All of a sudden you're on the floor with wet eyes and wet hands
and the only sound in your head is that of screaming
But maybe it's you
And you feel as if you're being eaten from the inside out by your own
malnourished heart
You can't actually breathe because your sobs won't allow it
and your entire body is trembling
and dark red,
fading to purple
You imagine someone holding a knife beside you
Someone who's willing to use it
and it doesn't scare you any more than death scares a ghost
You're sure you wouldn't feel it

So you sleep to fool your brain for a while
But you only dream of him
and things are alright and well and good
and you wake up and you wish you hadn't
Some people never know that your chest
can feel this empty
That your stomach and your throat and your head
can beg and beg and beg
and you can not know what for
And some people don't ever find out
that your heart's physical ache
is much too real
That one would prefer next to any amount of torture
if that heart were separate from his

I will never feel content with myself anymore, nor with the black ink that pours from my chest whenever I hear your name.

I am crumpling.
Deteriorating.
In every way my mind and body can handle, I am falling apart.
I am sick, and I am not going to heal. It is too late. I am too far gone.

I sleep. I wake up. I don't eat. I take pills. I sleep again. Repeat.

My eyes are heavy, my head is light. I am in pain. I can't move. More pills.

I dream I see him in my room. I wake up. He is not there because he is dead. He killed himself. More pills.

I think about her smile. She can't smile anymore because she is dead. She was killed in a car accident. More pills.

I miss him. But I will never see him again because he is dead. Cancer stole his life before he could see me grow up. More pills.

I long to meet him. But I never will because he is dead. Before he even took a breath on his own, his body gave up. More pills.

I swallow pills with grief.
I numb my mind like I numb the pain.
It goes away for a while, and life seems normal. Then the bandage falls off.

I am weak again.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
Am I sad? Am I depressed? Am I angry? Maybe. I am sick. And I've seen too many people die. And I am not going to heal.

numbness to pain does not make it
non existent
floating imaginations do not make them
unreal
(h)arsh reality does not make it
fiction
big dreams do not me(a)n they're
unattainable
high **(p)es do not mean you're
delusional
sadness does not mean
depress(i)on
happi(n)ess doesn't have to mean you're
bipolar
wanting more do(e)sn't make you
ungrateful
and all these words that (s)ociety uses against you
to make you feel

weak

unaccepted


vulnerable
&

broken



di(s)card them.

all you need,
to be happy
is positivity

*this is my promise to you.

"I'm loving you",
she said.
not "I love you",
which is what most people say,
which is what I would have said --
"I'm loving you."
because it was an ongoing action,
not just a passive state,
because she was loving me
while I was reading, or cooking.
it wasn't something like
"how do you feel?" "I feel good."
"what do you love?" "you, dear."
-- no.
no, loving is a verb, an act,
one that takes patience and time
and perseverance.
"I'm loving you", she said,
and her tone was casual or
almost indifferent, maybe,
as if she had said "I'm cleaning
the house", as if it should follow
"what are you doing today?",
she said the words as if they were
positively ordinary, but they weren't.
people tend to ask
"do you smoke?" or "do you drink?"
or "what do you believe in?"
-- habitually, passively --
and she said
"I'm loving
(and loving and loving)
you."

always wanted a part
in a film
so I asked a director if he'd give me a break
and the director told me: "Break a leg"
and I thought he'd meant me to get
experience for a disaster movie
(sort of Stanislavsky's method acting)
so I did

but I never got a part;
the director just laughed and waved me away -
but at least I was in the cast for weeks

It stirs my soul to say I am slave,
for thee, daddy, I shall mock ideas of freedom
cast forth by common and devilish cultures,
for thee i shall embrace another sort of freedom,
freedom under constraint,
constraint willfully chosen,
by infinite grace, ever applied in totality, to me,
freedom that says,
before I was a slave to sin,
now i am a slave to righteousness,
and joyfully so,
for being moved by your spirit,
i am ever able, when before i was helpless,
to choose that which pleases
the abundant master,
the master without end,
the existing one,
El Ro'i , the God who sees me,
me a slave chosen as friend,
me a friend adopted as son,
me a son lavished as heir
to that which i deserve not an inkling, or mite,
not jot, nor tittle,
not a word or breath from your lips,
none of that which you spoke or breathed into being.
Oh, God! I am a slave!Ever shall I be!
Thank you master that i be, ever slave, ever to thee.

Slowly
                  you tear me apart
                                                           ­ by every word
                                                            ­                                         you wouldn't say
                                                              --