i got my picture back today

and even though i just sat quietly
in a corner of my room
with the blinds shut
and the door locked,
even though i stared at the ceiling,
breathing in and out, in and out,
and came to terms with it,
even though i convinced myself i'd be okay,

somehow my skin looks ready to be checked out,
my eyes are two overfilling ponds,
somehow my voice chokes and croaks,
somehow my fingers have stained the carpet

and there's this girl in my head
and she's screaming
and i would give anything to make her stop
stop digging at her cells
stop burrowing into her DNA
stop exhuming her genes

i will always stay this way,
i wish i could tell her.
i will always stay this way,
and it's pointless to think otherwise.

it disgusts me how often i think of you
i would jump off bridges
off trains
off skyscrapers
to see you in the stinging water
in the cold whip of the wind
in the clouds in the sky
your name would be the last sound that leaves my lips
because i never got to say it again
because i said it enough times and life decided that was enough
it wasn't.
no, i don't think of you often at all,
because often implies there is an end and a beginning,
but there is no pause when it comes to you
for
you are the beginning,
and you were the end.

and i am scared

do i hold weights in my hand
that bound me to Hell?
or am i sinking my nails into a rope
that saves me from the plummet of death?

will i let go,
and will i find you?
holding my hand,
kissing my neck,
stroking my cheek?

or will i fall into the arms of a drunk stranger who shares your face?
who dances and sings and paints like you?
but doesn't remember me?

i can't tell.
some people can,
but i can't.
and so i'm terrified
to even breathe differently,
because i don't know if
my lungs will stop entirely,
or if
my fingernails will lose their blue tint.

maybe,
i'd rather not know at all.

would you rather--

wake up lazily,
dark clouds rolling above the hills outside,
soft plip-plip of the rain pattering against the window,
leaving the warmth of your nest,
you head to the kitchen to grab a *** of scorching coffee,
and it's bitter and home and complete, just like you like it.
and as you're swallowing, humming an old tune to yourself,
you realize.
it's gone.
you don't know where you left it.
where it is now.
but it's gone. dear god, dear god, it's gone.
you rush to the corners of your mind
pillaging memories and experiences
because where did it go?
you had it--you had it, I know you had it--but now you don't
you can picture it, so clearly, in your smile, in your eyes and--
now it's missing.
and you empty and discard those boxes you'd so neatly stacked up
and exhume those bodies you'd so categorically buried
and--and--it's not there. or here. or anywhere.
overnight, it disappeared.
like the memory of sitting in your grandpa's lap.
or those french revolution dates you memorized not long ago.
it's gone and you're not sure how
but everything feels kind of numb
and it feels like...this is it.
snap.
the end.

wake up with a pounding in front of your eyes,
he's lying next to you but the blankets are cold,
and his freckles seem dimmer; his eyes more brown than green
neither of you is smiling,
and the dishes are piled up in the sink,
and it's been like this for a while.
the hugs turned into lingering gazes,
the lingering gazes into cold awkward tension.
you couldn't name it for the life of you;
that acidic pit at the bottom of your stomach
that numbness around your twined fingers
the dialogue that dies as soon as it leaves your mouths
like a joke taken too far or a poem meant for another day.
it's a slow death.
the i love yous' absence is so strong you constantly hear it in your ear
buzzing, ringing, reminding you of a feeling that once was.
in the middle of a crowd, your eyes don't go to his anymore,
no more shared grins, eyebrow lifts, mouthed words.
dancing, and waltzing, and spinning around the truth
because it's gone.
it hurts (or maybe, it's supposed to)
and, either way, it's gone.
and now, you're just waiting for the crows to pick at your corpse,
pick at it and declare it dead.
because someone has to.