Our bodies,
And our souls were tangled.

I wanted to thank you
for being everything
to me whenever
I had nothing to
call my own.

You didn't just
get me out of a "rut."

You saved me
from the empty,
soulless shell in which
I was about to
become.

Don't listen to me; my heart's been broken.
I don't see anything objectively.

I know myself; I've learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
When I speak passionately,
That's when I'm least to be trusted.

It's very sad, really: all my life I've been praised
For my intelligence, my powers of language, of insight-
In the end they're wasted-

I never see myself.
Standing on the front steps. Holding my sisters hand.
That's why I can't account
For the bruises on her arm where the sleeve ends ...

In my own mind, I'm invisible: that's why I'm dangerous.
People like me, who seem selfless.
We're the cripples, the liars:
We're the ones who should be factored out
In the interest of truth.

When I'm quiet, that's when the truth emerges.
A clear sky, the clouds like white fibers.
Underneath, a little gray house. The azaleas
Red and bright pink.

If you want the truth, you have to close yourself
To the older sister, block her out:
When I living thing is hurt like that
In its deepest workings,
All function is altered.

That's why I'm not to be trusted.
Because a wound to the heart
Is also a wound to the mind.

Normally, at this hour of night, I'm fragile and emotional and yearning for reinforcement.

Tonight? No.t at. all.

Tonight, I'm on fire.

Tonight, I realize that I have what you want. Rather, I am what you want.

You may not be aware of it, you may be in denial. It doesn't matter. Because I know it.

I realize that I provide for you so much more than you give to me. I am a rock, a shield, and a dose of reality; all on demand!

I would say you are lucky to have what I provide, but it isn't luck. It's choice. A choice I make, daily. A choice that has little to do with you.

If you don't have need of me tonight, so be it. It's not my loss; it's yours.

Tonight, I know the truth. You need me. You may not want me. You may not be proud of the fact that it is so. You may wish I was hipper, hotter, or more adventurous. But it doesn't change the fact that you need me.

It's not the other way around. It could be. But you have to work at it.

I know the truth, and the truth has set me free,

I still have
a
cigarette burn on my
chest from the
time
you told me
how it
feels to love me

I
Want
To
Kiss
Where
The
Sun
Hasn't.

I traced the outline of your fingers,
and I forgot about every single hand that had broke my heart.  

I tasted your lips for the first time,
and I forgot about every single goodbye that was ever said to me.

I looked into your eyes,
and I seen the next sixty years of my life.

She is emptiness.
She is disappointment
and cigarettes
hiding under breathe mints.
She is hollow
and resentment resounds,
reverberating,
and vibrating
her core.
She is anger
and grief.
She is mourning
and sorrow.
She is hopeless
nothing to look forward to,
not even the promise of tomorrow.
She is loneliness
and guilt
for letting perfect love
just sit there and wilt.
She is the morning after
a night of alcohol.
She is the memories
she desperately tries
to drown in another
cacophony of music
and sounds.
She is depression
that she tries to throw to the wind
as she throws another handful of pills
down her mouth.
She is hate
and it eats away
until there isn't much left
to say.
She is you.
She is me.
She is everyone
but no one.
She is.