you really thought someone was going to come save you,

didn't you?

you really thought there could be an easy way out,

didn't you?

if you want this hell to end,

you're going to have to stand up,

work yourself dead,

and save your own **** self.

every year.
every year i stay up until 12:15
on April 7.
the time is burned in my memory
like branding,
etched into my essence
and i can't forget.
four years ago,
it was the moment he was gone.
the river of grief is still these days -
i don't think of his absence
nearly as much as i used to,
and i'm starting to get used to Christmas
without his voice.
i'm starting to get used to life
without his smile.
without his hugs.
without his laughter and his warmth.
but it's 12:15
on April 7
and i would give the world
to have him back.

it's a lovely feeling,
i know.
i know.
i know.
but you can't stay here.
this isn't any way to live.
you can't have a full life feeling empty.
it's so hard,
i know.
i know.
i know.
eat anyway.
live anyway.

you can't do it anymore, can you?
take control.
you have become weaker by the day
and there is nothing left in you
that wants anything badly enough
to work for it.

what a terribly aching heart
i have been given
by a terribly aching world.
what a beautiful thing it would be
to be taken from it.

healthy people don't want to be sick.

if i look so healthy,

why do i try so hard to change that

it doesn't always last,
but when it does-

what a drug