Cavernous is the hole I feel inside me when I peel myself out of body. I can't remember who I am. Who I was before I was consumed by the bitter, jaded ooze I inhale.

Consumed by an eternal tar that's filled me so full it seeps out of my pores. Toxic are the steps I take away from all my friends near the edge. I can't make up my mind.

Floating aimlessly through time, surrounded by the glimmer of everyone who knows how to cope with the death in their head. Broken records convey more emotion that I could ever muster. I don't even know who I am.

Sometimes I'm sad and I want to die, and sometimes my heart feels so heavy I'm afraid it'll turn to stone.
Yet when I look at you, my stomach sheds the butterflies it housed inside, and I feel not so afraid.
I told you I felt bad for not mourning death, but I felt better when you said you felt the same.
I felt special, when you told me about your crush, but how it could never work,
because he's not like "us".
Us.
Like we are part of the same entity, part of the same space, of sinew and matter.
Us.
Like you thought I was special enough to be part of you.
That was the greatest thing you could have said to me, except that one time, when you told me;
"I could love someone like you."

It's a ****** time in the morning to miss your warmth, because it was a habit and not a necessity. Like the attention you gave me.
The kiss on the head.
The kiss on the hand.
No matter how hard I scratch my skin, you still linger on me. I'm choking on the smell of you.
Anger boils up inside me till I can't see straight anymore, and I think of the time you told me you were "force fed" scotch and it had killed you, but you were sorry.
You're never sorry and I am too tired to live with the fact that you're guilty.

Oh do I want you more than anything laid before me. You're an everlasting joy in my world spinning through space. I am a well meant for  your caress in the sweetest heat. Nothing I knew of compares to the radiating feeling that emits from my soul seeing your face on my screen.  I have laid myself here before you, broken, confused, rampant with thoughts about death that linger in the forefront of my mind...clouds in the sky part for your radiance. If I ever believed in angels this would be the time. Dismay wavers in me. I had thought to be cold, riddled with malcontent. Seeing you is like seeing the moon for the first time. I'm engulfed in beams of pure bliss. Words don't compare to you. Everlasting.

I find it really silly, that you would want to spend time with me.
But I'm not complaining. I'll take all the attention I can get from someone like you.

This is the best I can do to put into words how I feel, I'm not even sure I want to admit it. I couldn't get a good nights sleep until the night we passed out on the floor of dad's house and you told me I had the best grumpy face when the sun hit me the next morning. I just liked the way you ran your hands through your hair when you woke up.
Maybe you just like me for my **** cause it's your favorite pillow, but I guess we'll see.

I want nothing more than to feel loved. I'm tired of feeling hollow in my bones, unfulfilled in life. Am I truly unbearable? Everyone else flows into the arms of someone and yet I can't even be looked at
Out of place. Out of time.
I'm beyond melancholy. Words don't even seem right on my tongue, I feel like a sponge who's absorbed too much water and left to rot. There's no one to hold me, caress me, let me know there's something greener in a different pasture. I'm tired. I don't have any fight left in me.. The end seems to be arriving sooner that I had thought.

There are times when I can feel my whole being sink through the tar that consumes my thoughts, an everlasting substance that surfaced when I was 14. One that I drowned in when I was 16. My stomach spends weeks churning within my body, threatening to throw bile to the back of my throat, and hot tears to my eyes. I can't inhale sharp enough to relieve the taste from my mouth. This cigarette doesn't do it justice.

There are times when I've decided that existing as a conscious being takes too much effort, and it would be so easy to wither away. Would value would spring forth from me while I seeped into the bed which I made?

I've watched you slip past me in a thousand lifetimes, and I still won't get this right.

My head is pounding with thoughts of your ex love, I see her face, perfect. Being haunted by my past has become so familiar when you're someone like me. There are no noises to drown out your own thoughts,. The flutter of my heart when I think of how you kiss my head before you go to work.

Except finding myself alone at night.
Luminescent screens projected within myself can't fill the void you opened in me.
I've never thought I could sink lower,
than bottom.

