( written by friends who know and shared here with their permission)

don't dwell on ****,
the past has passed.
and throw the drugs
down the toilet.

do the things that make
you feel better,
and avoid the things
that make you feel crap.

whatever they are.

eat and drink
things
that make you feel nice,
and be in such places.

know who your friends are
and know how much to load
on them.

force your self
out of bed in
the morning,
go for a walk
enjoy nature.

get a dog.

avoid the news,
and depressing tv.

know
your own routine,
and don't let other people
tell you it is wrong
or feel guilty about it

but also know the line
between what is your own
paranoia and anxieties,
and what is just normal
emotion
and reaction.

be aware of reality,
and how you are
deviating from it.

get over yourself,
and lighten up.

some of it is
indeed physical and psycological,
but much of it
is just ******.

Take as much advice
as can be ,
but it is up
to the individual
to make the decision to change.

as you know.

Gimme the dregs
the sludge
at the bottom of the coffee ***
in a twelve-ounce paper cup
Give me snowmelt
Give me the bile in the belly of the earth
Give me good, clean american dirt
and half-remembered dreams
and I'll show you what it means
to live honestly.

Gimme the sun
up on high
on the other side of nightfall
to tighten the bags under my eyes
Give me dandelions
Give me a candle for warmth and light
Give me the mist in the sky
and a spoonful of rice
and I'll show you what it feels like
to move a molehill.

morphine. i found ashes in the pages of the photo albums under
my bed yesterday, leaves turned red pages to the colder chapters
and i thought you could still grow a rose this time of year but then i
remembered when we used to make flower crowns in sixth grade so
i took some morphine;
it helped with the pain

the night is younger than ourselves and we run through breakspears road shattering the lampposts with our bare hands, yes we are the new generation! everybody knows we aren’t scared of losing the pieces in our own, we just want to see the skin pulled off the tips of our fingers! (when you’ve been feeling the blunt edges of scalpels and needles all your life walking on glass starts to feel like heaven)

codeine— hell is getting hotter! she took to the clouds and the glass
shards wrote crimson sonnets on the bottoms of her feet, marietta i
trusted you i really did, i made you promise
that you’d stay; not with me, of course
(some things are more important in the end)
i wanted you to stay here.
but you wanted to see the stars so
i choke down the cough syrup;
one ache distracts me from the other

dear marietta,
the light distorts so strangely here in the water.
this is how i want to leave this place

all my dad bought was tequila,
so i spent my evenings staring into it, plugging my nose
(orange is my least favorite color.)
drip drip drip, onto our sidewalks, like an iv in an inevitably diseased vein
its still coming down, slowly. you feel it if you dont move
swallow me, into tunnels made of clear plastic film,
dry me out until i am the dust left by summer

You see I'm not entirely sure what home feels like,
but when we're sitting together, side by side in nothing but silence,
I begin to slowly understand.

Home is you. Home is a place that brings no judgement, only love.
Home makes you feel okay about being dumped or failing your math test, again.
You've been my home that allows me to live & a home that has managed to teach me about the entire universe.
You've been able to keep me alive by effortlessly loving me, despite my constant moping about.
Your existence alone has given me more reason than ever before & for once, I don't want to give up. Not on me & never on you.

I cannot think of anyone else who deserves to wear that pretty smile each day, carelessly, effortlessly.
& most importantly, I cannot think of anyone else who deserves to be loved,
who deserves to have their tea hot each morning & to have men write bad poetry because no words in the dictionary are worthy of describing your entire being.
You are the mid night poetry at 2am that everyone talks about.
You are the reason we should all have insomnia, because it's a little difficult to fall asleep when fragments of your face & the happiness you shed on us each passing day keeps replaying in our heads.
With a heart of gold, you make people believe in love & all the little things in between.
No,
this is not a poem,
but proof that when my heart beats,
it beats to find its way home.

It’s a dark, lonely night, and I am sitting on my bedroom floor
a bottle of stolen ***** on one side,
and the ghost of you on the other

I take another swig
and realize that maybe I spend so much time kissing the mouths of bottles now
because I know I can’t kiss yours anymore
maybe I like the way the liquid makes my insides burn
because it reminds me of how I felt whenever you touched me

I’ve been counting the days since you’ve left
and I’ve realized that maybe thats why I’ve been drinking so much
because every time I do it feels like for just a moment I can forget about you
I can forget about the way we promised each other the world
but could barely gather enough tinder to keep ourselves warm

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be.*" - Wuthering Heights.

beauty, is in love's eyes,
i once read that if he still makes your heart
anchor itself to your abdomen,
after three months, it's love.

well, my metaphors are wasted on you,
my words are a fancy way of
expressing myself and they contain
too much of you.

you've got a temper,
enough to rumble under these streets,
and collapse what i've been building.

i get sick of building blocks,
love is child's play, and i just want
us to be adults.

i promised to love you, and i do in
my own odd ways,
you broke my heart, i broke yours.
i still want you to know,
a mosaic wouldn't be so beautiful,
without all the cracks.

Freud said it best
"time spent with cats
is never wasted"
there have never been
truer words.
you feel the love
that you deserve,
the passion of another
being needing you,
the conversations you
dont have to make,
the satisfaction when you
hear purring just from
your touch,
the content of just
being in the same room.
the only thing missing
is those feelings being
felt towards you.