Smoke yourself silly.
Drink yourself drunk.
Cut yourself repeatedly.
Insist that nothing's wrong.
Hope they don't believe you.
They always seem to.
Are you that good of a liar?
Or do they just not want to know?
Would it matter if they did?
It's no matter now:
You've long accepted your own soft, sorrowful implosion.

I fell you in the 6th grade. You wanted to be friends.
We stayed friends. You met my best friend. At youth group growing up throughout the years you were the popular weird boy. I saw you perform at church. You went to my graduation party. I went to your wedding and you got married to someone else. I am proud of you.

everything's so white, clean
when life's not like that

i do not believe in god
but i do believe in poetry
and for me
maybe poetry is prayer
and the universe
is an unwavering ear
in the shape of a god

You are a beautiful soul.
Behind the walls you build to protect your pain and all the tiny pieces of you you’re afraid to misplace is a perfect slate - a place for you to make  great.
Blank, untainted by mistakes made yesterday -
Today you can choose to escape away & stay here (no sorrow to fuel them so regrets just might maybe let up) hear me, please, believe me when i say:
Tomorrow will be better.