read some bukowksi today.
he's an amazing poet.
He really is.
but he's a ****** up old man.

and i'm so terrified of turning into him.

i'm so scared of turning into a mean old pervert
that never falls in love.
instead,

just ******* people until their soul falls out

because they think that they've fallen for someone talented and deep


but bukowski

his poems used to make me chuckle.


not anymore.
now,
i read his poems of
******* to little girls
and killing the people across the street
and being alone in a room full of people
and wanting to get so ****** up that the walls become the floor


and i can relate

i used you to numb the pain of reality
to cushion the blow of the outside world
to muffle the loud sounds of gunshots outside the window


and now i'm sober

cold

scared as ****

**hand shaking for the bottle

This pen bleeds on this page.
I grow older every day I age
and I'm not sure I like the way

that he looks at me when
he's confused.
Boy, I don't have all the
answers.

I read books
      to figure out where I'm
  heading

  and i lack the capacity
to explain to you
                   where i've been.

So I'm sorry
that after we make love
in your room that smells like
a basement, I don't
want to talk about
all of my past boy-lovers
because- and this must
be hard for you to understand, --
they    *****     me.
So when we're lying naked
in your dorm room
mattress
(that we put on the floor,
somehow thinking that it
creates more space for
us), I'm sorry.
Don't feel like I don't
talk to you about anything
Maybe I can't tell you
because I have spent my
whole life trying to erase
it from my head

I tried to lose it
but i'm just
losing you.

I could tell you in a
poem. But i just
can't write anymore
because this ink
looks like black blood
and i'm so sick
of cutting myself open
for other people.
This page is bleeding
because
     ****.
I need to bleed
                      to feel.

        I remember when I was 14
and i watched the bathtub
water turn red- i would
smile at the crimson flowing
like some sort of sign from
God that I was alive
and now, I love it when
I get bruises.
or when I cry
because it means that I'm alive
and it's not socially acceptable
to remind myself anymore.
I have scars
      so i smoke cigars
  and i get high when
I inhale. and you're not
supposed to inhale. But i
always do because i
don't just want to taste
smoke in my mouth.
I want to float
    away.
I want to feel
    again.
I want to lay on
a cold bathroom floor
and feel safe and
   protected by the locked
      door
while I watch a small
red puddle
form
on the tiles.

2 PM:
I'm brushing my teeth
been awake two hours
cause I had no reason to wake up earlier.
Thinking it would be nice
if someone texted me
wanting to hang out.
thinking it  would be great
if she texted me
for any reason at all.
but nobody will
cause nobody cares
and I sleep for 14 hours a night on the weekends
knowing i'll go nowhere when awake.

My phone vibrates
and I tell myself
"it ain't her, that's for sure"
but  it is
with a simple
"hey :)"
i respond
she answers me with
"I was thinking about you today"
And for a second I smiled wider than I had in months
But she had only tried a tea I'd recommended.
I tried to keep talking
but she was waiting for a lunch date
and instead of saying what I was thinking
(that i'd never been on a real date,
never eaten with anyone other than family
and family friends.
never sat anywhere waiting for anyone
because nobody ever shows up for me
and I'm not allowed to go anywhere anyway)
I said
"I hope you have a good time"

No response


10 PM:
I watch her get on facebook
and wait 15 minutes before messaging her
"hey, how're you"
she take eight minutes
to say she's too good to be true.
I say
"that's great :D what's goin on?"
her response is simple
"I don't know how to explain"

I leave her alone
and we don't talk
but I sit there and stare at the ceiling
crying without realizing
wishing I had been a part of her being that great
wishing I had been a part of anyone being that great
But I hadn't and I haven't ever.

But what am I to her
when she texts me  
(something only my ex has ever done)
and then someone changes her day
someone who isn't me
and then she won't talk to me

The answer is one I can't wrap my mind around
one I don't want to accept
and maybe that's why I'm crying:
I'm just a friend to her
and I want to be more
but I never will be.

I'm just a friend
and that's how she can go from thinking about me and texting me
to not talking to me
in eight hours

While pouring me wine,
her eyes seize me again,
a  decision dawns.