my fingers are bleeding from writing words that i never
meant and my throat is sore from the words that i never spoke
and nothing ever seems to take up any space my mind is now
just a landscape of thoughts i never wanted to think and
flowers that seem to always wilt
//
if i were to count the scars that line my body,
that number would be sixteen
sixteen years of being misunderstood sixteen
years of not knowing the difference between bad
and good sixteen packs of cigarettes in sixteen
different months i turned sixteen last week
and a storm called insecurity was by my side
and it continues to rain
//
the cord from the phone hangs aimlessly and the kitchen
sink overflows with water that i should turn off
but there are a number of things that i should do that i
don't there are a number of things that should haunt me
but instead they choke me into believing i am okay when
i never am and i do not know if i prefer burning alive
or drowning anymore i do not know if i prefer the
suffocating sound of silence or the deathly drum of your
voice in my head anymore because either way i am
a basket case and i try to run away from things i cannot escape
so i let anxiety swallow me whole and find consolation
in being semi automatic  


(h.l.)