Rehearsal’s meant for perfection, but this is another stage.The act of doing. Blinded by the spotlight, struck still by the paralyzing heartbeat in my throat. And this is not the first time that I have been here, I am not proud to say. And I am unsure of which part I am more ashamed of: the fact that I felt the need to do, or that I lacked the courage to follow through. So here we are again, brought together by the forces of the wind. Being pulled together by the strings of our hearts, playing each other in the selfish game this has always been. It’s physics, no matter how far we run from each other, no matter how much blood was shed when I tried to cut you free, no matter how many cold shoulders we rested on at night; we always return to the same place, this same state. A vicious cycle that every time steals more and more of my sanity. I feel it slip through my fingers quicker each time and I claw and I claw my way to regain it, but there you are, holding it in your hand. A trophy. You’ve claimed everything of mine; maybe it was unknowingly so. But I have no tears left to shed, ducts dried and shriveled. I have not felt the knife of anger and sadness in my side for a long time, nor the relief of laughter and happiness; even on Friday nights when I’m laying next to you, under your covers. Just this terrible, aching numbness. This inhumane indifference that curdles at the pit of my stomach. I cannot daydream because I always somehow return back to you. And most nights I can’t fall asleep, but I’m more so afraid to. Of believing that you really are in front of me, brushing the hair out of my face and kissing my neck, just to wake up to a bed filled with haunting memories and a body aching with the desire to be held.
This cycle has to come to an end, and here we are. I stand there before you, silver blade of the knife shining from my hand. For the first time in an entire year, I finally evoke emotion. Your eyes grow wide with shock and fear like I’ve never seen before. I’m sure a while ago, accomplishment would have coursed through me. But I am only here to end this. To end your prolonged chapter of my life; overdue.
Give me an hour or so, I could name all the wrongdoings you’ve ever done. I could document and chronicle the periods of pain that have filled these past two years of my life, only to be broken by short bursts of shallow happiness. Although this is all true, I still love you. And I know once I walk away from here, the thought of you will continue to haunt every step of my life. Only worse, there would be no possibility of ever seeing you again.
There is no freedom from you in this world. Miles away, everything still reminds me of you. There is no killing you.
So I looked into your eyes, one last time, as I drew the blade through my throat.

I cannot forgive you
for your past mistakes
because they are wrapped up inside my chest,
burning like the summer sun.

I cannot forget
the nights when I felt like nothing
and I held a bottle of yellow pills in my hand
because you pushed me over the edge.

I will not forgive
this feeling of absolute sadness
wrapped up inside of me,
I will not forgive
the stab wounds to my back
that the words you couldn't speak to my face left.

I will not forgive the person I became
because you said I wasn't good enough
(and I still never will be).

I'm sorry my words come out
when I'm neck deep in alcohol,
but drunk words are sober thoughts
and I've never been known to keep my mouth shut.

You are everything I never wanted to be around,
a disease of the mind, body, and soul,
and I cannot forgive you
for being the decay that is my demise.

i'm training him
not to say those
three cruel words.
that tug on my
heartstrings, playing
along to his childish
game.

the words with the
ability to paralyze
me in mist of angry
tone.

i told him
i could not love a liar.

so he no longer tells me
'i love you.'

my psychiatrist tells me to find the source of my hate in order to defeat it. in order to manipulate it back into a positive effect.
my source of hate is in myself, of myself. of the stupid, childish things that i mistakenly and purposefully do. like letting people in. getting attached to them and exposing them to...well...me. i'm embarrassed of myself and i don't want other people to be punished by my presence. i hate myself because i get to know these beautifully ugly people just to push them away...or let them slide through the creases of my fingers. i hate myself because i drove myself insane. i refused help when i knew i needed it and then lashed out because i was all alone. i hate myself because i couldn't even succeed in suicide. i hate myself because i hate living. i hate myself because i loved him more than anything. i hate myself because i allow him to continuously abuse me. i hate myself because i chose arkansas. i hate myself because i had the chance to live with him and so i'm the reason why we're not together. and i have to live with that. i have to live with wondering whether he's using again or if he returned to that *** crusted blonde *****.
but most of all, i hate myself because i can't be happy with what i willingly chose.

i love myself.
i don't need a reason for that.

so maybe this whole thing was my fault, from the start
For falling for someone that cannot love
for giving all to who had none.
I gave you my heart.

and I close my eyes
to escape the world
where you're no longer mine
to hold you in my arms, to feel your warmth
'til the morning light.

