i think i might die soon--
or if not soon, now. i
want to feel better, but
you won't even answer me or
talk to me or--
****, i don't know.
i know you see my
instant messages. facebook
tells me that you do.

you were a bitter pill to swallow.
i guess that's why i puked this morning.

like snowflakes in snowglobes we're
falling to p
                 i
                  e
                   c
                    e
                     s.
("'cause when a heart breaks
no it don't breakeven.")
if i shout it from a rooftop
does it become more true?
no, and that's why i whisper,
"don't hurt me. don't forget me."
but it's too late. we've hurt and
we've forgotten whom we used to be.
and i walk away from the phone muttering,
"what's wrong with her?"

it's not true. i should be saying,
"what's wrong with me?"

home
is in your arms.
love
is the wake up call i-love-yous,
it is the messaging and ditching
it is the dependency.
it's not healthy,
but home
is in your arms.

i do.
i miss you in the rain,
when it's cold and dreary.
i miss you in the holes
and speedbumps of depression
or bipolar--whatever they diagnosed me.
i miss you every day, and
i wish i could say
'i do.'