if i were the drinking kind
i'd fill my body with enough poison i might slip into a deep slumber and not wake until the pain disappeared
my poison of choice
is music
melodies strung and sung so sweetly my heart aches until it numbs
when tears slither their way out of my dry, cracking face i try to convince myself i'm just rehydrating the dead cells that mask my tired bones
pay no attention to the hysterical grin, the Gucci bags under my eyes, and the hair that's wearing Thin and Matted like designer names on B-list celebrities
every night i cut the ambien into pieces, working my way up from halfsies to wholesies so i don't have to listen to the conversations i have with the walls in my room
it all hurts so ******* much, you know?
you don't numb this kind of pain expecting it to go away
you listen to it and coddle it and sit back as it consumes you because **** it looked so innocent
at first
when 10 am finally comes
hashbrowns with too much salt, a mug of cold tea, and a couple Prozac can remedy even the worst of depression's hangovers

sleep tight

don't let the bedbugs bite.

-
-rgp

the good poems
are constructed from fragments
of painful experiences
times when i felt numb and nothing
there's thought,
structure
or lack of anything entirely
the good poems
remind me of a time
that i can't really remember
i'm going back to this pain
because it's familiar
i remember what desolation looks like
i remember what silent screams ripped air in two and
my skin apart
the good poems tell of a time
where i was mentally so far gone
when i had a concrete concept of the darkness enfolding me but no concept of what scary was
the good poems aren't really good poems
there's just emotion there
i felt so much
and it hurt to touch
if i can somehow make sense of it all
rewrite my scars into fresh cuts again
remember the nullity i fell into
maybe i'll learn how to feel again
leave the past in the past and bury it with a hatchet
no need to dig up all the skeletons you once hid in your closet
you let chaos rest, why disturb it?
it never escapes you
i talk about past pains
like it's something i crave
what a foolish thing to want, to need
to thirst for to feel whole again
this pain
i think they call it growing pain
like the pain of physically shaking off an old skin that no longer fits
the skin i felt comfortable in and the skin i abused
so a new skin can grow
i miss the familiarity
and my limits
the good poems
weren't good at all
but in my head
they're good because
if i can fathom images of what trembling nights felt like
out of shaky breaths
that's better than when i can't
and if the only thing i ever write about for as long as i live is pain
then so be it
they say that you spend your whole life
rewriting the first poem you ever loved
perhaps
my definition of love
is synonymous with pain
perhaps pain
is synonymous with life
if that's true
then the good poems remind me of a time
when i was so so alive that i was on the brink
of death
-
-rgp

i don't believe you know you're destined for great things
you
mishappen collection of supposedly broken parts
souls of shards and borrowed hearts
you
do not fly away so easily

junk angel
don't you know
you are not damaged nor irreparably dismantled
underneath your suit of armour
there you are
beautiful and breathing
you are alive

junk angel
remember your origins
and look at how far you've come
-
-z.z

some nights
i feel like a lost cause
your grandma would tell me to pray to st. jude
i don't think even st. jude would be able to find the missing parts of me

lately i've been thinking a lot about change
i wonder if it's because of change that i can't seem to find myself
because of the disorienting earthquake that followed the hurricane Change brought on
that flung pieces of me far and wide
i have to go searching again, don't i?

i feel like i should be telling you something important
shed some light on how to overcome darkness
but to be honest, kiddo
i still have no idea
and if i dedicate my life to apologising for the fact,
my sorry's will bury me

there's a saying,
the calm before the storm
there's a feeling,
complete peace with a hint of blindness to the tsunamic waves approaching just beyond the horizon
you feel euphoric and skeptical and helpless
a smile creeps across your face
you brace yourself for impact but know that no matter how many times you've prepared yourself for this, no matter how many times
you've lived through this
you will fall, flail, and drown

that is what i feel when i sense Change lurking near
and i can't do anything to stop it
i'm tired, kiddo
i've forgotten parts of me
so bear with me as i continue to love you to the best of my ability despite all this
don't forget yourself
love,
auntie

suppose I wasn't destined for joy
that the complex systematic masses and impurities within me prefer darkness to thrive better in
because what if they knew all along
how much one can hide where the rest of the world isn't looking
they wouldn't know if I never smiled a day in my life
they wouldn't know if I did

suppose the off white of my skin means I'll live longer and isn't a result of the fact that I rarely see the sun
suppose I tossed the fake sun supplements into the garbage for some odd soul to seek sanity in
consider it a gift, these worthless pills I never needed in the first place

suppose I loved this life
and hated it at the same time

suppose I believed them when they told me it wouldn't be temporary
and I made myself a home in the nullity

suppose I felt something

.

if i write you a poem
i write validity across walls that do not warrant it
writing this poem, this confession of consciousness regarding a matter that makes my bones ache
is like sending you the letter you weren't supposed to have received
my dear i am sorry
that my heart is so prone to being broken that i know by now how to make art with its pieces while being blinded by my own waterworks
i am writing this poem
and you will be on the receiving end of it, oblivious to everything that is bad in this world prior to reading this maybe
i know i haven't lost you yet but i know i will eventually
and when i do
you will not hear my cries nor will you see the glistening droplets slide from my eyes like you did the one time i let you in
my dear i've always worked to shield you from the malice this world is capable of
loss is not malicious
yet it is and i hope you never have to live through losing someone who loved so much it hurt
i know i'm rambling now my dear
i'm sorry we ran out of time
you are so special
i know you're not gone yet
but soon
you will be
so this poem is a testament to you
i love you so ******* much
i'm not sorry for that how could i be sorry for loving you
my dear
i'll see you soon or
something

the last time I saw Death
I was waiting anxiously for his arrival
he'd been talked up so much in my life i just had to see him for myself, with my own two eyes
I was ready to meet the one who would put an end to my misery
when I finally came face to face with the creator of endings, tears slid out of my eyes so silently I wasn't sobbing or mourning but rejoicing
Death was so ******* beautiful, you know?
He put my mind at ease, and my soul to sleep
Kept asking me if this was what I really wanted
Death knows consent is **** but he also knew
I wasn't completely ready to leave yet
He stroked my cheek, wiped the tears from my eyes, and whispered
"not yet, love."
he promised he'd return but another winter has come and gone and
I haven't seen him since