And all along you knew that I
would follow you into the night
All along you knew that I
looked at you as if you
put the stars in the sky.

You said it was best for this to come to an end
before we are both hurt
How could you ask me to
walk away from you
when you are my life.

All along you knew that I
would follow you into the night
All along you knew that I
looked at you as if you
put the stars in the sky.

And all along you knew that I
would follow you into the night
All along you knew that I
looked at you as if you
put the stars in the sky.

I've been up three days
adderall and red bull
this call is a mistake
there's something strong in this water bottle.
I hear you've got a new chick
a dancing little barbie doll
i feel so pathetic
but you still haven't heard it all.

**** that new girl
that you like so bad
she's not crazy like me
I bet you like that.
I said **** that new girl
that's been in your bed
and when you're in her
I know I'm in your head.

I'm just saying you could do better
I always turned you out every time we were together.
once you had the best, boy, you can't do better
baby, I'm the best so you can't do better.

I ran into your homeboys
they're all ******* idiots
you're not even my boyfriend
but they're trippin cause I'm in the club
yeah, that's right, I'm dancing
and something cool is in my cup
Imma send a **** picture
to remind you what you've given up.

**** that new girl
that you like so bad
she's not crazy like me
I bet you like that.
I said **** that new girl
that's been in your bed
and when you're in her
I know I'm in your head.

I'm just saying you could do better
I always turned you out every time we were together.
once you had the best, boy, you can't do better
baby, I'm the best so you can't do better.

that was when my habits just got worse. i was so incredibly angry with everything. i was so confused by my feelings and wants and needs. i became so self destructive that even others who didn't know me could see the effects. one day, senior year, a blonde girl in my photography class grabbed ahold of my arm for closer observation. the gashes stung and they ripped open anew.

"why do you do this to yourself?" she asked. it was so blunt. this girl i didn't even know asked a question that my closest friends were too afraid to even mutter. i was so shocked, i did not know how to react but gather my belongings and leave.

i became someone other than myself. i no longer recognized the reflection in the mirror. the eyes hazed with indifference, body aching and weak from the constant loss of blood. for safety reasons i will not describe everything i did out of confusion. but it got to the point where sobriety was like an itching wooly  sweater, clinging to my neck.  

i was called to the office by three separate teachers over those two semesters, i was able to beg two of them not to call my parents. they were 'concerned' because i 'was not acting like myself.' i was such an angry, hateful person. angry that the man i loved didn't want to be alive, to stick around for me. angry that my parents never spoke up. that was all i needed. just for them to tell me to stop.

nothing particular sparked the suicide attempt. just a continuous dissatisfaction with the world, i suppose. so vertically i drew the razor blade, releasing me finally.

Kisses trailing along his collarbone. Lips blanketing his golden skin. Mesmerized by the slopes, dips, valleys of his body. Fingertips electrifying trace every open space of flesh exposed. Thumbs resting on the carvings around his smile. Sweet taste on my mouth, venom coursing through my veins. Settling in the pit of my stomach, dripping to my toes. Slowing the beat of my heart. His palms burning holes into the small of my back, body magnetized to his.
I swear at that moment, the world itself ceased. The angels above, if their existence is certain, looked down in envy. For something this good cannot be true.

im afraid i have lost my touch.
try to crack the stone stoic surface
skin crystalized to rock of
the most expensive yet mundane
shine stolen diamond.

i find myself here, alone,
sitting in the study room of
a school i never wanted to go to
in a town i never wanted to call home.
alone, picking at the surface,
pricking the tips of my fingers for
just a single drop.
by the ax will not crack the exterior
the uniformed exoskeleton
will not harvest any value.

whatever is in here is deeply buried,
swept away in the black currents
and silenced by the quiet smile of
'really, im fine.'

expression perfected by painted porcelain.

i have found myself in a club. not established out of intent, but the tugs of the earth and its circumstance have strung us together. we found ourselves, brows beaded with sweat and hands bloodied and calloused. we did not mean to form, but we were meant to. to meet each other’s exhausted eyes, glazed over with indifference from the constant prejudice of cards dealt, and no words were spoken. none were needed. we met each other’s eyes and we knew that finally we had found someone.

we are the conquerers of the forgotten. we are the collectors of broken glass and innovators of redemption. we are artists of absurdity. failure is face all to familiar. but we are not bitter. failure is the reminder of the ultimate goal.

this was not of intent, but what beautiful people.