You keep telling me to start my sentences over.
Words tumble from my lips at lightning speed
Forgive me if I say something in my head that I meant to give you
And if I let you into a corner of my mind currently owned
By my confused demons

They aren't used to this kind of weather

I can't seem to be able to wrap my head around you
Or me, it seems
But they will adjust to this warmth
If you can even call it that
If you can even call me that
Warm, I mean
They like their 40 degree rainy days with the wind beating them

I keep losing every train of thought I've been handed

Has it started to show through my writing?
I can't stop my fingers from going too fast.

You keep telling me to start my sentences over.

I just can't think of what I said
Or why I said it
Or who you are
Or what I'm doing in a bathroom alone with another girl
Or why I want the distance to be closed
I can't make it make sense
Who are all these people?
There was a cockroach on my bed.
I'm going insane.
Is bad poetry a side effect of dying?
There went the John Green allusion.
I'm all out of lines and I keep stopping my fingers
To text a friend back about people I don't even know
But they come back and my mind hurts
Well,  I think it does...

TURN THE SONG YOU IDIOT

...I can't feel my mind enough to understand if it hurts
Or if the medicine is working

It has to be the medicine.
I can only think of one other thing that could make me like this.
My stomach is scars.
No cuts.
You should be proud, girlie.

You keep telling me to start my sentences over.