"I love you dearly..."
You spoke those four words to me countless times,
like a mother should
but a mother also should notice
the harsh words that follow
that feel like a bullet her daughter's chest.
"You're tearing this family apart."
"Maybe you should have killed yourself."
"You're going to ruin Christmas."
"Nothing is wrong with you."
And how do you not notice the added bracelets?
Or see how a light's always on in my room in
the crazy hours of the night when you're  
creeping around for another swallow of pills?
Or how I lock my door when I go to a
friend's house so you don't go in there?
You told me you wanted to jump in front of a car.
A train.
Overdose.
You say we don't care.
Is that why you treat me this way?
I'm numb now, Mom.
I feel nothing.
You've done it again.
I thought it was over,
when I just started to trust you.
But now?
Now I don't trust you.
Or anybody.

Let's go to the mountain top
and scream
and scream
until the sorrow in our voices
is no more

He's got a flair for the ironic,
and a stare that's sardonic,
with an attitude that clearly puts people off.
He's got a problem with getting turned on
by the things he thinks are wrong,
and he does it all to better relate to the lyrics of a song.
Attempting to live a literary lifestyle,
that kid is some kind of wild.
He's got soulful eyes,
but I don't trust his smile.
Not the kind of story I like to read.
Surely, he's trouble.
That one's a bad seed.

There're spaces within
my chest,
         and this redundant
       motion of
             rising and falling
     will suffocate
   the very essence
of my soul.
     And as I ache
     for the love that
     your body
     provides,
I will find myself
reaching for you-
      completely
              deprived.