i wish that it was my life instead of theirs.

what does it mean when i dont want to be here anymore and other people don't even have the choice?

The blood drains from the top to the bottom on my face. There is no color. I felt light headed, but that was just the beginning of the summer. By the late months I couldn't see straight and at the end of the day magic tricks played tricks on me as the sun went down but refused to set. I saw stars. I saw **. Curious as to what took place I phoned a friend the next day. She said that I had been misinformed. She said that the blood on my sheets wasn't from the knife in my hand but was that of ----. She hung up or did I not listen? As far as I'm concerned it was never there.

the more you practice a certain pathway in your brain (i.e. thinking a positive thought instead of a negative one), the easier it gets to just do that action naturally, supposedly.

Supposedly.

i hit delete space
back to space next
hoping to figure out what im doing without making a mess


not sure how to make connections when left and right don't make things straight. my head is on backwards, placed left of the door, where you hung me out to dry. the ***** laundry you had in your backseat was more than just the jeans, button downs that took note of the fact. the rhythm i held my high with turned out to be off beat. we havent talked in days, months, years? it seems to only have been hours. the coach wears a stopwatch and tells me that if i want to be good enough i have to connect the dots. i dont really want to go to bed, but i dont want to stay awake when ive been thinking of all the ifs, ands, coulds. All the times I used my left hand when my kneecap begged to feel the concrete.

years in one place
it takes time to mold
and shed the dead weight

i sulk in corners
i take my time

it seems impossible to not write about myself
or the lover that wasted my life

pausing time became my pass time