You're blind to it, and I feel sorry for you.
I do.
You believe your own lies.
"I just let her do her own thing...shes in control of that".
No, No She's Not.
No, No She's Not.
She doesn't feel like she's in control of anything.
Can't you see that?
How can you not see that?
Don't act like you were blindsided by my spiraling,
falling
down
        down
                down.
You knew,
and you chose not to act.
You Knew,
but you decided that it would be more uncomfortable for you
for you if you brought it up.
So you didn't.
and look what happened.
You knew.
You knew

And I promise this isn't just a tale of a wistful teenager,
an, "oh woe is me", type of thing.
Because I'm angry,
so angry,
and the only way I know how to let it out
is by pressing the big red SELF DESTRUCT button
right above my bed [really right above my head, and it wont go away].
But You Don't Understand.
You don't know why I do the things that I do, and for me to explain it to you would break your heart.

Let the leash out, mom, a little bit.
I'm suffocating,
I can't breathe,
I Feel ******* Crazy.
You have to let me go so I can come back,
back in my own time.
Let me heal Alone.
Leave Me Alone.
leave me alone.

the world is empty.
we dont exist.
[the world is empty, we dont exist]
does anything matter?
we certainly dont.
[the word is empty, we dont exist]
all life is suffering.
all happiness ends.
[the world is empty, we dont exist]
death comes to all.
nothing lasts.
[the world is empty, we dont exist]
nothing is here.
we are gone.
[the world is empty, we dont exist]
find solace in these thoughts friend,
death welcomes all.
[the world is empty, we dont exist]
[the world is empty, we dont exist]

im not gonna to text you.
im not.
i refuse.
i will stay resolute.
i will not.
i will wait for you,
like ive been waiting for months,
i will not text you,
i will not.
you have to come to me.
thats how this game works, right?
you come to me.
i hope,
i really do.
i want to talk to you,
so much
so much.
but i dont want to bother you.
i really dont,
thats my biggest fear in the whole wide world.
i wish you would just text me,
just reach out to me,
make an effort,
the kind of effort i show you.
i dont know.
but im not gonna text you,
im not.
im not,
im not.
i wont.
i cant.
i dont want to damage anything more than i already have.
i know we just talked yesterday,
and it was fine,
and good,
and i know im just insecure and needy,
but i miss you.
a lot.
so im not gonna text you.
i wont.
to prove to you i dont need you,
so maybe,
in some way,
youll realize you need me.

i dont know why i like to bleed,
to draw lines on my arms and my legs
with razors and scissors and knives.
i dont know why i like to make scars,
to feel pain,
and ultimately numb.

i do it until i have bled out all the anxiety, and fear
and spiraling thoughts,
and aching sadness,
until all i can feel is a searing line of pain and
all i can see is a tear of red
trailing down my leg.
i dont know why each time i do it
i think itll be the last,
that after this one last time i wont ever have to do it again.
i dont know why i dont consider the repercussions of my actions.
that i will have permanent gashes that will slowly fade from
red
to pink
to brown
to white.
that people will ask,
why i wont have an answer.
why i wont ever be able to be comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt.
and i dont know why i still want to do it.
to destroy my skin and my body and my mind.
there must be something wrong in my brain,
some flayed wire, a short circuit that would explain
why i feed off of pain and my own self-inflicted misery.
why i want to feel and be covered with and surrounded by self-hatred.
i dont know why.
i dont know why.

im sorry i ****** it up.
im sorry.
im so sorry.
i just want things to be back to the way they were before,
before i ****** it up.
im sorry,
im so sorry.

i cant get thoughts to leave my head when i want them to.
theyre like solicitors standing on my doorstep,
and they wont go away unless i give them what they want.
new scars, less food, my head bent over a toilet, retching.
too many drugs, not enough drugs,
sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.

i wish they would go away.
i wish they didnt spin in my head
porpoising up and down
making me sick to my stomach,
sick to my head,
incapacitating me.

I want to escape,  
i just want them gone.
i dont want to die, i just dont want to feel this anymore

i would do anything.
i have done anything,
and none of it seems to do any good.
im just a mess of self destruction and self mutilation,
i know.
fundamentally unlovable?
maybe.
i just want them Gone. Away,
but i dont know how to do that in a healthy way.

I am a flickering lightbulb, sputtering and spitting,
A candle burned to the last of its wick.
You are sentient light.
You are Beautiful.
When I tell you this, you turn your head away.
“I’m a *******”, you say. But I don’t understand
how you can’t see the perfection that you are;
Your eyes, your face, your body.
I don’t understand.
I wish I could make you see,
But I have long since accepted that I cannot.
I think about you a lot.
A lot.
And I don’t know if you think about me.
I want to help you, I want to help you,
but no amount of love will make you well.
I know this, but claws and fangs tear at my insides when I watch you destroy yourself
night after night after night after night.
There must be an end to this pattern.
I want to hold you until it does.
And kiss you, and stroke you arms and face and hair.

I hope you think about me.
Not in passing, not as an afterthought,
and I hope this wish isn’t selfish.

I want to hold you until it passes.
to be allowed to "be there" in any capacity I can.
I want to help,
I'm screaming.
I want to help
but no amount of love will make you well.

This going to bed time tires me.
I think about you,
And I sigh-
for a lot of reasons.
And I miss you with every aching nerve in my body and in my brain and in my eyes.
I do.
I cant help it,
Im sorry.
And this nighttime is so hard, because of the
Blurry uncertainty of the fog behind my eyelids; it blinds me and deafens me,
and when I take aloneness’ hand and face my Thoughts every night,
The very object of my avoidance and deprecance and isolation,
I quake and shiver like a cornered animal. Like a runaway who has finally been caught.
Because I know this routine.
Inside and outside and everyside, and I hate it, with
every aching nerve in my body and in my brain and in my eyes.
And I miss you.
I do,
I do,
I do.