this is for the me who i'm trying to break free of:
stop. stop getting yourself into situations you know will ******* up. stop giving people chance after chance. stop telling yourself it doesn't count if it's him, he's only important if you make him so. stop it. find the value inside yourself to move the **** on. stop isolating yourself unless it's him who wants to be involved with you. (usually it isn't.) you're going to be okay. you don't need him to feel like you're actually alive. give other people a ******* chance and stop feeling sorry for someone who isn't trying; you. all your putting your effort into is getting him back.

let's start the new year right
with your hand between my thighs

i write about you
because a poem might make this pain feel better
it might make it beautiful
but there is nothing beautiful
about me locking the door to my bedroom
and swallowing 22 pills
there is nothing beautiful
about the blood from my wrists getting on my sheets
and crying because you won't have touched the new ones
there is nothing beautiful
about begging my wrists to keep bleeding
there is nothing beautiful
about my screams
for you to come back
there is nothing beautiful
about the physical pain in my chest
when you told me
that you
wanted someone
else

i bet you wish that i was optional;
i bet you wish i was never born
or that we never crossed paths
well, everything is optional.
life is optional.
pain is, too.
i don't have to feel this way,
i can end it.
maybe i will.

at which did you decide that i was no longer good enough?
nothing ever changed for me
something inside you has died and
i'm not even allowed inside the funeral because
nobody knew that we were lovers
how am i supposed to breathe
when your breath is still inside my lungs
from all the smoke i shotgunned
i'm your favorite scar;
your favorite sad story'
to tell your grandkids one day
"i broke a girl's heart once,
she still writes me everyday"
you can't just look at the glass
you've got to shatter it
so every one knows that you were the one that did it
nobody can ever break me again,
you do it everyday
the me who smiles is dead,
i hung her in my closet
with my father's belt.
i never gave it back to him because i never saw him again
after he said "see you soon."
just like you, you promised too.
i tried stitching us back together with
"i need you"
but you didn't even care
i have dreams where you **** me
and in my dreams,
you have the courtesy to keep pretending you love me
home is where the ghosts are
home is where the heart aches
home is where you got all your scars
home is in his chest;
it's a beating heart
and you don't know how to untangle yourself
from his nooses made of veins
let me go,
let me go to heaven
my time in hell is over with

Trying to tell myself not to worry, that I am so small.
But that, too brings a certain terror I cannot explain.
How can the pain that is inside me be so big and overwhelming
if I am less than dust?
The confusion that plagues me makes my hands tremble
and I have no answers
and I can't even put my questions into words.
I just want to know
how I can be so sad
if I am nothing.

i haven't picked up the pen
in weeks.
i just haven't felt up to writing,
do you really want to know how i feel?
go on, take a guess.
you can even ask!
"are you still using drugs to escape reality?"
"are you falling back into self- destructive habits?"
no, no way! not me!
i'm all smiles, why could i ever be upset?
i'm only alone in every definition of the word,
it's not like i've been searching everyday for an escape.
i'm just fine, thanks for asking.

it's my trembling hands
and my watery eyes
it's the way that i
can't fall asleep at night
it's how i constantly need to be held
it's how much i cried when you left
it's my locked door
it's how i have nothing left
it's the razor blades
that make the most precise of lines
some of which are on my thighs
it's how every time i think of a train
i think of how comfy the tracks must be
it's my whispers to myself
"what the **** is happening"
and it's all the pills too.
enough to end my life,
only to wake up and find myself
still alive
it's my pens which are out of ink
from all the letters i wrote you
"i'm gonna **** myself, im sorry
i love you"