(deleted poem)

There may be dirt on my knee's but don't think for a second that he thought of your name, the only words that escaped from his mouth were mine and no, it wasn't "that *****" Doesn't it become a little repetitive when they all turn to me?

don't smoke all of those cigarettes they say it'll stain your teeth.
they'll tell you that you have play dough for hands, that you conform to the others.
stained teeth for walls diagnosing me insane.
they'll tell you that when others squeeze your hand too hard you fall apart but you insist it's just a creative way of making yourself become art.
stained teeth for walls diagnosing me insane.
they'll try to train you to be fit into cookie cutters but when you can't seem to fit all of your pieces they detach you anyways but when you inform them that your limbic system has fallen behind they don't tolerate your disconnect.
stained teeth for walls diagnosing me insane.

someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand"

this is how it starts
I remember the sound of my stomach tying itself when I saw your text response that consisted of a simple "of course"
stumbling out your front door with streaks of muck on my face I replied; this will be fatal.
a million footsteps away but you're still stomping on my toes so. i made it out of that town but [why am i still in your bed [why can't I get away. is it because I gave you my cerebrum? my muscles aren't moving.
there's a record player in my living room, is this the end- it plays a symphony to me. it's talking now, the music notes are animated and walking towards me, this isn't living. there is no room for me inside of you anymore.
it was a while in, we're from different worlds, my clothes were off, but I wasn't naked, at least that's what I thought and what I wanted. I look to the left and there's a syringe, I realized you've ripped my wings right out of my back but it took me two years to understand, it wasn't you.
it's 7 o'clock and I'm gritting my teeth to keep down the words I never said but little did I know I was suffocating myself.
there cannot be love without self hate, don't you dare compare me to still water when you know I'm the eye of the storm. I hear the clicking, [like a constant reminder of my teeth chattering when you said you were going to leave the page blank. they'll use your damp mascara as ink to permanently type X's into your wrists.
my preference of Russian roulette is your tongue and I never understood why you tell me that Im prettiest when crying, maybe it's because your ******* is the one that makes me seem beautiful to you but not to the others.
the ruby slippers to take me home, the ruby river flowing out of my nose, you gave me both.

I refuse to tell anyone about the dreams where I am reading bedtime stories to you, where each is a different way you die and every way I will never save you.
I don't think twice of letting anybody know that drinking Clorox could potentially **** the what once were butterflies inside of you.
I won't tell anybody that my love for you is like perfecting the stringing of the beautiful chords on a harp ( for someone who is [deaf. I [can't tell anybody that when you told the doctor you weren't sexually active, I couldn't stop thinking -"so my party favors meant nothing to you?"  My body was like an instrument and your words were the very melody that tuned it, unfortunately your vocal chords were that {of Lucifer's. Maybe you loved the feeling of tying me to the coffee table and making home movies, then creating a party once the confetti burst from my eyes, I heard once you die that you watch your life replay but I found it hurts twice as bad the second time around, now that I think about it, I think my heart exploded into confetti as well and [maybe that's why is feel empty and there are no more butterflies, just year old rotting confetti. My ribs never really echoed until you came around, I don't think I had anybody take my breath away quite like you, you did it a tiny bit different from the others, you knocked the wind right out of me and used it as air to blow banners and silly string around for your pity party.
Do you remember when you told me how cliché my poetry was on my birthday? well I do not love you like the everlasting affair between the sea and the sand & I don't miss you how the Sun misses the Moon. For I fear you as if I were alive in Pompeii during 79 After Death, And my hate towards you is as strong as the believers during the time of Crucifixion and I am as devastated as when the families of Jews found bodies upon bodies unnamed in box cars.
>I remember the taste of your mouth and your cravings for cigarettes, I was your ashtray. I remember your passion for watercolor paintings, I am your cup of brown water. I remember your undenied addiction for sweetened coffee, I am the leftover stain on your teeth. I remember your love for street racing, -I am the skid marks left on the street.<
Maybe one day you'll think back to the girl that you said you loved, maybe you'll realize that she was not the burns marks in your brain from the bleach you drank to try and ruin the confetti that is now in [your] rib cage, maybe you'll pay more attention to abandoned buildings on the side of the street, now that you realize that's what you've made her become.
Maybe you'll remember which cabinet the chemicals were in and at the point maybe you'll realize that her dreams from your bed time stories came true.