i miss the panic attacks that i
used to have
the ones that made me physically weak
the ones that made me shake and cry
the ones that told me that i am weak

sounds terrible, and they really were.
but, i'd rather the physical pain
and the emotional pain
than the psychological pain that i
go through when i have my "new" attacks.

my new attacks scare me so much because
i suddenly feel so unreal.
like reality is taken from me
and i can see myself
i can see the people around me,
i can see everything
and its exhausting,
being in that state of mind.
and then i start to hear things--
screaming people,
children laughing,
a constant voice just saying something.
these aren't my thoughts,
this is a new form of panicking.
and i hate every second of it.

I don't
remember exactly what I was thinking
in the moment when our car
spun into the middle of the
interstate, or if I was thinking anything
at all

When it settled into a pile of snow
on the shoulder, you told me
to pray because we were okay
but I was too busy loving you
and being sorry with every inch of me
that had somehow survived

You told me late that night
that you would be around for as long
as I wanted you to be.

and I hope you were right,
    but I don't want to ever find out.

he once blurred out a photo
of a diary entry, but I have
read through many things
and beneath the gaussian
he had wrote

*I'd rather be alone

once upon a time,
you asked me to tell you stories.
they never made sense but they made you laugh
but when it was your turn you'd shrug and look at the floor.
you can't weave fiction, you're too
cerebral,
ive always been the creative one.
now im stuffing your essays in the space between my ribs
and pretending thats enough.
youve always been more politics than poetry -
you hate poetry.
but you always came when i performed
(said my poems were the only ones you could stand.
said the others were static noise)
youre miles away, youre chasing cemeteries and im chasing you.
ive always been more
successful,
youve always been kinder.
when i cry you speak softly and i scream.
when you cry i laugh and you
go quiet
and i feel sick.
you still believe in duty and honor and
honest politicians
though i tried to convince you that everyone lies,
just like you.
i took you outside at night and taught you the only constellation i know,
told you about
desperate boys and girls like mountains,
and redwood forests at three a.m.
and blew smoke in your face.
now its your turn.
tell me a story.
tell me how they broke you to bits and built you up again.
tell me how youre afraid to die.
tell me how ive hurt you and youll never trust me quite the same again.
tell me about your favorite book
again,
describe the dragon so vivid my own monsters seem like broken dolls.
i'll offer you a drink and you'll refuse.
(i'm so sorry that you're gentle
and i'm cruel.
i'm sorry for treating you sweet then snapping your wrist.
come back.
this time i'll be kind.
this time i'll listen.)