a year's passed us by,
i'm still not ready to say
goodbye. i love you.

a year's passed us by,
i'm still not ready to say
goodbye. i need you.

a year's passed us by,
but you're still here by my side.
always be with you.

missing you comes in waves
and i drown in them every time

what have You accomplished this year
aside from the usual hiding behind Your fear
has anything of note been done?
or have You continued to be one on the run

this year I stayed alive
it's not worth much in many eyes
but last year I resolved I'd be dead
yet I saw another cycle instead

i'm not sure i'm happy with this decision

there is no poetic way i can think to say i miss you
i could start with saying it straight
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you
there is no metaphor
no simile
nothing to liken this deepest pain to
there is no missing you in the abstract
there is no missing you
without saying it straight
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you when you show me you’re still here
but so far out of reach that any effort to try to get to you
is rendered useless
i miss you when you show me you’re sorry for leaving me like this
but so far from coming back that there’s nothing i can do but accept it
i miss you when
i miss you when
i miss you when i go to sleep
leaving me only to see you for those fleeting moments in my dreams i
miss you when i wake up
ripping me from the only moments i can share with you now i
miss you in the middle of the day
at the worst times
at the most inconvenient times
i miss you when it storms down hard and heavy
sometimes it feels like you’re miserable
other times it feels like you apologizing
you have nothing to be sorry for
you have everything to be miserable over
but i still miss you
and i wish
i didn’t need to
i wish
i could see you again
without hurting you

i am just so tired
of having to cope with the
act of existing

there are times where
i can't quite get myself
to say "we"

somehow it feels too intimate
somehow, it feels as though
i'm crossing lines i should not
by referring to "us" as one

even "you and i"
seems to blur
these invisible lines

i don't know quite yet
but i'd like to think
there's still time

for i cannot tell a lie
i really do hate being alive

i hate knowing that there's a mere six litres of blood in our bodies
that's three two-litre bottles of soda
three two-litre bottles of soda
is all that keeps me here
and i hate it

i hate knowing that the leafcutter ant can hold up to fifty times its weight in its jaw
and i can't even hold myself up throughout the day
for there is no one weaker than i
no one who has struggled as much as i
and i hate it

i hate knowing
that the people i once knew
and opened myself up to
have blocked me out of their minds
but i can't seem to get them out of mine

i hate that so much

but i'm not filled with hate

i love the moon
the moon is all i have left in life to look up and look forward to

and on the nights where he hides
and i can only see him behind closed eyes
i hope he can still hear me
when i tell him i've been doing just fine

and i'm not lying
i really mean it, i swear
i mean
it's just so hard these days, you know?

wish you were here

i got comfortable
i was foolish
i let you slip
between my fingertips
i didn’t know
i didn’t know
i was so naïve
so enraptured by
my careless thoughts
and dreams
of a lifetime with you
that i forgot
a lifetime is shorter than a long time
is shorter than forever
is shorter than expected
i don’t know what i expected
but it wasn’t this
and oh, how i miss
the gentle sound of your voice
the sway of your body
the sparkle in your eyes
you
you
you
i’m sorry

i did not live comfortably
i did not live happily
i barely lived well
i barely lived at all
i have spent these years as a shell of myself in a shell-shaped home shell-shocked "tick" "tock" that's the clock i'm
out of time
and i should be worried
i should be frantic
but i've waited for this for so long and now i can finally say that something i want is mine
i'm not sorry
let me go without regrets
let me go without apologies
let me go
let me live

misery is when
the phases of the moon
are all there is left
to look forward to

they were more for comfort, anyway
so i didn't think it mattered
that the end of the laces began to fray
and the exterior was tattered

it was more for my own peace
so i paid it no mind
how it hung well past my knees
or how the white had greyed with time

they soothed the lonely nights
so i think i felt upset
and when they left without a goodbye
i guess i feel regret

when you get a cut
and blood starts to pour from the injured area
can it be described as your life escaping you?
i feel in all the time i’ve spent breathing
i’ve spent most of it trying to bandage up
wounds that have nearly kept me from doing so
when in fact
there has been no purpose to this
no matter how i delay the process
the inevitable waits just around the corner
taunting
teasing
tantalizing
so maybe one day
i’ll grow too tired to replace these bandages
maybe one day
i’ll let the wounds run their natural course
and maybe one day
i’ll let life escape me without a fight
but until then
i’ll dress the wounds
one by one
and hold on to what i have
until what i have
becomes too much to hold

someone i didn’t know asked me for help today
it felt nice
he asked if i could help him name the characters
in his upcoming novel
i hope he knows how much it meant to me
i hope he remembers it like i do
i hope his novel is a success

are you Happy?
have you been hiding yourself
behind the mask Of others?
how Long have you been hurting?
how Long have you been hiding?
are you happy
with the life you've falsified?
no One will miss you when you're gone
are you happy?
are you okay?
Would you tell me if you're okay?

i'm left to wonder;
if i call your name again
will you answer me?

if i yell your name
will i be met with silence,
or will you appear?

if i cry your name
will you soothe me like before,
or leave me to weep?

if your name happens
to claw its way from my throat
will you make me tea?

to ease this soreness?
to rid me of this anguish?
will you add honey?

