my english teacher scolded me,
told me,
               "'sad' is a dead word.  use something else instead."
                                                                                                     i laughed,
said to myself,
                          "she doesn't know the half of it."
                                                                                    i replaced it with 'dismal',
                                                                                             turned in my paper,
                                                                      and went home for lunch because
                                                                                                      i forgot to take
                                                                                                                 my pills
                                                                                          before i left for school.

she walks in
says
        "i have a splitting headache"
and then retreats
to her room,
too long sweatpants
dragging
on the floor.
and i wonder
if it's the same kind of
headache i get
when i can't stop
thinking
about the
                past
                present
                future
until all i know is that
i don't want to be breathing
                              living
                  ­           correctly pumping blood
                             from my heart
                             to the rest of
                             my body.
i wonder
if she gets those
kind of headaches
that the
over-the-counter
stuff can never
                         soothe.

tight top
             no bra
short skirt
                 long socks
messy hair and smudged lipstick from
                                                        *******
                                                                ­    licking
                                                     ­                          swirling
that cherry red
lollipop-
done so perfectly that
it's sent the healthiest hearts to urgent care rooms-
and eyes so innocent
they bring blind men to their knees.

you've always said
                               "i want to be someones' hero
                                                            ­            villian
                                             ­                            confirmation that they're more than what they've been labeled.  i want to be someone that can hold fragile things without fear."

here's your girl.

it's 9:25 p.m. and i
can't help but think
that i haven't stayed up
this late since before
i started taking
melatonin to offset the
insomnia
my medications cause.
                                      i haven't stayed up this late
                                      since we stopped talking
                                                         ­           and kissing
                                                         ­            and getting caught by the police,
parked behind the grocery store with all the windows of your truck curtained by fog
                       the steam from our efforts to forget in the only way we knew
                       how to at the time.


it's 9:25 p.m. and i am ******* tired of
going to bed earlier than usual
to prevent the dreams
                          the nightmares that come with heavy eyes and tired minds
of you coming back
just so you can leave again,
just so you can cause a little more damage
                           make a little more noise
                           lie a little more to yourself
                                                                ­       so you can stop crying yourself to sleep because you don't know how to be close to anyone important to you.