I love the way you look in the moonlight that filters in through the window
(I love the simple fact that you are here with me in the moonlight)

Your hair smells amazing
(I inhale you every chance I get in every state you are in and hold it in my lungs because I want it to intoxicate me)

Your hair looks fantastic
(it floats downward from the top of your brilliant mind and cascades like your thoughts, pours like your words in our half-drunk midnight conversations)

Your smile is so pretty
(when you smile at me it lights me up and makes me feel, if even for an instant in this time of my life that is so shambled and broken, whole)

Can I have a hug?
(hold me, embrace me, envelope me, if only to let me know you are real)

Let’s go to bed
(where I can confuse physical love with emotional, take refuge in confirming our relationship with *** because it’s easier than risking my whole trust, easier than leaving myself bare before you with the certainty that one day, eventually, you will tear my heart out and crush it)

No, that’s ridiculous. Why would you say that?
(I’m terrified that you know me so well)

I don’t think I can make it tonight
(I’m terrified that you know me so well)

Can’t we talk?
(I get it, you backed away because I did but I’m going to blame you because I can’t blame myself, don’t you see? Can’t you see how utterly self-absorbed I am but also woefully lacking self-confidence? I refuse to share any of this with you, I can’t let you know it but if you saw it I’d acknowledge it, at least I think I will, and you know me so well so why can’t you see it)

I don’t think we should see each other anymore
(please, please, please make me realize how utterly foolish I am. Please slap me and scream at me)

Say something
(your total lack of reaction destroys me more than anything)

You look really pretty
(so beautiful, majestic, magnificent and I love you. I love the tears I have made you cry so silently and I hate myself so much for this moment because of that. I love you and only now as you walk away do I realize it)

Fine. Go.
(the ease with which you leave is painful and will linger for years)

…
(Please stop walking, please. I was wrong. Please.)

I'm disgusted by her image.

Disgusted by her finger nails; peeled of their polish and bit to the quick.

By her boring never dyed or cut, wavy hair with wisps falling around her face from the sloppy ponytail.

By the black Led Zeppelin tshirt shes wearing that drapes like a curtain around her skeleton; too big for her too thin body.

Disgusted by the scars on her forearms and wrists from multiple sessions with any sharp object she could find.

By her ripped jeans, hugging her small waist, scarred thighs and bruised legs.

I'm disgusted by the dark circles that round the bottoms of her empty eyes.

By the trail of hot tears down her sunken cheeks.

By the cowardly thoughts in her corrupted mind of suicide

because it'd be so much easier than this

I'm disgusted by her.
Staring back at me through a veil of tears
in the mirror.

there will come a time
           where we'll not talk for two weeks,
  then three.

                                           Soon enough, it'll be a year,
                          then three and four.


          One morning I'll wake up
                    and realize it's been 20 years,

          and that I still miss you.

(J.D)