Talking to yourself in the mirror is more of a religious experience than getting on your knees and whimpering to the sky.

Today, 6:36 am, I got up and said "Good morning, Green Eyes, let's forget."

Getting home, 2:36, I wiped the blood from my front teeth and said "Good going *****, crying in class? What are you made of?" Sticks and stones, I thought. Sticks and stones.

A droning sound.

A year ago, you swallowed pills and opened your thighs, air crawling into places that air should never have the privilege (read: incredible misfortune) of touching, holding. I laid in bed, shined a laser pointer at my door for hours with "Goodbye Cruel World" on rickety repeat.

Goodbye cruel world, I'm leaving you today. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

A year ago, you took pictures of your snapped veins, wishbone fingers still gripping a razor, you smiling. I threw up.

Goodbye all you people.

My friend is going through what I did, caring. Caring a lot. Caring into the school guidance department and caring into crying the whole day. Caring until she can't sleep. Caring until the morning to repeat the cycle. Caring, slowly bleeding out/dying/wishing you were God, same thing.

There's nothing you can say.

I feel bad, I feel bad that your wrist split open. I want to butterfly stitch it for you, hold you, brush your hair back, and back, and back.

To make me change my mind.

What's the point in killing yourself anyway? Right. So I'll do it for you.

*Goodbye.

You wash the bubbles of your skin down the drain every night, scraping with a facecloth, hoping to cleanse the ugly from yourself; the putrid stench of your muscles beneath every mistake you've breathed or uttered into this Earth's air. You lick your wounds.
                                                     Bone fracture
You run your fingertips across the bridge of her nose, down to her chin, tip her head  up to meet your hungry eyes, good dog. Now, roll over, show me where your heart is. When she resists, when she bites, your hands don't work like human's do.
                                                    Loneliness
­                                                    without
     ­                                               overflow
Your brain meets another that you read to be feral. Fear, for a moment. Fear, buried under something like happiness. (Insanity) You lick your lips, starving. She can taste your teeth. She can taste the raw meat you have pulled from every past lover. The blood in your drool when you sleep, the sharpness in your stare, the way you mumble sweet nothings, she's known beasts like you.
                                                    Someone like
                                                    you, comfort for a
                                                    moment
You'­re just rough around the edges, you tell her. The world tells you to beat your mutt brain to death. You tell yourself that it's just the phase of the moon. The tides move your blood. The tides pull your ancient mind, tug on the sleeve of your consciousness.
                                                    Living like a car
                                                      accident
­You **** what you don't need. You don't eat what you ****. You don't know what you ****. You don't know where your hands have landed, which throats they have crushed. You will drag your claws across the cold skin, watch it wrinkle and rip, no blood moving; cold, congealed.
                                                    Dead kittens in  
                                                     the air vents
You share the rage of something forgotten by time. Something with blood boiling and eyes like hawks, wings of angels, burning brightly against the backdrop of night.
                                                    The smell of
                                                      strawberri­es
People try to care. They try to wrap their tongues around your ideas and around your ankles. They try to cry the same tears you do. They try to touch the sky and earth like you do. But they never will. No one gets you. No one can move you.
                                                    Your mother's
                                                     arthritis
Curled under the wheels of cars, spit out onto the side of the highway. Cooking in the sun, roadkill is no fun if you don't like to play with your food. The semi trucks barrel by. You feel the gentle shove towards their snouts, their mashing teeth, their twitching tongues, slick with the inside of your bones.
                                                    The way you
                                                     haven't cried in
                                                     years, you say
You meet a girl. You eat her whole. You meet a soulmate. You eat her whole. You shake in your mother's arms. You eat her whole. You look in the mirror. You eat her whole. You visit a therapist. You eat her whole. You see God. You eat her whole.
                                                    Holes in dry
                                                     wall
Your lips don't twist anymore. Your heart doesn't twitch anymore, dead animal. The wind doesn't call to you anymore. You wonder where your mind went, where you left it, in which forest, under which overpass.
                                                   Calling
You­ feel the world shift against you, all eyes on you, knowing what you've done. Where you've been. Who you are.
                                                        And calling
You saw off the barrels of guns.
                                                             *And calling