Who bends the wind
folds it up
puts it in the envelope
then will send

Who gathers the sun
like a flock
bottles it then
says it's done

Who ropes my emotional
ties it and then binds it
in black and red ribbons
it's not fictional

Who teases the vessel
filling the void
where even the left
has a right to wrestle

Come vapor ***** . . . dream
permanate . . . decorate
you titillate in love's
sweet scheme

When ? Then I am left alone
the walls still stand
The night wails as comes the dawn
The heart longs for home

Time to go get some bones ripped out of my jaw
Normally I would be terrified
I hate medical procedures
Anesthesia
Normally I would think to myself,
"What if I don't wake up"?
But today, today that fear doesn't plague me
I'm indifferent towards the thought
Towards life
If anything, at least I'll finally get some rest
I wonder if that will be enough to soothe my body or my soul
If anything, at least it will stop my mind from racing
I haven't slept in days
Haven't eaten either, truth be told
At least now I'll be able to go a week without talking, && no one will think anything of it
Talking, such a tedious task when your chest is sunken in
Sometimes I wonder how people do it
Just go about their days
Typing away at their keyboards
Meeting deadlines
Making small talk
Must be nice to just exist
Without feeling weighed down by the weight of the world

this isn't
a suicide note
i don't need
to write one

i already have
if you piece
together all
the words scattered
throughout poems
and journal entries
nobody reads and
that i rarely write

if you struggle
through first
and second drafts
you'll see the parts
of myself i don't talk
about and shadows
of people that i
cared about

if you did
all that
you would
begin to see
it's written in
between lyrics
and under
layers of scars

so this isn't
a suicide note
just a memo
that i've been
writing one for
my whole life.

i keep a red
second place
ribbon on my
bulletin board
to remind me that
i wasn't good enough

i keep defeat in
my back pocket
and failure
on my skin.

(i didn't realize
how nice it was
to actually be
good at something
and i didn't realize
how easy it was
to stop being
good at something)

took the things
i was good at and
cashed them in
for a quieter night

i can't eat
can't sleep
can't write
can't design

bake a pie
write a poem
cross stitch
crochet
i'm not
bad at it.

i still have
hobbies but
it's not like
it used to be
i'd rather
be cleaning
at least i can
do that well

(isn't that
a little odd
considering that's
exactly what somebody
a little bit too close
to me was feeling
when his world got
turned upside down?)

i'm just not
good at anything
not anymore
but it's my own fault i'm sure.