They'll say “there's plenty other fish in the sea”
But he was a shark
And I was a guppy
He had swallowed me whole
and spat me back out
Now I am floating around
Lifelessly
And the 'sea' that I swim?
It's a load of old crap
I'm too far away from the shore
and the ocean's way too large to explore
Especially now I'm on my own
With only the company of my tears
Instead, I will be engulfed by ******* comfort
from my worrying peers
Whilst I dangle my legs numbly off of the pier
Bottle in hand and him on my mind
with pain tingling up from my spine
They'll say “move on” and “give it time”
but time seems to not be on my side
for it moves too painfully slow
I only feel good when I'm not awake
When I'm in public I fear I might break
I can't look people in the eye
It's not because I'm shy
But because I am scared they will see what is swimming inside
Those waves in my stomach
that make me feel queasy
always find their way to the surface, ever so easy

Do I whisper
across your thoughts
like sheets,
pulled over lovers’ bodies?
Or is that too intimate?
And it’s more like
water from the faucet
rushing into yesterday’s cold coffee?
Or do I pad across your mind
like bare feet in an empty house?
Or to I creak as a ghostly reminder
of every door
you never opened for me?
Do I hit you like oncoming traffic,
crushing your thoughts like leaves underfoot?
Or am I sawing at your sanity
like a two-man saw to a redwood?
Or do I flatter myself,
thinking I grace your thoughts at all?

the picture was pixelated
you told me
it didn't print the way you
wanted it to
wasn't fully in focus
--I guess in retrospect
it's fitting--
but I wanted you to go back
and reprint it
I was afraid you'd just
throw it away
I was afraid you'd never
frame it
afraid you'd never
place it at your bedside
afraid you would never
let it be as beautiful as
we both knew
that picture was

you didn't reprint it
it was stuck being blurred
said you didn't mind
and you still framed it
you still placed it there
by your bedside
seems ironic now
with both picture and
frame broken
tucked under
some box in a closet
that I was the one
who was afraid

there's nothing left
there's no other side
there's no next time
there's only this 20 years
past
and the next 20 years
and hopefully the
next
*******
what have I done
this life burns
in the saddle
I can feel it
but the horse
won't stop
won't turn around
and people say
you're young
you're whole life
is ahead of you
but that horse
won't stop
won't turn around
get me out of the saddle
please
******* please
someone help
I can't do this anymore
get me out of here
you're young
till you're old
till you're dead
and then you're
nothing
but fodder for
the worms
this horse won't
stop
won't turn around
hell he won't even
slow down
he's a stubborn *******
and soon
fodder for the worms
and those flowers
that bloom every
spring
for this 20
and the next
and the next

-I stand in a corridor and scream-

there is no echo, I am not screaming,
the scream is a landmine,
taped to every last pore of my flesh.
I make clawmarks, pulling skin off.

but the pores go on forever,
but my fears keep flowing,

like the white breaking porcelain
on the shoreline I drown in,

-I am alone-
and,

and the clock's killing me,
in slow moves, toothache,
and the rising tide of that sea.

-I am a field-

littered with bodies, just like mine:
I've discarded each of them,
when I don't want to be me.

but I want to be me.

I just don't feel this way, with any consistency.
so,

I just need some small anything,
need your love more than everything,
but who am I kidding;
you'll never love me.

-I am left to my misery-