seven years ago I used to write everyday 
because if I didn’t write,

I was a day closer to cutting the chord,

snapping the pen,

holding my breath until I couldn’t anymore,

but now I write at 3 am, most nights,

when the hum of the ceiling fan keeps me awake

and my mind slowly runs back and forth like a constantly ticking time clock that never run out of batteries

but now I don’t write with substance 

I write in circles 

and none of it makes any sense,

nor has relevance,

I blame you, for taking my soul with you,

when you gave up on yourself 

and I still believed in you

I blamed myself for awhile,
it wasn't me,
it was you.