My wrists still hurt on Thursdays. I still remember the way you looked at me. I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods. I miss the way you ****** me, like I didn't even matter. I knew I didn't matter, but my god, I wanted to matter.
CALL IT MENTAL, BUT I SWEAR MY MIND KNOWS MORE ABOUT THE PAIN THAN THE BODY THAT HOLDS IT.
I constantly have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I'm carrying drugs I should not need. One to stop the pain and two to stop the panic. That's still three times the recommended dose. You still give me three times the recommended dose. I still need three times the recommended dose.
The trees and the sky, the sky just as blue as your eyes; and you say you don't understand why I wouldn't want to live forever, but how can I not want to die when forever was in your eyes? The trees weep your name and how can I live knowing they're dying just as slow as the respiratory rate of our love?
YOU MAKE MY MIND FLIP AND MY STOMACH WHIRL AND THE ONE THING THEY NEVER MENTIONED ABOUT SUICIDE WAS THIS.
I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods.
I feel the rusty nail in my back as much as I feel the nail in my coffin. The rusty nail you pushed me against. I am buried alive. The dirt is beginning to smell like home.
I drink caffeine to keep me awake. I drink too much caffeine to feel you in my chest. I still don't eat. If you were to touch me, you could feel every inch of my spine. And all this time I thought I was spineless.
The only way I know I never loved you was when I tried to say your name, I would say someone else's.
IT SOUNDED A LOT LIKE "HELP".
If I were to forget you, maybe I could sleep. And then maybe my caffeine heart could take it's final beat.
I don't know if this can really be called a poem, but its still something I'm proud of
