and why do people always feel like it hurts them the most
to tell me that it won't work out?
you are so selfish to think that you breaking my heart is the
worst thing that you can do, the worst thing that is happening,
the most horrid sound must be the sound of me choking,
"what did i do wrong?"
but, love, if i can even call you that anymore, perhaps, i should
call you loved, or so i'll try to convince myself for the next while -
i wish my absence would have left a foul taste in your mouth, but it looks
like i just leak mediocre, i am just like all the ******* others, never
meant something, anything, nothing particularly special to you;
i was always forgettable from the beginning, it seems you had
already forgotten that i had known this all along,
when you told me you'd loved me too early anyways.
i never had the ability to leave an impression, i was
never the type, i was always just a type, a kind of person you knew
you'd easily forget, the kind of person you were eager to love and use
because i'd never capture your heart the way you knew would hurt
in the end. in the end, by the end, you knew this was coming, you
knew i wouldn't expect you to throw me away, but although
i knew, in the end, this would happen, it still hurts anyways,
god, it ******* kills me anyways, like day one, it's like day one again.

eats you alive
but don't you ever, for a second, downplay my own.
i will acknowledge your pain, i will give you light in the darkness,
but the moment you even dare to brush my pain away,
i will be gone like the ******* wind.
i have already been consumed. i know i'm already
someone different from the person that began this battle,
from the young girl who lifted her sword with a courageous
promise to fight for herself and win;
her skeleton already lies in the empty halls,
pieces of her dragged away to different depths by vicious demons
undefeated,
that will remain this way until the shell that is left learns to crack
the tall gates that locks these pieces away; these pieces,
never to be seen again, god, i wish i had put more faith in the
young hero.
i have been in this for too long,
been staring up at these gates forever, to ever allow you
to say that it's all in my head, for you to say that this pain
isn't really here.

because i related to them so well.
i guess i am really morbid, because reading happy
poetry about love and other drugs never made me
feel a thing. i don't like getting high for that familiar
happy feeling - because those happy feelings never
did anything for me, they were never things that i desired to feel.
just, numbness was all i wanted - all i wanted was more, more, more
to the point where i can't feel my toes, can't feel my tongue,
i'm laughing because it feels so good to not feel anymore.
i fell in love with my sadness,
i fell in love with the feeling of my chest collapsing
in and my world falling apart.
i have so much sadness pent up inside that each line of poetry
helped me pour out a drop at a time. smaller doses.
a drop in the ocean, a drop of the ocean, i don't know how
many sad poems i need to read in order to let this tightness
inside of me go. i feel like i am constantly fighting a battle
every day, and i don't know what i am fighting for anymore.
i don't know what i'm battling off at this point any longer.
it's been so long that i've felt this sadness that it's just becoming
a part of who i am. i am so bitter because i hate who i am
when i am sitting in my room at 3am, crying into my hands so
i don't wake my roommates and letting snot dribble
down my chin so my sniffles don't echo throughout the house.
what a horrible sight it must be - i can't even stand to stare at myself
in the mirror after these kinds of times, so why would i want to
bear such a face in public? i'd rather be angry and ward off the world
than allow someone to see me for who i am.

it seems like you've taught me well,
taught me how to hate myself even more.

it was never meant to be easy, and we knew
it was always meant to be hard. i feel like a big baby when i admit
that i'm done with trying anymore, and it feels like i'm throwing in
the towel, kind of giving up on myself instead of giving up on others.
but i don't see why i should keep trying to put on a show
for these people who don't care what happens next, just want
to live in the moment and fizzle out in the next.
what a crazy thing life is, that today's utopia can
turn into tomorrow's apocalypse.
i'd prefer to be a beautiful shooting star burning out across
your vision rather than be a dim, flashing light somewhere
among your vast galaxy. i want to stir something within you and
have you wishing for something
better
for yourself when you witness my spectacular light,
have your heart crying out for more, have the better part of yourself
desire something better for your worst part.
however, i never want to burn out, i selfishly desire constantly,
maybe it's just my ego hoarding love for herself
but it feels like i am fizzling, popping, vanishing from where i am.
(i just want to ignite something inside of you)
it feels impossible to ever really mean something much to people
for a long time unless you leave a legacy of sparks within hearts
after you disappear
into the night. i hope you can build an inferno with the sparks
that i leave behind, and i hope that one day
i, too, will catch fire

"i think i'm at my happiest when i cut people off
when they don't show me any feelings of mutuality.
honestly, i don't think i'm meant to **** with anyone
of any sorts; i don't know if i'm meant to interact
with the kinds of people i keep finding myself with
and i'm happy being cold, happy protecting my little
old self. i don't know why i felt the need to tell you this."

are you listening to the way the cars outside are speeding down the highway?
can you hear the rushed conversation of the young couple outside of your window?
darling, i'm sure you can hear the panic of the man next door, slamming on his alarm clock as he sleepily cursed his way out the door.
they say if you stand at the corner of yonge and bloor at 12:25pm,
you should take note of how quickly strangers will bustle right past
you without realizing that they were ever a thought in your mind,
observe how they rush, remember their thinking faces, see how
focused they are on what's next.

i hate the familiar awareness of the leaves changing for autumn,
and how people get so utterly sick when the weather decides to flip.
i can't stand how okay i am with cutting people out, although
the world tells me it's fine, that's good, you need to move on eventually,
anyways.
it feels like i leave parts of myself with people and i forget where
these pieces have gone -
it feels like i should be okay with losing parts and creating new ones,
but it feels, god, it feels
it feels
so
sickening.

i dont know why it is all i am aware of;
the way we tell stories in one, single breath,
the way we ask, "what's next?" in a moment of heat,
and the way i feel so miserable about your heart changing tomorrow,
i like the feeling of resting on your chest
and being allowed to rest my entirety on your body -
i like the slow movement of your chest rising and falling -
and the way your breathing refuses to rush.
i can't pull myself away from the sound of your heart pumping in your chest.
did you ever think that by the time your heart has pumped its 896,738,112th pump, i was already waiting millions of pumps ago
for you to make it this far?

i wish you were here
to hear these things i can't ignore.
the screeching of tires and the messy, rushed mutters of a young girl behind.
i hope you don't hear them as that, just as
the way a car is ready to adventure
and the way a girl is so eager to live.
it's just that i get so lost in the chaos and i wish
you were here
to hear these things
i can't ignore.