i can't help but feel worse
you put my heart under a curse
my eyes are weary, heavy
and tired
but I can't sleep
knowing what I said
to that creep
your ecstatic blue eyes
knew about my lie
now I'm terrified of you saying
goodbye

Tell my mother I'm sorry
that the love notes I wrote were never for her,
that she never had enough time to actually pay attention to me or what I said,
that she wasted her time tucking me in at night to help me feel loved when it never even helped,
that I stepped on the cracks in the sidewalks so her back was constantly broken  while she was trying to provide
for everyone else but me.

Tell my dad I'm sorry
that I was such a failure that every step I took in the right direction was the wrong one,
that his voice went hoarse but at least he was acknowledging me,
that no matter how many times he left bruises I counted it as a hug,
that he never had time to listen to me,
that he never had time to swallow his pride,
that he never had time to love me.

Tell my siblings I'm sorry
that they never took the time to understand me,
that they'll never know just how easily harsh words can stick in someone's brain,
that I ended up so much like the person they despise,
that I lived up to every negative expectation they had of me.


Tell my friends I'm sorry
that my conditions were some sort of joke,
that I never actually mattered unless they needed something,
that when they replied laughing out loud when I said I was dying they couldn't even recognize I actually was.

And tell my heart I'm sorry
that I forgot how to sew it back together again
when it
stopped
beating.

"I'm sorry..."
I feel a pause,
As I hear myself say the words.
Were they meant for *me
Or someone else?

Destructive thinking,
hollow eyes and bleeding thighs,
eight months thrown away.

How ironic is it
that something as lovely as a Lisa Frank
butterfly-shaped bandaid
could cover something so ugly
(in both form and concept)
And oh,
There's no worse feeling than a relapse
into such an addictive hobby
(I thought I left that behind me)
How I miss the numb pressure
and the sting accompanying the post-period
of regret and infiltration
(Don't do it)
Welcome back
(Get out)

When we meet, it is always for the first time,
A vague familiarity sweeps us, a dumbing of vocal chords,
As we struggle to find meaning in our chosen words

Do we use each other as apostrophes?
Are we consensual in our decision to never tune into the other's
words, feelings, actions?

Are we lonely, surrounded by familiar passing faces
but none we really long to see

We are both searching for something to make us feel better,
Does that take the form of another human being?
Of each other...

Or will those drunken nights spent semi-conscious suffice
to replace the warmth of each other's hands intertwined?

Do we really exist on the same orbit?
I am Venus and you are Pluto and I am afraid of falling into space,
Into the abyss,
Into your eyes

I may never know what lies beyond them

Some have said I lead boys on, but I feel we lead each other
through minefields,
Both of us end up adrift between safety
and a horrible death of our happiness.