i tried organizing what will happen next in the files of my trauma i am not allowed to get help for
erasing thin smears of white isolates death from your body
you are slowly being erased at the raise of my nimble arm
the memorization of the portrayal that completes the abstract thought of your face
becoming unrecognizable you might as well be dead
that’s what you threatened me with
deconstruction occurring in my head puts me in a tight spot
it’s spring cleaning and i’m hoarding the vague remembrance of your personality
i cling onto the last things i’ve allowed myself to remember about you
will i ever get rid of the may 18th that never seems to find and ending place
reoccurring and reoccurring when will it stop
i will never be able to ask what led you to ruining me
you’re stitched over and over into my brain in fear of the thought of you being ripped apart from the seems like i’m the stuffed ripped rabbit resting on my bed
are you resting sound on your bed as you push back the recollection that is me
the frantic calls and hopefully last goodbyes you would force me to endure
you had me bound to you just to leave me never knowing
it wasn’t my fault
i had to grow up before i was even grown save him from his own insanity
the life of a 15 year old boy was in my 15 year old hands
he was failed by the people who are supposed to keep him from failing
They didn’t care so i pushed myself into the place of those who study for the profession that is to pretend to care about our youth

locked in our screaming conscious empty bedrooms it’s began to sound like blinding white sound
They hold us down from our necks to wrists and ankles and tell us to give up, skin burning and peeling with every attempt at trusting ourselves with Them
but They do not care
They enjoy the burning scent of our embodied pain burning with the last brink of lucidity we are clinging on to
we are struggling and They promised to catch us if we fall but that was just to see who was foolish enough to let go
it’s in Their curriculum for the class They chose to
study to watch us suffer psychologically
shadows on the ceilings chase us and haunt us until we can no longer withstand the blinding unattainable light of hope
our piercing thoughts are meticulously eating us out internally
when will someone intervene to stop us from killing each other’s minds
the domino effect of which abused becomes the abuser, which manipulated becomes the manipulator, which messed up mind ruins the next
cannibalism amongst each other creating corpse on corpse
black blood splattered on the pavement that leads to the end of my memory
hanging crashing bulbs of conversation i cannot keep myself from repeating
crashing towers of guilt overpower me
my fragile 16 year old psyche has been tattered and torn
ripped to shreds it joins the torn pieces of my attempts
failure never seemed to not leave a scratch on my brittle bones
i’ve exhausted myself with the failed attempted of becoming your savior
“painting broad strokes of black brings blood to my head”

im so scared of the thought of you that i sit on the floor
knees burning
next to the toilet
so whenever you come across in a flash in my head i don’t hold it in
i want to throw up every last thing you did to me
make me forget
not the part of you hurting me
not your hands gripping my throat, tongue shoved so deep i could barely breath
not your hand on my chest
and in between my legs
but the good i saw in you
the way you let me feel like i deserved the warm feelings you brought.
here it goes again
the last meal i ate threatens my esophagus
time taken out of your day to listen to my anxious feelings.
im brushing my teeth again
introduced you to my safe place with out fear because i had grown so much trust in you.
i’ve rearranged my room and ordered new sheets because washing my sheets every time i remember isnt ethical
i told you the things that happened that made me so scared to do things.
you listened and you said you understood
but understanding wasn’t what you were what you felt what you meant
because if you understood i wouldn’t be sitting here gulping down the regret that you are

you were a trivial person to be around but i enjoyed hearing your laughter and holding your hand
your hand
hands
holding your face in my two hands, wow i thought
what a pretty boy he must not have intentions set
your hands
they trailed up and down my thighs
im really uncomfortable, please stop
im too afraid to move your hand away
this is turning into something else
you ask if your uninvited hand is okay where it is and i don’t say no but i don’t say yes either so that’s some sort of sign
right?
i wish it was but your hands continues to circle my porcelain slit thighs
opened the other day because i was overcome with a wave of disgust
must i always show of my chest or thighs
it’s when you were most interested it felt
i hated doing this
im only sixteen
i felt disgusting i still do it hasn’t been too long since it happened
boys don’t like people like me just for me
it’s always something having to do with the rest of me that doesn’t think
oh god i cant stop feeling your hands on me i pretended it felt good but in reality i was to afraid
you know what happens when they say no
it hurts im hurt i love you i trusted you
on my couch on my bed in my own clothes you took advantage of me
i just wanted to feel the comfort of your fingertips against mine your head on my shoulder not your hand in between my thighs your thumb shoved down my throat and your lips on my neck and chest god
i wish i could forget
incoherent thoughts gone since the day it happened i’m not making any sense am i
was it a crime for wanting you to make me feel wanted for more than just my body?

orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves
it fits you perfectly. it looks like it was taylored to your measurements perfectly
i bought it about a year ago
let you wear a part of me i felt safe in
worn proudly you are the boy that i thought would never
i painted a picture of you in my head in which you were perfect
i had sculpted each pore perfectly
placed each thread of your hair on your head but
i guess i must have done something to mess up because the perfect picture i painted
dripped with wet unset paint
on top of me suffocating, i couldn’t move
i could only see your chest covered in the stupid orange sweater
tongue deep down my throat with your hand on my neck
your face is dripping on mine this wasn’t who you were supposed to be
it hasn’t been longer than a week but the days drag on years and pull on gods ears and beg for more time to pass but less and less goes by
never ending i feel like i’m stuck
im in an artblock
your face is gone but it was just there i must have misplaced the brush that i drew your short eyelashes with
whimpering you are but why, was it something i did?
my paint brushes are all intact and my workspace is clean
how could i have messed up
the painting with the orange sweater delicate brown eyes and thick bleach hair is dripping
off the canvas
i haven’t done much other than wait for you to dry our before i can add more on to you
but you won’t dry and you’re on top of me
my neck is wet with the saliva you won’t stop touching me
no i said i would take a break from this canvas but it’s encasing me i cannot leave
i messed up havent i
wonder why i did to deserve this
im using my fingers to put your streaky smile back in place don’t look at me like that please
i have to ask for you to leave i cannot stand the shade of orange you’re wearing being on top of me
please leave
im letting you out to dry

in the same position i can’t move
my neck is casted by guilt i must have done something wrong
looking back that couldn’t have been you
it must have been the wrong medium
your acrylic is dry and patched you couldn’t have torn me down like the thin canvas dripping with trauma filled sweat
no because you would never let yourself wear something mine while you took myself from my own body
right?
youre the boy i painted over and over in my head just to get you right
hold my hand let’s go for a walk hold me tight because the wind against my cheek causes a shiver down my spin
lift my head up to glance at the intentional light because you know i’m scared of looking down at the petrifying dark
but you burned my eyes and i am no longer mine the painting is ruined and i can’t fix it
but that’s not who i planned for you to be you would never do that because i don’t mess up the watercolor goes on thick paper while you go on premeditated canvas
was it me?
have i misread but i do not misread i am not an idiot it’s not my fault you chose to do this yet i cant not feel this in my chest
im a failed artist with a body stolen in disgust
i want my orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves back

it’s snowing again, my skin is getting dry
peeking out the window to hear the silent sound
god is staring down at me
gifting me my favorite part of the year with suffocation
i get it though
snowflakes trickle down the spine of the part of me left out for dead
staring at the sky
will you blink first, god?
my eyes leak salty tears
god i am so tired
im sorry i stopped believing in you but can you blame me?
all knowing god that gifts me the burden of depression in my favorite season that once brought me joy
my screaming prayers were never answered
things never got better, god
i begged and begged but you were never there
i wrote them on my arms and thighs begging you to never lose sight on the ruby red blood that was drained into the fresh snow
have you forgotten your children?
it was promised that things you had happen were for a reason but god
father if you will
why have my prayers and thoughts been turned away
triggered into suicide this is my last attempt
amen

felt tip pen font frames my discolored damaged thigh
white lines. newly healed
my eyes are droopy it’s difficult to continue looking ahead
i lay in bed all day three days go by and i still have yet to fix myself

another grey repeating night
the scent of burnt wicks of scent less candles replace the dog scent of my room
he snores in the middle of my bed
i weep on the side of it
the playlist that is playing is reeking of dense distress and distortion
in my ear and out the other why won’t it suppress the memory
im so tired of reliving if i’ve forgotten it and the forced amnesia puts the weight of the world on my small 5’2 shoulders
i don’t amount to much because i value what cannot be translated into currency
it hurts me head thinking of burning the sickles scent less wax that once bled fragrant aroma
my aura reeks of despair
candles in my dark room are burning out
and i am falling apart into the crevices of my broken down floor