how long will it take to rewrite my story
the definition i have complied with tends to lean onto their side of things
                                      (you’re right, i know it)
fingers fragile and hands bleeding
                                     (i’m sorry i worried you)
i wish i could read between your lines
i want to see behind your eyes
                                  (who said i didn’t need you?)

trigger warning
and get off the ground
  stop it! you’re making a scene
don’t cry in the church (it’s not what God would want)
who’s screaming inside my head?
i love you,         i’m sorry,         i can’t do this anymore.
it's not like you'll wake up in the morning
where did sleep go?
who
      am
            i?
is this what they mean when they say you’re going crazy?
         where is he?
everything is black and white
breathe, breathe,
                                                 breathe
life is meaningless anyway
    where
             did
                  you
                       go?

you were a sight for sore eyes.
you asked me for pizza two seconds after you told me how far the pen had gone this time.
the scars would never go away.
and this time, it was for both of us.
red liquor, red paint, red tears, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
my melancholic release methods, one being this paper itself, had failed me.
they had failed you too.
parallels like this are always ironic.
i forgot to tell anyone that i was drowning too.
i forgot to care about myself, even when i was told the opposite.
you forgot to tell me not to call your parents.
at least it’s different than last time. at least you didn’t tell me you hated me and at least you didn’t wish i was dead.
trying to search for a hidden meaning when it isn’t there was always one of my best qualities.
this time it was as simple as can be.
this time i increased the repetition to the point where i could no longer be in denial.
this time you left me. maybe next time i’ll be the one to go.
i’ve always been so afraid of losing purpose and losing the love i’d forgotten to tell thank you, and you, and writing something no one wants to read about, and obscurities,
and me.
i’ve always had this irrational fear of myself.
they say that time will tell, but all that time has told me is i am ******.
i am a tragedy collapsing in and i am a terrible writer anyway.
i am bad at hidden meanings and i am not good at painting. or crying.
i am a broken record playing the same track over and over.
you had bandages on your fingers that looked like snow capped mountains.
you always knew i was afraid of the cold.

i didn’t want it to consume me
the feeling of withdrawal shakes my bones more than any substance would
this time there’s no more losing myself
i still think about it even when i shouldn’t
i’m too close to the edge to let myself topple and fall back again
i’m so sick of climbing back up, especially when now i have no ones hand to pull me back
the dopamine i used to stream between my veins is missing
i’m missing a piece of myself
i still want to feel it on the good days
i want to flush the field and start anew but
i don’t know how to
electric currents are running up and down my body
and i am not sure how to hold myself back again
i’m still not over it
i guess i was right in saying i’d never get over it

i saw it in your eyes
regret mixed with broken glass
but only for a split second
this year the rainy season started a little too late
the sun was trying to remind you of the light you have inside of you
i read our old texts and cry
s is for suicide
and b is for broken ****** bruises
r is for rehab
and t is for tragedy
t is for traumatized
t is for the last time i called you, you tried to **** yourself
i woke up today even though i didn’t want to
i have been awake at night wondering if i should tell you
you told me i was a dream you never wanted to wake up from
and then you tried to swallow an entire bottle of pills
i should've remembered that p is for pills
not for promise
h is for hospital
not for honest