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You never told me your
Plans for thanksgiving.
Maybe you knew
By then I
Wouldn't be part of
Your family
Anymore.
Written November 16th, 2014
OCD
My scars don't look like
Anyone else's-
They're more careful,
Organized, precise and
Exact.
Not light, but
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough.

People always ask why
I do such pretty patterns:
Because this is the only thing in life
That I can really control
Control
Control,

And I find it so beautiful-
Though, not so much tragic.

My scars are not chaotic like a
Car-wreck,
They are consistent like a
Coma-
Proof that I was awake
The whole time I was sleeping,
And I could feel everything
Even though I could tell no one.
No one.

That this
Unconscious obsessive compulsion
Demands order
Order
Order,
it
Insists by instinct,
An intricate simplicity.

Still, I will 'ever envy
Those stitched gashes, once
Gushing
Gushing
Gushing with surrender and
Serenity...
Each raised and rough coarse collagen fiber
To form a white flag
Forever etched in flesh;
To tell the world
They, were a slave to freedom-

I am only a slave
To *myself.
Written December 6th & 8th, 2014
On the day that David died, I was
Sitting sober, wishing I was high
And it was always like that during those
Couple clean months.
The first person I told didn't care-
What's another dead ******?
As if the trash took itself out.

I didn't go to his funeral,
Didn't really know him that well.
I didn't cry when I found out,
Wasn't all that surprised-
He had been talking about it for a while now.
And we questioned, of course
But answers aren't always enough.
I wonder what was enough
To lead him there, lying on those cold tracks,
Waiting.

You said,
"He put his earphones in and closed his eyes."
My first thought was,
"I wonder what he was listening to
For the last time..."
You said you hadn't thought of that.

And I also wondered what he must've saw
Behind shut eyelids in an all dark mind
As the weight of the train
And the weight of the world
Trembled the tracks and trudged closer.
He told his little sister,
"Make sure they know,
I am happy now."
Maybe everything began to feel warm
Like the sensation of coming home
After years of being
Lost.

And I have to admit:
I've since thought to myself, many times-
"That lucky *******..."
He got out.
Certainly couldn't blame him.
Cause on the day that David died,
I was wishing I could join him.

On the day that David died
I was sitting sober,
Planning my own suicide.
Written November 18th, 2014
RIP David Taylor

— The End —