it's not unusual -
me dealing with this
thoughts of ending my life have become commonplace
an almost comforting constant in an otherwise ever-changing living space

i am in a constant state of flux
between okay
and not
and right now i am decidedly not

as i sit here and let the tears fall off my nose and wonder if this improvised prose conveys how deeply hurting my soul is
because right now i am just wondering
if the remaining sleeping pills on my bedside table are enough
for me to go to sleep and not have to wake back up
because that is where i am left
not wanting to do this anymore
feeling completely and utterly bereft

and i try so hard not to let people's words effect me
but it's hard when they harp on my failures repeatedly
and remind me of all the times and the ways i fall short
because they're judge, jury, and prosecutor in this court
never letting up or letting go
reminding me that i am useless and will never be enough and so
here we are and here i find myself again
where suicidal ideation is my only friend

i am in awe when i look at you
not at your flame and your feathers
but rather the way you choose to sever the tethers
people tried to use to bind you to the idea of who they thought you were
and rather than get caught up in their perceptions
you chose instead to rise from the ashes of those misconceptions
alight and alive with new purpose
without a trace or shadow of what you left behind
the old you was incinerated, turned to ashes in the fire of your passions
as you recreated yourself
a man of ambition
whose intelligence and tenacity
veracity
burn so bright you can't even look right at him

you remade yourself into who you wanted to be
did the thing that so many others strive and fail to
and somehow it's like you forget how far you've come
because the man i'm talking to, he has no idea how to be kind to himself
how to silence the voices within him that lie
and tell him that he is not enough, doesn't do enough, will never be enough

remember whenever those whispers start up
that say you're a loser, a disgrace, not enough
that when i look at you i am truly inspired
by the events in your past that i know have transpired
leading up to this transformation that begs the comparison
between you, my friend, and a mythical bird
both reborn from a ghost of who you were
into a fiery beacon of hope, inspiration
remember that it was all you and your ambition that led to this recreation

those words moved across my skin with a familiarity i could not (at first) pin down but i knew that i knew them so well
and you in your infinite wisdom and kindness
being wholly unafflicted with our generation's pervasive emotional purblindness
you realized the words had struck a chord within me
and that brought out in you your innate sensitivity

my silent tears were soaking into your t-shirt when your phone screen illuminated my face
so you attempted to get a read on my emotional state and headspace
but i reassured you because it was the furthest thing from your fault

it was just that that song had dredged up some feelings
that i had long since forgot
memories of a time and a place and a boy
that had caused me more pain than they'd ever brought me joy

you gave me a chance to talk if i wanted
and when i passed it up you just changed the subject
and held me a little bit closer
hugged me a little bit tighter
and didn't say a word

because you didn't need to
as we laid there in the dark and sang
our harmonies tangling
hanging in the still night air
until at last i fell asleep, still safely held in your arms
the last thing in my head the sound of us singing all my favorite songs

i still don't know how to feel
about what happened that night
but i know i will never forget
the way it felt to have you by my side
your warm skin beneath my fingertips
the feeling of your hand's grip on my hip
having you hold me so close to you
(your breath in my hair
your fingers brushing my neck
your arms wrapped around me like you were afraid if you let go -
even a little -
i would disappear)

i remember running my nails lightly over your skin
for what seemed like hours but was probably mere minutes
and your gentle touch as you caressed my back lightly, fingers beneath my t-shirt, raising goosebumps on my bare skin
i remember brushing my hand over your cheek and feeling that weekend stubble
resting my hand on your neck, on your shoulder
and feeling you reach for my chin
you tipped my face up to yours like you were going to kiss me
and then (just like that) the moment was over

it was like we woke up from a dream
and we realized where we were
who we were
and what had almost happened
what our body's autopilot modes had almost made us do
and you fled and burned down a few cigarettes
no doubt trying to process and make sense of your feelings
while i laid in your bed feeling colder and confused
two feelings that have yet to wane in me

i know that you don't love me
and i doubt that you ever will
but you need to figure out what you want from me
before this goes sideways irreparably

sometimes i spit these words in anger
like a fighter spitting blood and broken teeth
and they flicker like the flame of my lighter
when i indulge in the vice that's slowly killing me
but tonight my words fall softer
like the way the blood drips off the fingers of a slit wrist
my emotions and tears bleeding out of me beyond my control
while i try to act unbothered that i know that i'm not missed
even as i sit here with tears clogging my throat
and pain clawing in my lungs
from the times i've screamed
"someone,

please,

tell me why...

why i'm always the one who's left alone
and i'm always the one unwanted
why i am always there for everyone
but perpetually alone when i'm hurting
why i try so hard and come so close but they tell me "sorry, kiddo, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades" and i know that because for ****'s sake i'm not stupid but i still have hope and i was hoping
maybe
this time
it would be different"

... but it's never different, is it?
just the same **** on a different day
and as i drag myself through the mud and barbed wire of the obstacle course of social interaction
i put on the mask that will serve as a detraction, a distraction from what lies beneath

there are two voices in my head
one is soothing and low and warm across my skin
and one is like a sudden bloom of thorns in my chest
poking holes in my lungs so i gasp for each breath
i try to only listen to the soothing voice
who tells me i am wise even though i am young
and eventually i'll make the right choice
but the voice like thorns is assertive and loud
and she doesn't let herself be drowned out

she tells me i'm worthless
i'm fat
stupid
unloveable
annoying

i'll never be as pretty as her
no one wants someone who looks like me
who's been tainted by ****
who is broken and incomplete

and she is LYING and i know she is lying
but she
is a VERY
good
liar

so i believe her
and her insidious lies
and i stare longingly at the razor sharp knives in my kitchen drawer and i updated my suicide note for the umpteenth time because this time like all times i am filled with sick, twisted hope

maybe
this time
i'll do it

maybe
this time
i won't get caught

maybe
this time
i will finally die
in peace

because my existence is this weird paradox
where i don't want to die
but to live is almost worse
it's so much work
it takes so much effort
just to get out of bed and survive
i can't even fathom what it would be like to thrive

before you even began to deliver
your unprepared and not thought through speech
i already felt my mind begin to wander
because history is wont to itself repeat
it's not the first time i've heard
"nothing's going to change, i promise"
and the words have started to ring hollow
but there's no sense in holding on to the past
even if it's a good indicator of what's to follow

but i never expected you would use your gift
for crafting words to express your feelings
to preemptively, arrogantly, confidently assume
that i had assigned to our friendship (and my interest in you)
such deep meaning

after the fact such words would have seemed
poignant and heartfelt and sweet
but being that it was anticipatory
it portrays nothing but conceit

because just who exactly do you think you are
and who or what gives you the right
to operate as though you know me
and assume the outcome of this was airtight?

and as much as the words you wrote did ring true
i'm not sure i can ever bring myself to forgive you

and while i bear you no ill will
and write these words without a trace of outrage
rest assured that on that night
what was wrought was deep and immutable change