I don't like you.
I don't like you.
I don't like you.
I don't like you.
I don't like you.
I don't like you.
I don't like you.
I don't like you.
I couldn't stand to hurt that much ever again. When the sun shines from your eyes, and I wither at your touch. I am not the one who gets your love. I'm not the one graced with your insecurities. I will never see the future swell from your lungs. You will never show up at my door unannounced, at the right time. You will never hold me as I fall prey to my loneliness, or the secrets that lie beneath my pallid flesh. There are no songs written about me in your head. I am not the sunrise or sunset. Your world revolves away from me and I am left within myself. I will not find you in this lifetime. I will not wake next to you years from now and look back at our happenstance meeting. I do not get you. I do not get to know your smell, or the way you sleep. I do not get to know you on holidays. I won't take pictures with your family. I do not get to make you smile or know your sadness when the weather hits you. I do not get you. I have never felt more sorry for myself.

Sleet creates a maelstrom outside my window as I hemorrhage in my sleep. A side effect of numbing myself. Addicted to feeling dead inside, addicted to not remembering the night before, or the day after. My skin bruises to the touch of the ones around me. Morose, jaded, breathing. You can't paint everything black. There's blood under my finger nails. I'm not coming back.

I'm not sure loneliness is what I feel inside of me, but on the days in which I stare too long, something inside of me aches to get out.  I'm spiraling out of control. I feel like I'm fading away, becoming invisable. How much longer till I take a bath and never come out. Can one person hold all this inside of them without it spilling over, drowning in it even.

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore, this is all *******.

Smoking a cigarette out my window, checking my instagram.  Everything is so boring, but your face in my feed still haunts me.  I swear to god I'm Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  Your name rings bells in my head that signal there was something more. I'm receding in my feelings for you, and it's a saving grace cause I'm tired of searching for something that's not there.

I'm losing myself in other's smiles and laughs and they way they tell me their favorite things, and I'm thinking I'm finally enjoying life. But I'm reflecting on the warmth of your body compared to his as he snores into my back and how I've never heard anything so annoying because your breaths were whispers. I'm comparing his arms as they rest across my body and how they're shorter. His fingers are not the right length to envelop my hands.

I'm so very sick of you eating away at my brain, but I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel you forced me into because for a moment, you were the most beautiful and perfect human being I could have ever spent time with.

I was sixteen, and I would disappear down the coast. Where cigarettes were more important than food. A few days was actually a lifetime.

My heart aches for you so wholly that I feel I might burst into an explosion of star dust. Like a vampire who steps into the sun, you consume my entire being and I can't explain myself to you. I am done with being overtaken by nausea when I hear your name slip through other people's mouths.  

I am no longer the one whispering your good graces to the ears of other people, or feeling your smile against my thighs as you sleep on the couch. Fit into me.  I am no longer catching you look at me when you wake. You making excuses for me to stay so you could kiss me when you rolled over in bed.

Heartbroken is too strong of a word for me, but I felt so complete with you. I felt sober with you.

I want to show you my favorite things, and have you tell me they didn't live up to the expectations I wove for them. That I sold you the romance of the perfect movie and it didn't compare to my enthusiasm on the subject.
I want to trace the lines of muscle along your back as you snore into my pillow, leaving your scent embedded on the blankets.
My blankets.
There's false hope that rests on your shoulders, to keep yourself from sinking down into that depression you told me about. The one you say you can't help as you get quiet.
I want to show you my favorite band, and have you tell me that I sampled you the wrong song, and you would like to listen to a different one just so you can get a taste for what I love.
The sad truth is, that I love a lot of things, but you are not one of them.
And I have no control over my emotions but you're a little too late, and I can't help but feel sorry that you fell in love with someone like me.

