Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.

Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.

Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.

You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book  
Was your favorite story
All along.

Onetime I let a boy inside my ribcage

I warned him upon entry that the path to the     space     between my lungs was a oneway ticket

that I had never smoked a cigarette,
but the walls inside me were tar-filled  

and sick

that sometimes my heart failed to beat with my brain and instead fell into
perfect
uneven
synchrony with the faucet

where I threw-up cherry red the other night.

Onetime I let a boy with a knife inside my ribcage

and I had seen the knife

and I didn't care

he climbed inside me so gently
like he belonged there and was just taking his place

like a missing *****
he made me his home
reassembled my insides

vital pieces of me now resting on his body,
depending on his body

one hand on my heart

the other on my throat.

Onetime I let a boy with a knife and a bottle of bourbon live inside my ribcage

he cleaned the tar off the walls
but didn't cure the sickness

I think he liked the smell of it.

One night he carved his name everywhere

spine
clavicle
esophagus

and I pretended to sleep

cut
nick
slash

he tried to claim me
he tried to clean me

but lost souls can't be claimed
and I'll never be clean enough

my heart follows faucets
not boys

and that scared the boy

so one night he poured the bourbon down the throat he held

and I didn't stop him

and I almost drowned

gulp, gulp, gulp
slash, slash, slash

cursive illegible sorry's
over every spot he had once cut his name into

and he kissed the wounds
and I woke up heavy.

Organs are worthless without their host but

Onetime I watched a boy tear his way out of my ribcage.

Knife and empty bottle in his place,
nothing's been working right in there since.

I haven't let anyone in there since.

You never use
the word "friend."
It's always
"peasant,"
"idiot,"
"*****"
with you.
You never want
to be touched,
yet you end up
groping me in
two distinct places.

One minute,
we're covering up our laughter
over something dumber
than ourselves.
The next minute,
you're stone-cold,
unreachable,
sharper than a knife,
a robot in a little girl's skin.

It hurts.
I want to break things off.
I desperately try to
cut off any connections,
but my stupid, stupid brain
pushes me back,
forcing me to crawl back to you
on my hands and knees,
the blisters and bruises still flowering
my palms and feet,
but I still keep running after you.

But you never notice.
You never care.
But I still wish,
*******, I still wish
that you would at least just
call me your friend.

I wish I were the one
you wait for online.
The one who makes you
bite your thumb,
hyperventilate,
enter a state of bliss and fear
as soon as you see my name.
Instead, it's the other way around.

I feel butterflies in my stomach,
in my chest,
in my lungs,
threatening to make their way
out of my mouth,
to spill out and run out in the open.

My fingers are too frozen
to type out two letters,
let alone an entire sentence.
They are too preoccupied
covering my mouth
to stop me from screaming
when you send me a message.

"hey. :)"

And before I could stop it,
the first butterfly
flutters out of me.

We live in a world of bluff
There will never be enough
It has been tough

My only answer to the Deception
Is Isolation