I was sitting beside my best friend,
catching up with friends I hadn't seen since they graduated
when you sat down,
uninvited.
It didn't take a genius to tell
my throat was already closing
at the sight of you.
It had been over a year and a half since
I had last seen your face,
yet here I sat,
less than three feet from my ******.
I received two texts immediately.
one:
"I'm sorry."
From my best friend, who knew everything.
two:
"Are you okay?"
From my other best friend, who knew nothing,
but felt like something was wrong.
Wrong.
Suddenly, everything about that night felt wrong.
I choked on every sentence as it forced its way out of my suddenly tightening throat,
pretending that you were not there.
You see, I've spent so much time
pretending you were not there
that I had begun to wonder if maybe,
you were just a nightmare.
Yet here I sat staring my old friends in the eyes,
more focused than anticipated.
They could tell.
You see, it's a small town,
I didn't need to tell everyone what you did for them to find out.
I thought I was doing well until you spoke to me.
The first words you had directly spoken to me in almost
two and a half years.
"I knew I'd see you here."
I blocked out the rest.
I'd like to block you out, too,
but it seems recurring dreams,
nightmares,
are supposed to teach you something.
I'd like this to make sense,
but the only things I ever learned from you
was to never let my guard down again.
To not love that deeply,
deeply enough that I feel forced to do anything
to prove my love.
I learned I should never have to prove my love.
I should never have loved you.

When you sat across from me and spoke my way,
I couldn't help but think I'd never thought I was going to see you again.
I couldn't help but remember every sleepless night,
such as right now,
where I can't help lie awake in fear you somehow know
just what I am doing,
when I have had you blocked on facebook for three years.
But it's a small town.
Word travels, secrets are never truly safe.
Hushed confessions hop eardrum to eardrum
until they're nothing more than a subtle gasp.

When I finally pulled away from the restaurant,
I drove in so many circles that I got lost--
there are only five roads downtown.
When you finally pull away,
maybe I'll sleep for once--
there is only one of you,
and I wish there were
none.

There is a constant storm in my mind
a heavy rainfall, drowning every thought
that could break the blanket of clouds
I haven't seen the sun in months
I'm forgetting what it feels like
all i know is the rain
and grey skies
and grey thoughts
and a grey self
the whole world is muted
and the thunder crashes at night
when I can't sleep
and there is so much lightning
I'm blinded and terrified
more rain, more hail
more damnable
stormy
self

i feel guilty
wanting to die
but
*i can't stop
i can't stop
i can't stop

It's easy to preach self love
And self acceptance
Until you're ļaying awake at night
Weeping sorrow and anger
At the bones that hold you
And the skin that binds you
And every crack and blister
That your pale shivering body owns
It's easy to talk about self love
When there are at least some things
That can be seen
As worth loving.

goosebumps.
like the ones you give me.
like the only things you left as proof
that we were real.
goosebumps.
the ones I got when you stroked my side with your thumb
and it tickled
but I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd stop.
goosebumps.
the ones I got when you raised your voice
and threw plates across the room just to watch them shatter
like my father used to.
goosebumps.
the ones you gave me
when we'd sit in front of the fireplace
with our blankets and hot chocolate
on cold winter nights,
taking turns exchanging ghost stories.
goosebumps.
the ones I got when I found out you'd become
one of the ghosts from the stories we told.
goosebumps.
the ones I got when we lowered you into the ground
because it had become too hard for you to breathe air anymore.
goosebumps.
the ones I got from the whispers saying I could've saved you
but didn't.
goosebumps.
the ones I get when i feel you touch my arm
when I sit in front of the fireplace alone (like I did during fights)
and whisper, "I'm sorry," in my ear
in the middle of the night (like you used to after fights),
pretending it's your arm around me
instead of your favorite blanket.
goosebumps.
the only things that remind me I'm real.

My name is Daisy,
like the flower.
People tell me all the time not to **** myself,
they'll miss me.

I've never seen anyone cry over a dead flower.

This time last year I was writing letters
Apologising for the way I feel
And the way I have always felt
Trying to shift blame onto my own selfish consciousness
And the methods to drown it out
Methods that left more than just physical scars
This year I am no longer writing letters
But every breath is like swallowing glass
My heart beats languid and slow
Every cell of me is fatigued
I sleep all the time and I never feel awake
Fully consumed in the guilt of who I am
And how it must hurt people to love me
So no, I am no longer writing letters
But I am still revising the words.

i have nothing left but these pills of mine
bottoms up

i chew my cheeks when
i'm nervous and lately
they've been raw
i feel like a train wreck
in progress and everybody's
just stopped for the show
the help i need is so close and
if i had a voice i'd use it but
**** it, it gets so hard to
talk through the voices
of the people in front
of me and the ones
between my ears

i think my body is
falling apart and i
know it doesn't have
to but it's so hard to
help yourself when
everyone else needs
your help more