And maybe some of you care about me.
And don't want me to die.
And feel a bucket full and flowing and flowing kinda pain,
If i die.
Maybe some of you would stare blankly at the wall,
Regret a few words of yours and miss me.
Maybe some of you would go out of your way to get me back.
Maybe some of you are just my mommy and daddy.
Maybe you love me at times,
And maybe you contribute to my depression at times.
But one thing remains,
You're my parents and I, I'm your child.
And losing your child ain't easy, no?
And maybe if i'm holding my heavy breaths,
the reason are you.
I know I'm a bad child,
And by choosing suicide over you,
I don't want to be the worst.

Maybe if you people were are as careless as you're today after my death too,
And be least bothered of my feelings as you're today after my death too.

I'd have died long ago.

She wants every poem
To be about her
She wants the foam
Of every wave
As the skintight
Dress of dusk;
Divine forces be her tailor
And every Olympian as
The servant-king
To every whim of hers

You don't ask if I'm doing okay,
You don't act like you care at all,
You dont ask anyone how I am,
By now I know that you're not going to call.

I wonder if you even miss me,
Youre probably looking at other girls,
I still think about you every day,
And I will as long as the globe twirls.

From heaven to earth and everything
in the galaxy that lies between,
No one will ever love you as much
as I did when I was seventeen.

See, heres the problem i always have,
I ended up caring too much,
What are all of these feelings worth,
When I no longer have your hand to clutch?

We all carry heavy burdens,
You have your reasons for leaving,
but you seem so unaffected by this,
How come im the only one greiving?

I can tell that you aren't hurting,
Because your voice still sounds the same,
When I feel pain you can hear it in
My words and how i say your name.

I would give everything I have,
For you to feel like you did before,
but how do you make someone love you,
The way they did when they don't anymore?

I'm picking up everything on the floor and dividing it up into piles.

Things to throw away.

Things to recycle.

Things that don't belong to me.

Things to preserve.

Things to hang up on my wall.

Things to reconsider how much I want them.

Things to stare at.

Things....

Things I don't want anymore.

Things that pain me to get rid of but I have to.

And I look at all the dust piling up around my room and I wonder how long it's been since I did something like this.

And yet... I still have to much work to do.

You cared for nothing degrading each unknown gracious soul a nameless acquaintance as a victim in the wake of your lifelong search for self-affirmation leading to naught. How I hope you slink into the suicidal tidal waves of darkness you deserve. How I find myself hoping to get the chance of one final gluttonous glance seeing the shock sewn into your timeless mask staring out of the casket as just another casualty of conceded conceit and craving. How I relish in the feeling of the the grass of your grave growing from your physical spoils springing between my tickled toes raising my vengeful vitality up my spine until it erupts upward as unbound laughter at the man you thought you might have been. Aye, Good riddance to the dead and may you rot in your own insipid stench like the **** stained lining of your soul.

At night she buries herself six feet below the ground
and she paints her face with a smile every morning.
Her mascara is waterproof and her shaking hands
buried deep inside the pockets of a beautiful coat
while she tells exciting tales of sorbet happiness.

She is a conundrum, weaves lies from silver thread
and hides behind red lipstick smiles over coffee cups.
She whispers false promises to you and herself
between Egyptian cotton sheets, skin illuminated
by the glow of the sun rising behind a high-rise.

This girl is careless but made of glass, and her eyes
catch every word you say, and carry it along, but
her words are not those you preserve in your heart.
She bursts into flames in the middle of an ocean;
she will never be anyone’s to take, or understand.