i wonder if you're drowning me
in a glass bottle
dreaming of the day you drink too much
and i come to your rescue
i want to want to
but the truth is
i don't give a ****
and i can't apologize
enough
for not loving you.

just put down the bottle, babe.
there aren't enough tears
in the universe
to bring someone back
who never cared
to start.

i'll let you learn from my mistakes
if you'll let me.

if you deleted my number
it would hurt more
than every ****** thing
put together
and here's why

when i broke down on you
in february
i said i was just another girl
and you told me no,
you were you and i was me
and right then
we mattered
not as a unit, but as people
separate entities

here's the catch
you said ten, fifteen years from now
sure -- i might be just another girl

it's only been two
two years
if you started blurring me together now
with the other people who are just
taking up space
in your memory

i
think
i'd
die.

i'm barely sorry that i hurt you
i didn't even love you
and now you're giving me
passive aggressive silence
hoping i'll give a ****
darling, i know that trick
darling, don't waste your time
darling, be careful
just because it's working
doesn't mean i care
it just means i miss you
r attention

i know it isn't fair
you did everything right
you were good to me
but everyone's heart
belongs to someone
and mine was already
taken

so when i call at two am
don't pick up
you're just another
*******.

sleeping next to a boy
without sleeping with him
is just
awkward.

are you quite alright?
                                          he asks
yeah, my knees are just acting up*
                                          i insist
but the way my e n t i r e  b o d y
aches in protest
gives me away.
i can't remember the
last time i felt
rested.

dear michael,

i ******* hate you for wanting to be unhappy. do you and riley realize how ******* miserable it is? it sounds ******* to explain it that way, but you don't seem to get it. being unhappy is not poetic. it is not beautiful. sometimes, it produces beautiful things, but the sadness itself is ugly.

have you ever thought about walking in front of a car? have you ever thought about walking in front of a car and it passing right through you? like you aren't even there? because that's what sad feels like. not being hit by a car, but being so insignificant and utterly gone that it could hit you without shedding blood.

where do the parts go? where do the pieces go when a car hits a person? i'm not talking about their body parts, i'm talking about their soul -- god, i hate that word, but sometimes the words we hate (***, ******, ****) are the only ones that fit. words always have a place. do souls?

i'm starting to think the answer is no. not everyone will be a stockbroker. just like not everyone will rise above their hood. some of us just float. i'm part of an eternal migration south, michael. the mentality, not the place. are you coming with me?

are you sure you want to?

but i think i was born
saying goodbye.