this,
this is what relapse feels like.
sore knees, aching smiles,
bruised shins,
heart's been beating too fast,
afraid to tell mom and dad.
close the door, turn the shower on,
and bow to your master.
shove it down, get it out,
"i'm so tired, **** i'm so tired."
"keep going, keep going,
i promise it'll all be worth it."
my brother is only two rooms away,
but this,
this is the epitome of loneliness.
flush it down, unlock the door,
get out.
and start again.

this,
this is what relapse looks like,
teenage girl with a plastered grin,
this time she's letting everyone in,
maybe she really does have to use the bathroom,
smile, smile, smile, she's full of hate.
"i'm so happy, **** i'm so happy.
recovery is going great."
rip apart the meal plan, swallow nothing but words,
they won't find out this time,
i won't let them find out.
my brother is two rooms away,
but i,
i am the most introverted extrovert.
a master of disguise, pulling the
wool over your eyes.

it's not me, i swear it's not me.
it's not me, i swear it's not me.

i haven't been me in a while.

Once
upon a time
a little girl had a dream
that she was fading
losing
falling
and she hated it
and grew to have a
hatred
for ghosts
just like you
just like you
just like a star
something
quick
here and gone
in a flash
of purple light
and red fog
something to remember
but never to speak of
to hunt my ghosts
to hunt them down
and drown them
in smoke and white walls
something to hunt
nothing human
the deepest parts
buried beneath
a thousand
falling
shoes
and a basketball jersey
something hated
like someone I used to know
and then
with another flash
a streak across the sky
and the flick
of a lighter
like silver dripped on a wet page
like ghosts
in the mist
of a sad park
          with a sad man
                      and a very sad girl
because they have ghosts
haunting their heads
with a whisper
and a forgotten tear.

If I wanted to feel Hell / I'd spend an eternity next to him / and an afterlife in his skin

He's thinking about
His book.
And how he's going to write her into it.
She's a shelf that doesn't hold anything
But a few memories here and there
And some day dreams.
Her eyes sting
And her voice just sort of floats above everything else.
Like a sheet of clouds on a hot July morning.
There's really no place to acknowledge a power so fierce
Using just the ink from a couple of pens.
But he's going to try to capture the way her lungs give out
During long drives down busy highways
And her dark glasses always seem to be locked forward.
Her toes curl in her flip-flops
And she never opens her mouth too wide.
How can words describe someone
That only the pounding of a heart can imagine?