when i was younger my parents
warned  me about the kinds of drugs you could snort
into your system through your gentle little nose,

the kind you drink like alcohol
and the ones you inject straight into your
veins.

but the one thing they forgot to warn me about
were drugs like you.

you are
too busy
to live
yet
too idle
to die

I look at you on the sofa.
Lying there all young, healthy
And warm, and I don't just want you
In the obvious sense; I want your
Liver, kidneys, flat stomach, strong,
Long, young legs.
Frankenstein's parts-storage
I want your youth.  

I can't have it. I can't take it
And have it. Angry. I want to
Kick your ***, but not really.
I want your mouth to
Expell something
Other than this
Teenage girl
Chatter.

I want to hit your pretty face
With all of my one-third-life-crisis-
Frustration behind it
With a pillow.
Eat feather, child!
Chew cotton!
Munch goose!

Straight left-straight right.
I have fought men
Twice my size,
I'll beat you up
Until you
Suffocate
And surrender
From
Laughing
So
Hard.

I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

1 eyes meet
2 a smile
3 bubbly conversation
4 hang out for a while
5 no sleeping we're on the phone
6 just when things seem great..no reply
7 suddenly feel alone
8 cry
9 move on with time
10 another pair meet mine