I woke up to my life today,
and I couldn't stop crying.
It stretched out before me
for  years and years
and years.

sitting here at 3 a.m.
deciding whether or not to
leave you.

my bags have been packed for weeks.
hidden among the piles of ***** laundry.

i know you love me,
i'm the one who is not so sure anymore...

how did it fade so fast?
how did it get so ****** up?

we did start in
all
the wrong ways.
we had so much hurt so early on...
so much to forget when the memories should have
just been starting.

the buses will start running soon.

it's unfair of me to do this...
i know...
but i am a coward.

you will have so many questions,
and i won't have a single answer...

it's better this way.

ralphie was acting up.
screaming,
kicking,
whining...

all of us on the bus that cold morning
held our breath.

"sit down!!" she yelled
"stop it!!" she screamed
"when we get off this bus your gunna get it!"
she warned.

all of us along for the ride just
looked away.
avoiding the bitter taste of
what might happen at home
behind closed doors.

she screams
tugging and pulling at any stray
arm
leg
clump of hair
she can reach.

two more stops and i'm free...

we all choke on all the things we should say
we stare out the windows,
the lucky ones had a book to bury themselves in.

"...****** ralphie get the **** up!!"

as i stand to leave,
pairs of eyes beg me to take them with.

the bus slows
i step off and the collective finds a new found intrest
in the the ads lining the walls.

ralphie is on his own.

how vain i have become.
all day i worry,
i wonder who is reading now?
i wonder what they have said about me?

i used to scribble down poems
in a tiny leather bound book.
i alone knew of the moments they painted.

and now
and now and now

the whole world can stumble upon
my name
my words
my secret thoughts and feelings

how vain i have become,
waiting with baited breath
for someone to tell me if they approve
or not.

i miss my little leather bound book.

he was angry with me again.
i was depressed and drinking,
alone,
in our bed.

he forced his words through clenched teeth.
"talk to me, maybe you will feel better..."

"i don't want to talk."
i told the bottle.

at that he was up and pacing the room.
"girls always want to talk!!
talk!!"

watching him pace made me dizzy
and his growing anger with me made me laugh...

"i'm not most girls..."
giggling drunk taking another messy swig.
"just leave me be sugar..."

he left
i fought the urge to throw the bottle after him
and hear that wonderful
shatter.

lucky for him there was a gulp
or two
that could not be wasted.

i want you to come home.
i sit,
drunk and drinking,
******* the last hit off of cigs you smoked
days ago...

i want you to come home.

but you are miles away,
flashing that grin
at the girls who were always
conisdered your type.

painted bubbly bright blond
rays of sunshine that  just can't wait to
tell you of their highschool cheerleading years...

i want you to come home.

but your out
buying drinks and promising to save a dance
or two.

and it's ok with me cause i have
books that need reading
and games that need playing...

you say not to worry cause in the end
you always come home.
i try and ignore the purfume thats not mine
and the numbers you kept for a laugh.

i should have known better
loving you as hard as i do...
how could i last?

i was on the yearbook staff in highschool.

i guzzle down his touch like cheap wine.
fighting through the bite to get the buzz.
i soak up every drop of attention he secretes.
it has to last me...

he ***** like he has something to prove,
not necessarily to me.

we finish and he gets up to leave.
and i'm thankful,
he snores in his sleep.