Quit quitting.

Mr. Brick Through Window
Mr. Holes Through Stomach
Mr. Foot Through Windshield
Mr. Knife Through Arm
Mr. Gun Through Jawbone
Mr. Teeth Through Heart

You are running away to a hell
That does not want you.

Go home.

I feel myself falling asleep on the staircase we sat on when you told me for the first time, out loud, that you wanted to die. I can feel the dead breath of winter. I can feel the slow drifting of snow onto my trembling hands and the unforgiving stillness of the concrete beneath me. I can feel your shaking and nonexistent forgiveness towards your own knotting fingers.

I can feel myself dozing off on the carpet you opened your veins and popped the seams of your skin on. I can feel the warm wetness of iron that once flowed through your arteries envelop my eyelids. I can feel your knife saw through my untouched hair. I can feel the soft edge of your cheek turn salty with tears. I can feel the cloth you gag yourself fill my mouth with cotton and the grooves of my teeth with formaldehyde.

I can feel myself awakening in the pill bottle that used to be full. I can feel the milligrams come in doctors note waves. I can feel the ***** climb from the back of my throat. I can feel the dizzy relief of holding back poison. I can feel your sinking regret and all 25 pills of its predecessors wringing your brain out.

I can feel myself opening my eyes in your casket. It is not empty. I can feel the burden of your body beneath me. I can feel the tough leather of your rope burned neck and the dull heat of my skin desperately trying to awaken yours.

Gone is sometimes not an adjective. He is a noun. And he is haunting my dreams.

I held you
As you cried
About losing me
That night

You loved campfires
Because your grandfather taught you
How to build them

And while I never learned
How to burn
I picked up a stack of paper
To throw into the flames

And I thought
That in a few moments
What I'm holding in my hands  
Would be just ash and dust

And I felt the very same way
That night

You are afraid
That you won't know
Until he takes you into his room
And shows you the lines
He carved into his thighs
With a kitchen knife and
He says he didn't want to die
The night he unzipped his veins
And cracked 12 pills wide open

You still are hoping he stops
But you know
He will not
So you go home and throw up
On your clothes
Just to take them off
Pretend its okay
And worry for another day

This is a poem about honesty. I cannot lie to you about how pretty this all isn't. I'm gonna do what I'm good at, loving people so indirectly it breaks me in two.

If there is any testament to my big and dumb heart, it's the true sentiment of anything I can say about the people I have met. Here's a few-

Dearest girl who flayed open her arm like salmon that I wish I could heal/dearest girl who I cannot describe her beauty in something as ugly as a poem/dearest girl who I love to love and love to want to give bandaids and butterfly stitches, I hope you're happy. I hope this day is shining brightly upon you. Otherwise I swear, I will speak to the sun Herself. I will tell her that her light is in the wrong corner of Eden. This place should not be a prison. You will make it out alive, and I will live to see the day that it happens too. I'll be there for you.

Dearest best friend with hair that faded to oil slick rainbow, I only got/get sad because I feel like I'm speaking right through you. I've felt the way you do. I wish I could raise your head from the clouds it rests in. I will just say, my beautiful best friend, your size isn't a negative imprint upon this world. The fit of those jeans isn't the confines of your worth. Think about all the time I've drawn you just how you are, your body is a masterpiece. Cheesy might describe me, but **** right definitely does.

Dear boy with tattoos and a **** good taste in music that I love to pretend to insult but can't even imagine hating, everyone loves you and I hope you know it. Sorry I don't Have Mercy (hehe get it) on you when it comes to the horrible jokes, but just know I can't find a single bad thing about you, believe it or not. Ask anyone who's ever asked me. And your dog, he's a plus. ****, I love your dog. Tell him I say hello.

Dearest least PC person I know and favorite infidel, by God I love you *****. Our terrible honesty is horribly inspiring and I don't know how I'd get by without your awful existence. You're a queen, and I hope in your kingdom the words "trigger warning" are never paired together for your own sake. Agree to never disagree, you're the cutest most ****** up person I've ever met and I wouldn't change a thing. Thanks for listening to me whine all the time and not calling the cops.

Dearest girl with beautiful hair, dearest girl who cares into crying in bathrooms and offices and in classes and in bedrooms, I know. I know how it feels to worry the bottom of your heart straight to the bottom of your stomach. I have felt the nausea of the impact of the word "hospital". I used to frantically pick up the phone on the first ring because I was afraid I'd miss the call again, telling me he's gone again and now we can't talk again and I'm sitting up all night again, crying myself into every dark corner of the school again. It ends. They come home, it ends. Love the way you love, because not many people can do what you do. There will be few times you feel this helpless, trust me, I've seen **** and then some. I'll be right here if you need me.

Dearest best friend with the unkept dyed blonde hair, scoliosis, and an unwavering love for me that I cannot even begin to fathom, I'm sorry I forgot that you were at your mother's house two weeks ago. I hope you were okay. I hope nothing like her ever happens to you again and I hope Cali treats you well and I hope the drugs don't **** you (I still cry every time I think about it) and I am still losing sleep over you and your stupid decisions and wonderful brain and perfectly imperfect heart. You brown eyed crooked back fool, I love you and all your dumb antics, cheers to you never growing up, just don't smoke or trip yourself out of the beautiful life you deserve.

Dear future star who I secretly call Wolverine who is not so secretly very gay and lights up every room he's ever been in, let's go to chilis.

Dearest two best friends that are only my recent buddies with the best eyeliner that can both drive (poorly sometimes, but nonetheless) and both make me laugh to the ends of the Earth, God bless your taste in memes and music.

To everyone and everything I have ever had the incredible pleasure or misfortune of meeting: When I say I hate you, every time I mean I love you. I care about you more than I care about finding out why I'm alive. I care about you more than living. I care about you more than I care about not losing you. I will care about you until you leave and then I will wonder how you are. I will say you ****** me up and I will mean it but I'm choking back that I still can't stop loving you. I still can't stop fighting the urge to stitch your wounds. I still want to play your favorite records. I still want to smooth back your hair with the palm of my hand. I still want to be there every time you cry. I still want to fall asleep with you.  I will pretend to be anything but in love with every human being on this planet, but I will be lying to myself and everything that matters to me. It will slip through my veins in endless hand written letters signed with my name. I'm shouting I love you to everyone, silently in the corner of class, smiling when you look at me.