[after] it happened
there was not [much] else
i [thought,] about
nothing
had ever hurt me [this] much
i stayed up for days
and barely ate for days after that,
thinking, "this all there [is]
and this is all there ever will be"
and [my] insides caved in
my [last] home
had crumbled
had withered away like the rest of them
had said "[goodbye.]"
without even uttering a word
well,
these are my words:
[i'm] [sorry.]

humans are living fossils
the breaks and bones in their bodies
revealing a history
otherwise unknown to the world
my body and bones tell a story
that won't otherwise come from my mouth
my entire history
spelled out in the scars on my wrist
the still-red scratches on my thighs
brought to light in the darkness under my eyes
the weariness of my cracked-lipped smile
in my bony fingers and uneven nails
in the cuts that run up and down my legs
i wish this history of mine
were more appealing

you have brought me light
and now, i know not of how
to see without you

the sequins that danced so prettily around his waist
made up for the lack of stars in the light polluted sky
i feel like sometimes it’s better to be trapped in the dark
if it means that all the light in the world resides in his eyes
i never want to think of what could happen if that light went out
i don’t know if i’d be able to keep safe and sound
everything in life is tiring enough as it is
even with those reflective hues of gold
but beneath those bright irises
lies sad blues of stories untold
won’t you stick around a little while longer?

if you don't fit
into a space
it's okay
you'll find your place
not everybody
is made the same
and if you don't know yet
you will someday

and i close in on myself
in the middle of the night,
make myself small as possible
and cry, and keep crying,

and keep crying.

why can't i stop?
i had all day, i think,
all day, to cry, and keep crying
and keep crying.

but i do so now.
in the middle of the night
when i close in on myself
and open my heart up
to anybody willing to listen.

and i'll keep crying!
until the moon sets
and the sun rises,
and i go through the day
open to myself,
closed off to everyone else

mother dearest
tell me when this hellhole of a house
is meant to start feeling like a home
tell me when my body
will stop feeling like a misaligned,
jumbled mess of skin and bones

mother dearest
tell me when my heart will stop hurting
over people i lost but never got to meet
tell me when i'll stop feeling sorry
for all my lost dreams
i let get crushed beneath my feet

mother dearest
tell me how i'm expected to let myself be loved
when not even you
afforded me that luxury i dreamed of
when not even you
would take me as i am; tell me
how am i meant to feel loved ever again

mother dearest
tell me how it's possible
to claim to love your own
and yet at the same time
to leave them
all
alone

mother dearest
i still love you

perhaps being told
“you are not alone,” is the
scariest of all

i stayed up through the night
and watched the moon get chased across the sky
and watched as the serenity of night
brought forth the bleakness of day
in all its empty whites
bitter blues
and tired greys
there’s something to be said about a sunrise
in which the sun is nowhere to be found

but there is nothing left to write about
i’ve exhausted all the colorful ways to describe loss
smeared yellow paint in places it shouldn’t touch
to describe this most hollow feeling
that can only truthfully be painted grey
and i feel
that if i keep writing
i’ll run out of ways to say i’m hurting
run out of poetic ways to phrase my pain
run out of ways to detach myself from this reality
run out of time and place and keep
running
until i’ve run out of what i once thought was endless

hear this: "living with
depression." funny, right? what
an oxymoron.

sometimes
i don't even want to die
but my mind
will tell me otherwise
my mind will say
"ask to use the bathroom
then jump from the stairs"
or
"make yourself a sandwich
and use the knife to cut yourself open"
or
"use hangers for your clothing
and the belt for yourself"
and it's not like i never tried
to fix this mind of mine
but my oh my
how the days have passed me by
and i am tired
so the stairs look nice
and so does the knife
and i haven't quite felt
the warm embrace of a belt
around my neck
is it my time yet?

life is a game and it appears i am just a toy
one of the many play-pieces others use to their advantage
and when i grow useless
too tattered to be tossed around any longer
i am discarded
until i can mend myself again
make myself whole again
make myself useful again
wash, rinse, repent, repeat
Thinking Of You