losing my wisdom teeth
and losing you felt similar;
i only had them (my teeth)
briefly, two months maybe,
just like you.
and when they took them (my teeth), it reminded me
of all the chemicals i put in my body
when i was too young to
understand the consequences.
and when they took you, it reminded me
of all the chemicals i put in my body
now that i'm old enough
to understand the consequences.

white sheets in a strange room
dim lights, bright eyes.
i love it when you **** me, i love it when you're inside of me.

Last night
You visited my dreams
You wrapped
Your fingers
Around my heart
And told me
That you really did Love me

I don't
Think I've ever
Been so upset
To open
My eyes

I feel tender and raw
like the patch of skin I
ritually pick at
every morning,
a red and swollen circle
I barely notice anymore.

It's tucked away from the mirror
but my fingers find it
with practiced ease,
and as the sun rises
I bleed out the nightmares from hours earlier.

I did laundry last night.
The warm smell of clean sheets makes me sad.
I can't explain it
but I bury my nose in my pillow
and fold myself under the sheets
and the cotton on my skin
feels thick and tough.

Another injection is due this week.
I find relief in the fact
because my skin feels empty,
and walking around sore
and leaking oil from my thigh
is better than nothing.

I made a list of pros and cons
in my mind on the bus this morning,
but the pros fell short
and I fell out of love
with the rain's tinny sounds on the metal above my head.

I am tired.

I am always tired.

I don't try to stop it anymore.

1.  I called the doctor every day for three weeks
     just to ensure that I was doing okay.
     I left voicemails
     that grew slowly
     more agitated, less soft and sweet,
     asking for my results,
     for my dose,
     hoping for some change,
     for some answers,
     and still knowing I'll receive silence.
     I've been through this before.

2.  I hold the small bottle
     and cringe
     as the smell of the alcohol wipes
     sting the inside of my nose
     and the needle point
     glances soft against my skin.
     I don't want to press,
     I don't want to push.
     I've done it before and I know
     it hurts
     and it will ache for days after,
     but it will get better.
     I know it gets better.
     I've been through this before.

3.  I glance at the pills
     on my dresser
     next to my alarm clock
     for the third time this morning
     and tell myself that I will take them
     before I'm out the door.
     I know I need to.
     I know it will help.
     but the effort feels immense
     and my body is loose from sleep
     and I can't seem to go the short distance
     and open it all up.
     I leave that morning
     stomach empty,
     bottle still ******* tight.
     I do this every day.
     I've been through this before, too.


I am stuffed full of things to do
and things to say,
but accomplishing something
is not on the agenda today.
I don't know when it will be.
I don't know that I want it to be.

i am here sitting quietly doing nothing but
thinking
and i can see vividly in my head the color of your birthmark
(and i can feel myself crying)
do you remember mine?
do you remember my scars and coldsores and bruises?

I know
That
I'm not
Actually alone
And that
Dying won't
Really solve
Anything
So I'm just
Stuck
******* thinking
About it

I need someone to breathe for me
because between the binder squeezing under the too tight seat belt
and the panic clogging my throat
as I scramble for my glasses
so I can at least see the wreck in front of me,
I cannot breathe on my own.

I get in a car and suddenly everything around me is a threat,
and I can't do anything without second guessing myself,
so breathing isn't really a priority anymore.

Telling someone to breathe will not make them breathe.
Telling me to breathe makes me breathe even less,
because now I have to spit out the words I'm trying
while feeling even more like I can't do anything right.

-

If you want me to keep crying, tell me that everything is okay.
Tell me that I will be okay.
Make me think of a million outcomes.
where I won't be.

When you work in insurance
you don't even have to use your imagination.
I can tell you how many things can go wrong
and how often they actually do.
I am a bad statistic
but I can't calmly transfer myself to claims,
I can't ignore the process that comes after.
Sitting calmly at my desk and playing solitaire
Is not an option anymore.

And now I'm in class learning about
probabilities
and personal finance
and risk management.

Being constantly reminded of your failures
does wonders for your self-confidence.

-

I drove to the endocrinologist a week after my first accident
and as they checked my vital signs
they said my blood pressure was a little high,
and my heart rate was a little high,
and they asked if I was nervous.

I didn't know then if it was excitement or fear.
I still don't.
My heart is still beating too fast.

-

Through forgetting how to live without panicking,
I've in turn forgotten how to do anything else.

My dresser has been standing empty in my room
since the beginning of the month
when I dusted it off and dragged it into the house.
My laundry has piled up
and I still need to buy a three ring binder.
I have boxes sitting in the living room that I need to unpack,
and I've been meaning to go outside and get some sun for years.
I have a mouthguard that I need to start using
so that one day my mouth doesn't close and never open back up again,
and I still haven't talked to my father about
what exactly I'm using his health insurance for.
I had a 150 day snapchat streak with a boy
but that disappeared with one day of panicking under the covers.

Whenever the light turns green
I have to stare at it for a few extra seconds
To make sure I'm not imagining it.

Every time I'm at a stop sign, I look left and right five times, ten times,
And still hold a scream in my stomach whenever I finally move.

I think in the crash my car wasn't the only thing to stop working.
I think I caught on fire that night too.
The circles under my eyes look like ashes, anyway.

-

There is one nice thing about crashing two cars.

It forces on me a sense of invincibility.
I am wrapped in a cape of steel and debt and guilt.
The collar is tight and scratchy and
it's like the tinny voice on the other end of the phone
telling me to breathe
because I literally can't afford not to anymore.
In a way my life is not my own to end anymore.

Besides, I just got a new mattress,
so I guess I should stay alive for another eight to ten years at least.

Crawl through clouds
watching
carbon carrier
sheep
Stumble through
designated dreams
timely turns
at at least
45 degrees

thick smoke
stacked in rows
behind
white fenced faces
and feigned
spaces
There are
two heads here
in four odd places

Cover cracks
with coils
heart tangled
royals

Have I ever told you about
my wax heart
Melting at the sound
of your half
smoked
slightly ******
Soul
I drip
I trickle
all the way down
your scarred chin
Hoping
that you
might-
one of these days-
     let me
win