The sun slinked into the room through
The spaces in the blinds,
Exposing the dust particles floating
In the afternoon air.
She pulled the curtains closed and sat
With her back to the window.
Her eyes wouldnt meet mine,
To focused on the lines in her palms.
When I asked why she despised the sun,
She grimaced and whispered
The sun was all you left her when
You walked away.

I find myself shrugging.
A lot.
I lost my keys.
My lunch.
My smile.

Shrug.

It's not like
I can do anything about it.
I lose
Everything.
But, that's not why
I'm labeled a loser.

We could never agree on music.
You didn't like acoustic piece,
I said they were quiet, like me.
"Is it still a song if there are no words?"

You talked about traveling,
I told you about the Dead Sea.
Our fingers locked
And you turned a key inside my chest.
Is it still "just friends" if I can still feel
Shadows of your mouth on mine?

Christmas came early when
You smiled at me.
Winter was a blur.
We spent days at the park,
Admiring Mother Nature's new look.
Is it still death if it's so beautiful?

The rain clouds outside my window
Gravitated into my brain.
I strived for perfection
And you supported me.
"Just five more pounds",
You would remind me.
Is it still a disorder if you're helping me?

I carved your name
Out of my favourite memories.
I swallowed shards of glass
And ate three meals a day.
It is really recovery if it's so bitter?

The TV screamed
"Love yourself"
My parents screamed
"Love yourself"
I couldn't get the words
Past my grinding teeth.
Is it still love if there is no confession?

I remembered
All I allowed you to do.
I recalled
Everything I pretended to ignore.
Is it really letting go if I only forgive myself?

It can be a song without words
Just like how love can exist without the
Confession.
Death isn't my friend
And neither are you.
I am more than you can see.
I am enough.
And I have finally forgiven myself.

We emphasize how
Beautiful
Nature is when it dies,
Yet we shun the mentally unwell
When they are in the midst
Of their own harsh winter.
Nobody ever noticed them asking for help
The same way the leaves change colours
Before they fall from their branches.
There is nothing lovely about
Falling from Grace,
But it is not an invisible thing.
It can be seen in the
Lack of shine in young eyes,
It can be heard in
Earsplitting silences that say more
Than any words in the Oxford English Dictionary.
There is hope.
If you push through Winter,
You will wake up to the feeling of Spring,
And you too can be Reborn again.

I've been braiding my dreams
into a pretty silver rope to
Keep me from forgetting how
To see things in a positive light.
But somehow I got tangled,
And lately all these dreams
Have felt more like a noose
Than anything else.
Maybe it's time to cut all these
Naive wishes into pieces.
Maybe it's time to kick the chair.
Maybe this is what it means to
Grow Up.

I swallowed a thesaurus the first day of
Summer and swore I'd write until I wasn't so hollow. All I wanted was to get out of this state but I couldn't convince myself to leave my room.

I remember the first time I saw your room. It was clean, immaculate. Even with blurry vision I could see how it all lined up. My mother always said people with clean environments had control of their life.

We clashed; black and white. Yet we got
Comfortable in the shades of grey we
Discovered in late night conversations.

Fate vs free will, you never believed things
happened for a reason. I never believed you would choose to stay.

We grew restless and tired. The leaves used to blush at the way you said my name and then you stopped letting it fall from your tongue.

I started to change colours and we stopped
Finding ways to ignore our problems. The last time I saw you, your room was covered in shredded paper and ***** laundry.

I never meant to burn it down. You didn't
Pause long enough for me to find the right
Words. I'm still choking up synonyms for
sorry in letters I'm still hiding under my mattress.

♤A couple weeks before you left,
I caught you in the foyer staring
At your father's old clock on the wall-
Weeping, wobbling and whispering half drunk
"I want it back, give it back. I need it back"
I don't know if it was my heart
Or the seconds ticking by that
Echoed in my head as I tiptoed back to bed.

♡I used to call you
But eventually,
Even your machine got tired
They said it's best
I stop coming by,
You're comfortable
And they are content with that.
But how can you cling to the hospital bed
When I'm sleeping in ours alone?

♢There are places in this city
And rooms in our house
That I still can't go near.
I burned all your letters,
But keep the ashes in a vase on the mantle.
I heard it's easier to move on
If I pretend you're dead.
You're fifteen minutes away,
But the distance between us is so much more.

♧I had a dream last week
You came home for Christmas
There were dozens of cardboard boxes
Crowded under our tiny tree,
Each full of broken clock hands
And shredded envelopes
All addressed to
Different versions of yourself
You still can't forget.