most days, i feel like
everyone around me
is made of glass
and i am
impenetrable cement
strong, but unable
to feel anything

i am damaged
which makes me
dangerous because
i know what i can
survive

since last summer,
all of my good intentions
were stained with cheap wine
and cheaper company. there's nothing
i can do about that now, so i'll stay in bed
for the next three days with my mind wrapped
around  your  tiny  frame  because  you  told  me
it's the thought that counts. i hope you know i'm
bored with you (and with everything else, too)
i have a feeling i'm about to turn that around
i live for slamming doors, for exciting. i'm
finding a reason to fight, even if that
means     with     myself.