Tepid waves seethe across my body as I melt back into subtile remorse. I am no longer myself, when the sun rises and I cease to realize the severity of my grief. When will I exhale the poison I've interwoven within my lungs. Stagnant, acrid, tarnished with the thoughts of waking up as someone else, waking up somewhere else, just being anything else. How long can I soak in melodramatic tendencies before I'm too old to change the way I felt in winter. The way I felt when leaves changed and hit the crisp ground, when my breathe clung to the air on my break during night shift. When I smelled the change of the seasons that brought with them familiar thoughts of sleeping six feet under. One day I might change my view, I might make it out to somewhere that feels like home. I'll no longer be stuck out of place, out of time, hoping to catch the next ride over to the other side. Autumn won't remind me how much I hate myself. The leaves won't force me to reminisce about the days I've spent under the blankets avoiding life and the tremendous responsibility that comes with my loathing. One day I'll be happy. One day I'll wake up motivated and with purpose. One day the last thing I'll think about "what about today?"

And in my days of loving you I have come to know more about myself than I thought possible. I am a never ending maze of emotion and gratitude for the time you took to show me that even wilted flowers bloom once more. Your patience withstood lifetimes of self loathing and internalized harm that took me to hell, where I could not see what life meant. I am renewed with a vigor to love someone as wholly as you have shown me. Because when I thought I was empty, you took yourself to fill me up without regard for what you would be left with.

"I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone."

" I was still there when you left me."

I'm getting flooded with memories of the night I drank a half gallon of Sangria. I stumbled around the apartment trying to find pieces of you.
I watched the stars in the chair you lived in on the deck. Burning my throat with your Marb Reds.

I honest to god wish I could get over you. But some piece of me is stuck. I take one step and you throw me five back.

I just dreamt that you never loved me. That I was engulfed in things I could not stand, and for the life of me, I found them unpleasant.

You told me that the way I had acted when I was attacked had turned you off. You wrote it on a note with recipes. I could not stand you in that moment because it wasn't you. You were drunk. I know how this goes.

All of this is a dream. Everything I had just imagined was a facade. My soul is distraught though, by my recreation of our friendship. I know I am hard to love. I know I'm not as beautiful as that girl you talked to yesterday. I know.  

I can't carry these feelings I have for you anymore. They are a burdon in themselves because I can not have you, and I really would love you.

I drove for two hours to try to get you out of my head. I'm no good at this. Words can't convey the way I look at you, and I hope you notice. You notice the sly smile I have on my face after I say something dumb and bury my face in your chest. Please never stop taking the blanket away in the morning when I hide my face.

You've been stuck in my head but I don't want to forget you. I look forward to you reminding me that I'm almost off work. You've thought about it for a while. Please never stop ending your texts with smiley faces. I think you're the best.

Now I know a lot and I'm sorry I forget things, like the conversations we've had or the things you told me about because they excited you. I'm really paying attention honest, it's just hard to remember when I look at the way you wrinkle your eyebrows, and look down at your feet. **** hasn't been the best for you, I doubt I would find anyone with more life in them. You're still so enchanted with everything.

I wouldn't want to spend my time with anyone else because you're the only one who laughs at my puns, and how much I love certain things that have no meaning to anyone but me. For some reason you mean so much to me lately. I can't fall asleep, I think it's because I don't feel you against me while I sleep.

I'm so inarticulate when I glance upon your face. I find myself lost too deep within you to make it out whole.  I've been tracing your effigy everyday, in the back of my mind. You're consuming me like a fire set ablaze in the deepest ravines, that I carved with loneliness and pain. Ravaging everything around me with thoughts of wonder. Enchanted with the way your fingers look in the jacket with three brass buttons. Yearning for your acceptance, I feel juvenile compared to you. The sun continues to rotate and I casually slip into an everlasting dream in which you are the stars. I thought I was ready to love someone but I have fallen back in my feelings. I wish to know you, I would give my mortal soul to know your touch for a thousand lifetimes even just if it was one fleeting moment. Verging on tears,  I'm more lonely than I have felt in months. Engulfed in the dismay, I simply wish I could captivate you, the way that I have woven you into every fiber of my being, simply by accident...it all feels natural to me. Stricken with the knowledge that you will tire of me, minutes, hours, months till everything I have encompassed means nothing to you. The leaves in fall won't remind you of my favorite season but of the dying facade I left behind. My untruthfulness will linger in the air, acrid and heavy. Untruthful when I told you I didn't care. Untruthful in the thought that I didn't have hindsight to part ways with you before I watched you drink yourself up to ask me for my number. There is nothing for me to lull myself to sleep in the early morning when you lay heavy on mind. There is nothing that quells the ache set cavernous in my bones, torrid against the flesh that houses my emptiness. There no outcome from this where I will ever be a whole person again.

