Sometimes I look at myself,
And pick apart all the flaws,
That come to my mind.

I find that wallowing,
In my own self pity,
Is more of a habit,
Than a conscious decision.

This makes me wonder, though,
Why is it that my favorite thing,
In the world,
Is when you say my name.

Oh, you love it,
When I call you sugar,
But just remember,
It'll taste just as sweet,
When I kiss you goodbye.

Why is it
That every time
A boy shows me kindness
I can't stop my mind
from going
a million miles a second.

He will say
A simple thought
And my heart swells
An inch bigger
With each syllable
Said without any
Actual emotion.

I'm starting to think
That my ribs are breaking,
That my sternum
Will burst
The next time
He breathes.

I want to fall in love very soon.
A fast love that lasts for a season,
and then we accept the circumstances
under which we must oblige.

I need a band-aid.
Someone to patch up my wounds
for a bit until I heal.
And then a quick sting,
and it's over.

I always tell myself,
you don't need anyone to love you
besides yourself.
Oh, but then I say,
a boy makes it much more fun.

I look into the mirror,
with the same eyes that looked
upon my younger self,
and decided to destroy her.

The same eyes that looked into mine,
and consequently forgot to say,
that they cared for so many years.

The same eyes that avoid all contact,
for weeks at a time,
yet meet with cowardice frequently.

My eyes have seen darkness,
my own destruction,
for years on years.

His eyes tell me that he began,
to lock his gun cabinet,
but knows that there is more ways,
to **** someone than bullets.

I guess his eyes speak more,
than he believes them to,
but you can't put a lock,
on the silence I must live in.

My eyes painted the trees,
In evergreen strokes,
And the twigs started to grow,
As we drove by.

I knew it was impossible,
For any plant at this time of year,
To possibly bloom flowers,
But it was beautiful,
So I let it be.

We drove over a hill,
And onto a long flat rural road,
Canopied by branches and pine needles,
And I felt myself getting smaller.

The face in the mirror,
Is what scared me most of all,
For where my face should be,
Was the remnants of an addict.

Purple blotches scarred my cheeks,
And my nose was a shaded horizon,
But the mystery of who this person was,
Is what left the scars inside my head.

It doesn't bother me that,
my parents are abusive.

It doesn't bother me that,
my poetry goes unnoticed.

It doesn't bother me that,
my friends think I'm psychotic.

It doesn't bother me that,
I'm the worst of both batches,
maternal and paternal.

It doesn't bother me that,
I have nothing left.

But the trees and the sky,
keep me alive long enough,
to get a perspective.

The pines whisper that in a few months,
I'll be released from their tyrant grasp.

The birds murmur that my poems,
are the best ******* words they can't understand.

And even the clouds,
grab me by my shoulders,
and thunder in my face,
that I have so much left to learn.

She says,
With fresh coat of plum ,
Across her large lips,
That she's finally finished,
Giving up her pride for the sake,
Of a 3-minute fling.

She says that the only time,
She feels truly complete,
Is when he's inside her.

She says she can't be comfortable,
In her own skin,
With anyone but him.

But she can't see that,
He's destroying her,
From the inside out.

She can't see that each time,
She opens her beautiful green eyes,
I can't see her anymore,
But only her sadness.

I think to myself,
Maybe if I teach her braille,
Then maybe she can finally,
Read what the scars on her wrists really say.

Having a night alone is exciting,
Emptying the wine rack myself,
Lying under the bath water,
Predicting my future in breaths.

My head is at ease,
Everything is finally alright.

I know you don't love me anymore,
And that I shouldn't care what you think,
And I say I don't love you either,
But I don't know what I think.

It ***** I became a drug dealer,
At least the money's fine,
It makes me feel like the worlds ****,
I've felt this all the time.

I feel my hands shaking,
Every time I open my eyes,
I guess I'll just keep waiting,
Waiting on these cotton candy skies.

There I am,
Staring at the snowy television,
Thinking about what was said.

I met a girl in my dreams,
Her name was Clyda,
and she stood under the cotton candy skies,
and told me that I mattered.

She gave me a cigarette,
which even in my dreams,
I can't stay away from,
and pointed at the caps on the
mountains that framed the horizon.

I'm really not that sad,
nothing's happened to me,
to make me feel this way.

But I guess the worst type of war,
is the one that creates terror,
on it's own frontlines.

Today would've been one year.

I put on my darkest lipstick,
and my black stockings,
and went to that pretentious
coffee shop in the next town over.

I told that curious man,
that my name was Jane,
and I was fresh out of college,
looking for life.

My smoothie tasted like pennies,
but cost me five dollars,
and it reminded me of you,
because you were ****** too.

I told myself I would be adventurous,
and started to drive to a beach,
even though it's January,
and I hate the water.

I yearn to find life,
but I guess I only check the places,
where I've already been,
and find disappointment instead.

Crush it up,
Roll a dollar,
Breath it in,
See things.

The oriental rug is swirling,
my head follows it,
the pattern is spinning,
so is my brain.

Jimi is talking to me,
his mouth is moving from the wall,
I swear I could hear him,
I swore he said something...

Crush another,
Find the dollar,
Stop falling,
Smell the powder.

The paintings are dancing,
the black light brings them out,
I can't see straight now,
But I know I feel alright.

I've been awake for days,
conscious for none.

Remember that first time,
I did acid downtown,
and the butterflies left my stomach,
and I felt empty in more ways than one.

Sometimes I think I'm still high,
tripping on my own confusion.

I want it to stop,
I want to understand,
I want to have notion,
I want to have clarity.

Maybe if I just close my mind.

I am a cigarette to you.

You lit me up,
and I burned slowly,
and you enjoyed my simple highs,
and got dizzy from my insides.

You began to crave me,
addicted to the sensations I gave your mind,
reliant on the comfort I gave you.

But your fingers began to slip,
and I would burn you,
and I had no choice,
I was on fire.

Then I was nothing but a filter,
and you stomped me into the ground.

But in the end, I was killing you all along.