Because of you
I’m not lost
Because of you
I have hope
Because of you
I’m not afraid to look in mirror
Because of you
I’m not afraid to hurt
Because of you
The scars on my legs don’t scare me anymore
Because of you
I don’t make scars on my legs
Because of you
I can feel my future
Because of you
I don’t feel sick
Because of you
I don’t eat too much
Because of you
I don’t have holes in my heart
Because of you
I want to have a family
Because of you
I realized that love is real
And it doesn’t always have to feel one sided
Because of you
I don’t cry myself to sleep
Because of you
I don’t feel alone
Because of you
I believe in God
…again
Because of you
I don’t feel like He hates me
Because of you
And your family
I know what family feels like
Because of you
I don’t fight stupid battles in my head
Instead, I let them out knowing I win
Because of you
I’m free
From the bricks that once kept me from moving
Because of you
I can dream
Because of you
I can love myself
Because of you
I don’t want to die

If it weren’t for you
I might not be here
If it weren’t for you
I’d probably have given up
If it weren’t for you
I know I would have given up
So,
Thank you.

My antidepressants don't work
the way I want them to.
I tried to imagine watching each film
with anyone but you.

Your flickering eyes,
they project the world.
Hidden reels
inside your soul.
There's too many people
inside your bones.
You don't have to be
in your theatre alone.

I forgot how to sleep
under the same ceiling.
I watch movies in the dark
to remember the feeling
that made me confide in her.
My eighties film.
My Winona Ryder.

There's too many people
inside your bones.
You don't have to
be in your theatre alone.

Five after dawn
and your movie's still on.
Christian, **** the popular kids,
because they don't understand
how her brain works,
how her glances steal,
how each death
can't make her feel.

Your flickering eyes,
they project the world.
I watch movies in the dark
to remember the feeling
that made me confide in you.
My eighties film.
My Winona Ryder,
let me forget you.

Maybe you're crazy
with your cleaner.
Maybe each swing of the mallet
made you meaner.
Maybe reality bites because of Heather.
Maybe it scared you that we were in love, together.

Maybe it scared you to stay together.
Maybe it scared you to stay together.

I tried crushing each memory like a shortening cigarette, but it's easier to allow yourself to die than to forget.

I stood in front of the mirror-the wall behind me scribbled in green-and I watched myself shave the weathered, brunette hairs off my cheeks, chin, lips, and jawline that you found so attractive and wrapped your lips around like a future reunion of, "Hi. I'm sorry for goodbye. I'm glad I met you again before I thought I would die."

And, in my head, I watched you approach my lips with yours.
And, in my head, I took a step back and started to tear up.
You asked me to kiss you, in my head.
And I shook my head, in my head.
You said you were sorry and got help, in my head.
You were better, in my head.
You were healthy, in my head.
But I'm aware some things may only live and die and say goodbye in my head.

I sat on the edge of my bed, no longer in my head, watching "Good Morning, Vietnam", and I remembered where I was when I learned that Robin Williams died. I remembered poking your thigh, in Starbucks, and wondering how long it'd take you to feel my finger or if you'd try to ignore the feeling, like most feelings. Your lips were red and your pants were black and on white, were black cats. And you were afraid to ask for your coffee. And once you sipped on your coffee, you left a red stain and it still appears in my head. And I relive every thing while being dissacioiated with my current life. And every kiss is a red stain in my head. Oh, great, we're back in my head. I guess we never left.

And I remembered when I knew you were dying and leaving and when I knew you had died and left. But I drowned those memories in ***** and suffocated them with smoke, until my body collapsed and until my lungs learned the cursive in every exhale.

In my head.
In my head.
In my head.
In my head.

Here I sit in the dark, watching 80's films. Because thirty years ago, there was no you and there was no me. I imagine it was a simpler time for the both of us.

A time where we never met.
But I'm glad I met you.
A time where we never kissed.
But I'm glad I kissed you.
A time where I didn't say,
"It's okay.
It's okay and it's always going to be okay
because I love you too."

It's not okay. It's not okay. Itsnotokay.itsnotokayitsnotokayitsnotokayitsnotokay

Tomorrow I will wake up, put on a t-shirt, boxers, socks, jeans, worn out Nikes, and a beat up flannel. I'll check my pulse, as I do my vitals, and I'll take my medications. I'll look at my bank account and determine how much money it'll take to forget you and how much more I wish I had so I could help you.

Is there a simpler way of saying I love you, or should I continue writing this album?

Hear your voice in every note,
Feel your breath in every phrase,
As my fingers dance on the keys,
It's you I want to amaze.

But you are not here.

See your smile on every stave,
Sense your hands embracing mine,
An unresolved suspension,
Betrays what's on my mind:

You are not here

But then, in the reflection of that ebony grand,
I glimpse a moving figure,
I see your eyes looking back at me,
My music fades to a whisper.

You are here.

I turn to face you and you take my hands,
You place them gently back on the keys,
"Keep playing," You tell me,
"Let me hear more, please."

I take a breath,
"Now you are here, I could play you my soul."

She's an alphabet artist
she paints in words,

from a palette of adjectives,
nouns and verbs,

the landscape she finds
in the folds of her mind

she exhibits in volumes of verse.