She came from work pretty early
and I knew when I
saw her that
she quit yet again

She changed four jobs in the last
five months and
got a tattoo that said APATHY
on her lower back

Her father died five months ago. He
died of what's called
almost-drunk-driving
He was sipping on a beer bottle while
driving fairly slow
on a country road
But the front wheels hit some log
or something
and the impact triggered the
airbag
It bloomed in his face and stabbed
the beer bottle into
his eye
causing him a major trauma to the brain

R.I.P
old man.

Maybe not your wife but
your daughter sure will miss you

She's coming from work
***** and ragged
Approaches me and demands a cigarette

I give her a small lighter

and she tells me to go
**** myself

"Well you're done with work
early today," I tell her.

"I quit," she says.

"Really? What was it this time?"

"What's every time, deepshit. The boss
or the coworkers or
the customers. Or all of them.
******* expect you to work on
holidays. Imagine
that. Like, Christmas is in three
days, for ****'s sake."

"I work on holidays," I say

"That's cuz you's a *****-***-*****
who won't say no when you
mean it. You're like...
all the rest of 'em."

"Maybe," I say. "But also, if I'm at
work I don't have to be with my relatives
and that's
a plus in my book."

"Pff, yeah, whatever. Lend me
a ten, will ya?"

"Best I can do is a five. And you
can keep the lighter."

three o'clock every afternoon,
you would come out to play
only fifteen feet from home,
mother wouldn't let you stray

said the birthmark on your feet,
a symbol for your itch to explore
only fifteen feet from home,
but you have always wanted more

drawing on the ground with pebbles,
making a canvas out of the street
bouncy steps on bumpy, hot cement,
careless of the dirt on your feet

running in wide, drunk circles,
scraping your scarred little knees
forgetting why you were laughing,
but you chased the sun, at least

she shouts your name from the house,
thick orange juice and sweet bread
a small towel on your sticky back,
she tied the wet hair on your head

the daytime moon followed you home,
with its humble clouds not far behind
how vast, you thought, was the world,
but it wasn't as vast as your mind

a.r.

All my years, I’ve been preparing to die,
and now they’re forcing me to stay alive
Claiming they can heal my wounded soul
by shocking my brain causing more trauma

How do you go back
from being buried?
How do you find peace
when you know what’s awaiting you?
How do you love
when your heart has stopped?
How do you remember
when you’ve lost your mind?
How do you cry
when you don’t have tears?
How do you overcome your past
if it’s still your present?
What do people do with their lives
if their whole being didn’t yearn for its doom?

How do I start?
Where do I begin?

This is the first day of my life
where I’m not suicidal, and
I don’t know what there is to do
when death was my only salvation

I don’t know this new version of me;
the one who doesn’t find it impossible
to stay for another day,
another endless night

I’m scared of shifting back;
I’m scared of being buried
by my own deadly psych,
I’m scared of dying again

Things are more lighter now
The elephant in the room is no
longer perched upon my chest,
and my wrists are no longer
bleeding, only the scars remain

What if I get hungry again, and can’t
find anything to feed on but my own blood?
What if I woke up in a casket again?

I can’t help but wonder
for how long is this going to last?
How long am I going to last?
I hope this lasts,
I hope I last

I can hope like others do!
I’m hoping again
which is a sign of life!

Am I deluding myself?
Am I better or worse?

I need someone to squeeze my hand
just so I know that this is real
It’s dangerous to get stuck in
a state where nothing feels real
No matter how deep
you went to draw blood,
you still don’t feel like you’re here

In my head I’ve already
killed myself, long ago,
and now my corpse is
somehow trying to breathe, again?

This goes against logic
This goes against my own head,
my head is going against
its own suicidal thoughts

Am I going to look back at this,
and not believe that one day
One day I felt alive enough to breathe,
and not wish I wasn't