there are little things you don’t notice in your every day life.
when you hold someones hand, do you link your pinkie with their forefinger like i do? I tend to always want to be on someones right side, out of comfort. i realize that the question “how are you feeling” is completely overwhelming and should at best be rephrased. showers fix everything…. almost everything. if you breath deep enough you could cause more problems or you could get rid of them, choose wisely. socks are hugs for your feet and should be appreciated. especially when your begging for them to give you more medication or something to make you sleep so that just for a while you don’t have to feel it and you don’t have to face it and it doesn’t have to be real but they won’t because they don’t understand. they don’t feel it. they don’t link their pinkies with someone forefinger when they hold hands and they don’t stand on the right side of someone out of comfort and they don’t believe showers fix everything but they back up deep breaths even though it can cause more problems.

Hospital every year,
then every two.
This fragile heart needs mending,
for it's more than *******.

Two surgeries,
three months
and seven years.
There were so many tears.

My heart is so fragile,
it needs great care.
I will be fine,
as long as it's there.

Aspirin for six months
and probably more when I'm fixed again.
Medicine and hospitals are part of me,
as am I part of them.

I was born this way,
though I wish it weren't true.
It was merely a mistake,
or was I the accident?

"I don't mind hospitals."
It's a partial lie.
They seem normal to me,
but a screaming child
keeps me awake
when I try to sleep
the beeps away.

Let's take a moment
to appreciate
that we have technology
that keeps my heart awake.

I'm not alone-
I already know.
My mother was there too.
Maybe that's why I'm so askew.

The nurses are nice,
the surgeons are kind.
I just wish the matresses
were a bit softer... (:

Don’t read this if you’re squeamish,
Or if you’re eating food at the present,
Since some of the subjects discussed in this poem,
Are let’s just say rather unpleasant,

On the subject of donating organs,
Or the subject of organs at all,
It’s not unusual for my claims to leave,
Some subjects feeling pretty appalled,

Now I’d say that most people die,
In fact I’d vouch that it happens quite often,
But when my time comes, set has my sun,
I want all of me in that coffin,

Now I get it, I’d save lives if I donated,
And I don’t mean to sound like a **** (yes I do),
But the unmissable flaw, the foot in the door,
Is that not all of my parts seem to work,

My eyes are screwy, my heart’s far too cold,
The state of my lungs’ll make you shiver,
My kidneys too small, I'm not sure I have a pancreas,
And don’t get me started on my liver,

And let me tell you with a face like mine,
Not showcasing this beauty’s a sin,
But it’s awfully hard to have an open casket,
If I’m not sporting any of my skin

It’s selfish and weird I know that,
But my eyes are where my soul is exposed!
…Yeah actually my soul’s pretty tainted,
Can someone make sure that my eyes are closed?

I only want those I love to have a part of me,
So if I’m forced, if I’m forced, to partake,
-
-
-
They’ll be frying up my organs,
For refreshments at my wake.

I put my heart near yours
thinking you could be my medicine,
but you were poison,
you made my wounds deeper
you made them sting
and you never intended
to help them heal.
now they bleed so profusely
and you are not here
to be my bandage.
and I can feel it happening, a slow but steady change in rhythm that makes my head feel lighter than it should , and I gasp for the oxygen that I thought you gave my lungs, but it is nowhere to be found
and I suffocate in the pain.

Every day now feels like that Thursday.
When the rain just instigates for no reason.
Every day now feels like a sick day.
Except there's no home to rest.

I suppose you could be my medicine.
You could break into a million shreds
and release all of the chemicals
that give me such an ideal numbness.

Because the pills that hurt us most
are the ones that we try the hardest to swallow.
And the ones that heal us
are just too much follow.

Perhaps this is why I'll never have you.
You are the poison and the pain
that can make me smile on cue.
But I
I'm
Nothing.
Nothing but a smoke and a joke,
and a sub-par kisser.
A black hole of emotion and ambition.
Nothing.

If only she had any clue
how much life she contained in one breath.
If she only knew
how many storms she creates within me.

She is here.
And she knows nothing of the endless light within her.
The only one who does
is nothing.

Everywhere I look, there's an emptiness
where you’re supposed to be.
I told the doctors how I see nothing in everything,
so they prescribed pills to help me see.

My room is always so cold
but your breath was so hot.
I told the doctors I still feel it on my neck
so they gave me more pills to make it stop.

I took the pills for years
but they haven’t helped at all
So I stopped the prescriptions
and started my downward fall.

The doctors will never fully understand
that I will always look for you everywhere I go.
Antidepressants and mood stabilizers are making my mind a
bomb, ready to blow.

I wanna be your medicine
               To take away your pain
         I need you to take me regularly
To be swallowed whole by you
                              Daily
                  I want you to feel
  That you'd die without me
          And never leaving my side is
     Necessary

          I wanna be your cigarettes
                          To burn for you
     I want you addicted to me
In your mouth constantly
                   I want you to inhale me.
         Every time you
                     Breathe

         I wanna be your music
                     Your drugs
   Your heart and soul
           Your liver and your lungs
I want you to NEED me
             I need to feel that feeling
   The feeling that I'm
                Not just something
                            But everything



Because,
For far too long,
I've felt like nothing.

The darkness was more your significant other
than I ever could be and it's easy to see why
since you spent much more time conversing with your father's pistol than you spent admiring the way my curves are shaped.

I've always wanted to ask you if that cough medicine tasted better than my skin, but you fell asleep before I could tell you. I wonder if that's why you would cradle your bottle of pills, the way I used to wish you'd cradle me.
Is it better company than my eyes?
Or is that where you go so you can't see my eyes?
I'm not the pinnacle of judgment -- you can't escape every pair of eyes that follow you.

I would knock on the window panes sometimes because there was no **** on your door and no doorbell to let you know I was there. You never really answered.

I became a shadow -- I thought you'd love me darker.

So I faded my smile and faded my jeans. My nails were black, I wore my lips dark maroon and I began to acquaint myself with your reaper on Friday nights when no one else was in the house. I never touched your pills though.

But I'm finding that even a shadow has nothing on your fondness for picking out your gravestone. Cigarette smoke fills your lungs better than my perfume and I can't compete with your harem of dark habits.

So I'm going out of town tonight with my lips colored like berries and I'd ask if you'd be the one to smudge it but
you're more into dying and less into a kiss of life.