A person can only trip so many times
Before they fall
Effortlessly
Down the rabbit hole

I told you that you were loved and you didn't believe me.
What made you think that I didn't love you?
What made you believe that you were a lost cause?
Who the **** told you that you weren't good enough?
I want to know.
More so, I want to wrap the noose around his neck BEFORE he touched you,
Before you got the chance to wrap it around yours.

Ever since you left, I have suffocated underneath your death.

I do not sleep with blankets on anymore because I can not stay warm knowing that you are lying cold in the ground.

I no longer open up my windows and let the let shine in because I know that you are drowning in the darkness.

I can not put my hands to the steering wheel and drive because I will never be able to let go of the day that we stole that blue minivan and tried to get away.

I just want to know why you didn't tell us what was wrong.
I want to know why we weren't there.
I want to know why the last words that escaped were: "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

When you're gone? When you're gone? You can't be gone. I won't believe that you are gone, that your beautiful body is buried somewhere beneath the dirt when you deserved to stand on stars.

I want to know why you didn't leave me a ******* note, some type of ******* answer.

Because now, I'm stuck. I am stuck, and I am haunted by your ghost. I am missing every bit of you.

I am missing your voice.

I am calling you. Please come back to me.

Your voicemail.

"Hey, it's Meagan! Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

But you're NOT getting back to me. Sometimes I pretend that you will.

Did you know that I would be broken without you? That these needles are the only thing that can possibly puncture me enough to make me feel again?

Did you know that whenever anything goes wrong, my first thought is: "If only she were here"

When you left, you took every bit of hope from me.
When you left, you took my will to live.
When you left, when you left, when you left,
WHAT made YOU think I was strong enough to handle THIS?!

It's been seven months. I am not sure I can make it seven more.

I have become filled with you, your sweet little laugh,
and the stupid ******* jokes you played.

It was not a joke when you hung yourself.
No one laughed; no one dared make the slightest of sounds.
We held our breath and danced with candles until the moon in itself faltered and fell down.

veins remembering needles and sticky tar
will never stop feeling pinpricks-
girls with trackmarks will never forget
the words men whisper as they get their hits

we spent our summer writing songs,
and burning through packs of cigarettes--
we lit our way through the promised land,
and found that no promise is ever kept

swimming doesn't feel the same
when beach-goers stare down your scars
i am looking for an exit route;
something strong to take me out

ever since you wrapped that noose around your neck,
i have suffocated underneath your death-
what made you think i could handle it?
what made you think i was strong enough?

i often blame myself for your loss;
"what if i was there?" would you be gone?
because *******, i miss you
you didn't have to drown-- alone

you bang, and run, and jump up and down throughout my frazzled brain
my pillow has lost it’s softness- it has become filled with you
your sweet little laugh,
the stupid ******* jokes you always played...

it was not a joke when you hung yourself.
no one laughed; no one dared make the slightest of sounds.
we held our breath and danced with candles
until the moon in itself faltered and fell down.

i miss you
endlessly.
i felt your sorrow when your tears fell upon my pale legs;
i told you that you were loved and you didn't believe me

tylenol won't fix the ache that breaks me,
and codeine has never tasted so bitter--
my lungs are sputtering black dust;
i wish the cigarettes would burn you away

I did not write a poem yesterday
Because the depression sunk deep
Past my skin, into my bones
And collected all of my happy dust

I am terrified to imagine anymore days
Without poetry, without writing--
Have you ever been utterly terrified
To be without your one love?

I am at a stand-still
With no where left to go
But down
       down
       down.

today i did not get out of bed
today i do not feel like writing poetry,
or finishing my novel,
or being productive

today i am my scars,
today i am my thoughts,
today i am exactly what terrifies me
and makes me not want to
breathe, today

I hate Windows 8
I hate myself
I hate hot coffee
I hate cold days,
And warm days
I hate the beach,
I hate skiing
I hate you,
And I hate her, too

the vines must have wrapped around your throat
and tore the life out of you
because now we hardly talk
and when i say i want to die, you simply reply,
"me too."