It's getting bad again-
All my writing is
depressing
All my nights are
induced with insomnia
All my days
are anxiety ridden-
Not being able to
get out a coherent thought
Not being able to
let myself breathe
Feeling guilty about
every breath I take
Maybe someone else
deserves
this air
Maybe someone else
should be taking in this oxygen because even the thing
we call God knows
They wouldn't want any other part
of me.
My wrists
have too many scars
My brain
has too many bruises
I can't even think straight
and I don't know what
I'm saying
or writing
or even doing-
I don't know how to breathe.

It's getting good again-
My therapist says I'm stable
enough to stop taking one of three medications I'm on
because of you.
You were toxic,
Filling my mind with all your lies.
Talking me the way you treated me
Was okay,
That it was alright
For a teacher,
A thirty year old man
To be talking to a fifteen year old girl
The way you were.

But now it's over-
You're gone.
Terminated from your job
As well as my life.
My self inflicted wounds are turning that pink sunset color,
Implying that better days lay ahead,
the scars getting ready to be just another tattoo of you.
I can sleep again,
sometimes for a whole day
I have dreams of blackness
as my body catches up on what it has lost
I can talk again-
my mind isn't shutting down around the people I love
who just want to console me.
I can breathe again,
Air filling my lungs without a care in the world.
The guilt is gone.

But it's getting bad again.