I dreamt about you all day while I slept. You haunted me through all my memories, even the ones you were never apart of. You loved me infinitely in one, the sun shone bright in your eyes when you told me that you loved me. When you kissed my head and promised to see me soon, because you could only be away from me for so long. I could feel love radiate from your body, and I basked in it. I had never felt so emotionally whole.

I woke up. I feel sick, I feel fragile. It was so unfair. You will never love me. I know that more than anything else I have ever known. On the verge of nausea since I've been awake, I can only see you everywhere I go. I am so very frustrated with myself for loving you so deeply without meaning to. Distraught over knowing you, will you forget who I am and how my skin feels against yours? I pale at the thought that you will find someone who makes a better pillow than I did for you when you slept, or to see your face when you wake to see if I'm still with you.  I feel like I'm falling apart, I'm not even me anymore. You're eating me away from the inside like the maggots. I'm becoming hollow, and I only have myself to blame.

I love the way your name tastes in my mouth. Like how if I say it enough, that maybe you'll think I'm special, if I say your name a few more times then maybe you'll see something you didn't before.
But you're a right *******, and I don't feel bad for you.
Except I do.
Somehow, you always make me feel the need to nurture you. And that is an unhealthy habit.
There is another boy, who tells me nice things, and has common interests. But I don't look at him like I look at you. You could tell me you hated me, and I would tell you all the things you should hate me for. I have so many pent up feelings, because I don't feel like I have a right to express them. I have so many things I want to tell you but feel they would wash off your back. I'm so torn between coming off as a ***** and having a clean slate or drowning under all the I love you's I didn't get to say.
I'm an infinite mess of emotions and I will fall in love with you if you tell me nice things.

I don't want to say I hope we can be friends because my stomach drops when I see you, and my heart hurts when I think back to the nights I spent snuggled under your arms. I don't love you.

Sometimes things just don't work out. They are there for a fleeting moment, and things change and people change. I guess I just have to appreciate the fact that you wanted to spend time with me, that for once someone needed me to be there with them. I guess it's whatever, but I hope one day, you might realize that I was there, and I was going to be there for you for as long as you needed.

Every time I look at you I wonder how things could have been. Just out of curiosity. I have no resentment or hate or malice when I think of you. I only wonder what would have happened if things didn't **** up.
You meant so much to me in such a short amount of time and yet I let you go so easily, so pain free.
I've never wondered more how things could have gone. We seemed so perfect and yet we were completely different.
Everything you told me you hated, everything you swore you wouldn't be, you have become. I wish I could make you look at yourself. I want to save you from who you've become. That's not my job though. I don't want to look after someone who lied to me, made me feel like **** for trying to be happy.
Not everyone can be perfect like you. I told you how I was, you expected so much of me. I told you what I believed in, what made me who I am.
You threw it back in my face.
I can't trust you, I can't be around you. I get so sad to hear your name. You've destroyed a part of who I was. You took something from me I can never get back.
Maybe I'm a fool for trusting you, but you made it so easy.
I can't hate you. I can only hate what you made me think was you.

Sometimes at night, when it's the rainy season of spring, I feel like I will wander forever. As though I will never be anyone's favorite smell, or favorite flower.

Almost as if I'm stuck in a time I don't belong, maybe even reality. I'm aching for something I couldn't explain. Longing for a place I couldn't accurately describe, that resides so deeply in my soul, I can feel myself expiring without it. Draining.

Vapid.
Benign.
Glossy uninhabited orbs, sunken into my waxen skin. My rib cage rattles with rutted breath, breathing seems foreign. Tempestuous is the cage that holds my temper. I hate myself more than anyone could fathom within an evening, within a drink at a bar, within the xanax I swallow once, twice, three times to forget the love around me that I do not receive.

