I don't think it's
odd to feel unloved
and far from ****
if your boyfriend
who used to want you
all the time,
doesn't even cuddle you
when he comes to bed.
It's like sleeping over
at a friend's house.

He still says
I love you

But sometimes it's hard to tell

Lately I've been
writing poems
and then forgetting
about them as soon as
I hit the send button.
Usually the words
hang around inside my head
and I obsessive over it,
reading the poem to myself
multiple times
without actually looking at it,
as though I have to remember
or it was never there.

But my writing recently
has felt dry,
and sporadic.

I can't stop pulling
out my hair.

B
    R
E
      A
K    

  F
A
    S
T

WITH

T
  H
      E
B
      E
           A
                T
                   L
               E
            S
.
.
.
.

Hickeys get you
into trouble.
Maybe, you're not
supposed to have one.
It's a dead give away
you're sexually active.
Work won't think it's funny,
your parents don't wanna see it.
Your friends say it's ******.
And it's permanent for
a few days,
like a tattoo you didn't
choose to get,
they don't wash away.

Hickeys get you into
trouble.
But that's what makes them
so fun.

I wrote him
a mess of run on sentences
in a message on Facebook,
one day after work when
the beer gave me false courage.
I haven't read it since
I released it from my grasp.
I never want to.
It's been days,
and he's had no reaction.
He probably doesn't care.
I feel like an idiot,
but my drunk words
were true words.

I came home from work
and started watching
Louie,
and then I got a beer.
I drank and I watched.
And then I realized I
needed cigarettes
so I decided to take
a walk because I was
feeling a little tipsy.
On my way to the Village Pantry
it seemed like everyone
was looking at me.
I got my cigarettes
and walked back home.
I passed by a lake
and it was beautiful.
The world looks different
when you're walking.
Then I got home,
and took off my shirt
because the beer made me sweat.
So I took a shower.
I heard the neighbor's dog
barking and prayed that
no one was here,
for me.
The water felt good,
so I stood under the shower
head for awhile,
and debated messaging him,
and telling him how I feel.
Then of course I backed out,
so I grabbed another beer,
and sat back down on the couch,
and I was right back
where I started.

This week has been
unbelievably bad.
You probably wouldn't believe
me if I told you.
It feels like my life is crumbling
like a sand castle,
and I have no control over what
happens next.
I just want to stop.
Stop moving, stop caring, stop s t o p
                                                               s
                                                                 t
                                                                    o
                                                                      p
                                                                       .
But for now,
I'll solve my problem the only way
I know how.
Ignoring it.
When I get home I'm going
to drink that beer in the fridge,
and hope that it doesn't taste
as bitter as today.

If something ever actually
went right, and
turned out the way it should,
then I guess that's what they call
death.
Because nothing is ever good,
or right in life.
You change jobs in hopes that
it makes you happy,
and makes you money,
only to find out you never should have
come here.
You follow your brain instead
of your heart,
and you end up loving two people
at the same time.

I am beginning to think that
everything and everyone is too
good to be true.
Actually,
being alive is too good to be true.

ha.
what kind of idiot am I?
I messaged him and asked,
Can we talk sometime?
And a little part of me
really expected him to answer.

But of course he isn't going to.
He has nothing left to say.
He is the one that said we shouldn't
be friends.

But god ******,
this isn't fair.
It's not what I wanted.

Why can't I get some closure?
Why does it have to end like this?
Why does it have to end at all..