I love you
I love her
She loves him
You're with him
How do I go from point A
To point B
If every bridge is burnt
I'm so ******* confused
There are no answers to my questions
Might as well stop asking the oldest
What do I do?

I don't know how much more I can take. I spend all my days smiling but all my nights crying. Every day it gets harder and harder to mask the pain the wells inside me. I walk around every day like my life is so great when really, I know that I'm just a huge mistake. People yell at everything I do. Everyone pushes me away or pulls themselves away. Everyone walks away from me. I care so much for others and I just get left out in the dust like a piece of trash. I don't even know if it's worth it to stick around anymore. I mean why should I? It's not like anyone would notice if I was gone anyways. I'm "too nice" appearently. Well guess what? I'm the way I am because I never want people to feel the pain that I'm in. I never want anyone to feel left out or unloved the way I do every single **** day of my life. I never want people to feel like they arn't really wanted or appricated. Whether it be in the classroom, on the court, where ever. Everone has a right to know that they are loved and cared about. I walk around all day and my eyes sting because I'm fighting back tears. Yet no one notices. For once it'd be so nice for someone not believe me when I tell them I'm okay. Sometiems I really want to admit it, but I just can't. I don't want to show that I'm weak. I have so many people I have to be strong for. I feel as if the weight of the world is resting on my shoulders and every day it weighs me down more and more. Every day it becomes more and more of a struggle to even get out of bed. Why should I get up to go walk around in a place where I'm not even wanted or appricated? Why do anything at all anymore? Why can't I just...not?

Excuse of a veiled man:
"I was lonely."

You laid on the right side of the bed
toward the wall, tightly tucked between
scuffed paint and my bony shoulders.

You drove from St. Louis, a full eight hours
to spend a cheap night's sleep next to me
(if  you can even call that sleeping).

We got drunk and peeled off every stitch
of clothing we were wearing.
It was probably our worst idea so far.

I didn't sleep a minute
in this crowded twin sized bed,
made for a single body.

You woke up and kissed me –
my neck, my shoulder, my chest
from the inside of the bed where
maybe you felt safe
between a scuffed wall
and a sharp shoulder bone.

Now I look to the inside, toward the wall,
scuffs like scars, the wear and tear,
and remember the indent your body made:

fetal – curled and slightly sinking, wrapped
in a rumpled, thick flannel blanket
I had kicked my way out of hours before.

But it's all over now. You left
weeks ago with no plans to return.
I knew that, and it's my fault
for looking so defeated now,
a single indent in this twin sized bed.

I looked at your name in my phone,
the picture and last post
from your Facebook account
sent to and from space
on transmissions and airwaves.

I have a hard time remembering
the last time I saw you - at a bar,
the Blackhawks and the Bruins
making history on some LED screen,
while we sipped on cheap beer
and reminded each other
that our jobs aren't that bad.

A wise man said friendship
needs constant repair,
like your old red Jeep,
always rattling and clanking
for one reason or another.

And I realized tonight how things have changed:
that we're not growing apart, just growing up,
or maybe it's both, and maybe it's okay.

I look at the legs of older men
Aged, with their imperfections
showing more visibly every day.
Clustered veins bulging
like roots from a tree
climbing from under the dirt.

I look at the bodies of women
who have lost their youth
from passing years and cigarette butts.
Their faces sagging and folding over
pressing lines into the skin,
a new flaw every year.

And I'm haunted that one day
my body will be decrepit and tattered
like the rags of a skeleton's suit,
and I wonder who will love me
when I have nothing left to show.