the best thing that
ever happened to me,
and i miss you
with every fiber
of my being.


and it's sad to know
that we can never be
what we once were.

empty bottle resembles empty heart

   and empty head,

   and empty bed

--


every song is a punch to the gut
   reminding her that she must
  
   she must

   be better, be stronger, be confident

and yet relapse is on the road
   to the imaginary land of recovery

--


she develops an intense relationship
   with her lonesome bed

blanets reach out to keep her pinned
   -to pillows
   -in sleep
   -with tear-stained cheeks, chewed up nails,
    swollen shoulder blades

her mattress is desperate for the kisses and sighs
   she gives it night after night

what am i doing to myself?

that surge of panic
a heart-stuttering, mouth-opening, clenching-of-the-jaw
   panic

the realization that my hands are to blame
   for the strength of my bones
   for the confidence in my eyes
   for the smile that comes so naturally now-

how do i take this back?

how could i be such a stranger to myself
how could i let my dreams fall away
how could i pack it all into a single shoe box
how could i leave her behind,
   after all she's done for me?

this line is much too thin to walk
and my bathophobia is making me stumble

one side of the fence houses
   fruit, sweat, strength, genuine laughter, newness of life
   and enough self-worth to inspire
the other contains
   blood, tears, collapse and destruction, a lack of sleep
   and enough regret to drown everyone i've ever loved
   and yet, in my eyes, it is comfort

how do i choose between health and safety?
why am i making myself destroy one life to start another?

will it even be worth it when someone else
steps out of the ashes?