There's a story behind her eyes.
One that I love to read.
I study each word,
say them aloud,
roll them off my tongue.
It's a novel of love and loss,
pain and lies.
The pages, torn and burnt,
I keep turning them.
I can't stop my compulsion.
She lets me. Asks me to.
She wants to be read.
To be understood.
I gaze into her chronicle and smile,
forgetting she's reading mine.

im "the happy friend"

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to rely on drugs for happiness

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to wake up everyday, and wish they still were dreaming

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to be the mediator of family fights

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to avoid looking at themselves at certain angles

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to constantly **** in their tummy- making sure they're still paper thin

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to lay in bed- tears welling in their eyes

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to feel the constant weight of the universe resting on their chest

why would i feel that

after all

i am the "happy friend"

It’s easy to love you,
But hard to believe it is possible
for you to allow it

My skin has become a tic-tac-toe board swarming with X’s
Fresh scars etched as new spaces are uncovered

I am running out of room
I am running out of time