Once. Twice. Three knocks at the stall of the bathroom I've found myself unconscious in. Unfamiliar graffiti, unfamiliar hands around me, gravitating towards my face, the unclarity of my actions calls out to me. I do not know this place. I do not my soul in this moment. Incoherent thoughts stumble around my mind, trying to right myself enough to raise up off the frozen, unyielding tile I've found my shell nested on.  

The drive home is incessant . Eons go by glaring like the red lights I run to escape the seconds I left behind in the toilet. Cornered like an animal in my own home, I tear myself asunder, my flesh seethes against itself, abhorred that this , this is what I was given. A prison I can never escape from, relentless. Ruthless. Ashen cavernous ravines bloom forth from my skin. The metal slithers across sallow pulp, trying to connect parts of myself that were never meant to fit. Unabashed at the sudden onslaught of depreciating humor in situation. I long to be safe within the wall I have built for myself, housed myself, grown for only myself. Repercussion is an unfamiliar fleeting feeling when I seethe hatred for my soul so wholly. When I emanate the unmitigated repugnance for who I've grown into a person. Subdued by the caress of the silk blanket on my skin, I vacate my conscious, freely, boorish. Clouded nights reflect the obstructed thoughts that lull me into unconsciousness, as I dream of another day where I feel the love, skin, the smell of someone who is home in my mind, so that I may for one unabashed moment feel languid and serene.
One day that I might feel a  part of an everlasting universe that revolves around the moonstuck effervesce emanating from the whole I've been missing.

There are times when I just want to destroy myself and cease to exist, but ******* it I just can't do it, because one day you might love me.
And one day I may not see that crooked smile you have when you laugh or feel how your hand rests on my thigh when we're together. One of the best nights of my life was when you cuddled my thighs and told me about how afraid you were of waking up without love for the person you shared your bed with.

And as much as I loathe myself or depreciate who I am as a person, nothing to me would be as cruel, than to take you away from me. Because when I'm at work smoking my last cigarette of my shift and you ask me how my day was, I've never felt so genuinely content in my life, knowing that someone like you cares about me.

My bones moan and creak. They tangle themselves within my grief.

I thought I understood who I was, I thought I knew why I was sad. I am stricken by my own actions. A deep haze replaces my soul, like an everlasting ooze. I am consumed. Tar flows through my veins. It weighs me down, drowns me in an untimely death.

I run, and hide. I would much rather chew my own leg off than face my problems. Refusal, denial. I do not dare get emotional.

I harbor a secret that is scarred in flesh, down to bone and it has burrowed into my heart.

Pin ******, repeatedly, dance across the newly frayed skin, once more.
Just once.
Just twice.
Third time is the charm when your own cells ebb like malcontented waves, withering at my touch. Grasping vainly for some clarification of my recent actions, I return empty handed, again. When the world is muted, spinning faster than I could have thought possible my sullen, achy mind is quiet at last. No more pondering, no more desolate thoughts creeping, seething through my veins, only gasoline.

All the violence makes my body tired, while my mind falls back into a state of decay, decrepit, unruly, intrusive thoughts that have an equal or greater reaction than the last. Everlong is the circle in which I manage my pitiful party of one. Opaque is the blood that blooms from within me, ***** like I am. Grotesque like the soul it inhabits. Nothing hurts when your head is brimming, boiling over with vehemence, nothing hurts when you can't feel your hands as they shake. Nor can I feel how abandoned, betrayed, or how heavy my heart feels when I can't swallow my own saliva. When my eyes refuse to focus, when I'm just a shell of a human, when I am no longer coherent, that is my greatest peace.

I don't even feel like a real person, I'm just watching my life go by from a third person perspective. One day I'm going to wake up and realize I'm 50 and that no one has truly loved me in my lifetime.

One of saddest thoughts stems from how much blood seeps from my clothes in the wash, because I can't love myself even though god knows I've tried.

I'm a complete and total fool for thinking I was anything more. I guess it's all my fault anyway. I thought I could hear through your silence. I thought your breaths were more than whispers as you slept. You sold yourself to me and I blindly fell into you. I didn't even stop to think that I might be too ordinary.

If there was a time to realize how utterly alone I am, it's when I fall asleep to the cold side of my bed, shivering from how empty I feel.