Day 1: I want to tear my skin off. My heart is beating so fast i can barley breathe. I feel so filthy.
Day 2: I can't believe this. I don't want to be here. Why did this happen? Why did I let this happen?
Day 5: I guess I drank too much and my friends were to drunk to stop me.
Day 10: I can't face my friends, I can't live my life.
Week 3: No one knows. He hasn't said a word.
Week 6: It happened again, I was sleeping and he did it again. Why did I stay the night? Why didn't I go straight home?
Week 7: He left and kissed me goodbye. I don't know how to feel.
Week 10: My life's out of control, I can't believe whats happening.
Month 5: My boyfriend knows. But not all details. Just thinking about it, makes me want to take a shower.
Month 8: I finally came clean to my friends. They're appalled. They hate him now. I still feel filthy. I can't get his smell off my body still.
Month 11: The anniversary is soon. What am I going to do?
Year 1: I haven't spoken to him in months. I haven't thought about it in days. I still feel as if hes on top of me, why can't I wash him away?

Its an uphill battle with myself and others. Some days I can't get out of bed or even feel like breathing.
But I try not to let him get to me. Because if he sees my weakness from what hes done,
He's won.

Hello?
Can you hear me?
I've been locked inside my head so long I can just barely whisper
That you've hurt me, broken me
That my wounds have been reopened by just the sound of your name
Whispered on the wisps of wind on my lips because they miss forming those letters

Hello?
Are you listening?
Are you checking your phone hoping you have a missed call from me
A voice-mail you can listen to over and over because you know I'll always leave one so you can hear the hole in my lungs where your name used to rest

Hello?
Do you even care?
Have you even thought of me or even asked how I was doing
We ended so abruptly that the scars on my wrists have been torn open and someone in your family rubbed salt into them so deep they just continues to ache
Ache for you to clean them and nurse them like you used to

Hello?
Can you see me?
Can you see me on the road going on without you
Can you see me getting stronger and learning to be my own person again
Because you stole the very thing that made me who I was
My soul

Hello?
Is this you?
Is this the monster you have turned into or the shell of who you used to be
Its okay none of it matters anyway, I just need you to know
You still mean nothing to me

I'm sorry my darling
I think you're confused
You're not the **** that's attached to my shoes
For that is me and me alone
I get it I do
Don't worry I hate me too
I'm an idiot an *******
you name it I am
Not beautiful or sweet
Hell I'm not complete
Something inside me hurts and I can't stop it
Its beating like a drum and taking off like a rocket
I can't explain what's happening to me
I feel as if a runaway train caught up and
Decided its time for me to die
But I won't die until I see your smile
I'm sorry I broke it
Stick around a while
Not for me of course not
I'm the dust on your boot
The cap on your dash
I'm sorry this happened in the fashion it did
I'm lost I'm scared there's something within
Someone help me I've fallen again
Save me before I do something drastic.

I feel as if my poetry isn't mine anymore.
Every other stanza I spit out reminds me of the one that broke me, or glorifies the one who found me but,
Im still at a loss of how to find myself between the small spaces in my pages.
I can never keep my head ******* on straight enough to stop worrrying about one or the other
I can't just keep focused on my goal, there has to be something else, something bigger, waiting to be messed with when I get home.
Some kind of sectioned off drama or project to occupy my terrified mind and strangled heart.
But my projects either don't last long enough for me to find a new one
Or last too long and I simply get bored and throw it away.
See, that's why I can't have nice things.
Because either I'm to fragile to take care of the broken or too bulletproof to be sympathetic
And I can't help but smoke cigarette after cigarette wondering what would come next.
Which project will help me slip between the cracks again?
Which one can be the most self destructive without activly hurting myself or others?
I guess that too, has been lost in the spaces.

I once knew a man, he was married to a poet.
He would complain she never remembered to visit her mother.
She never remembered his allergies or his favorite color.
She never remembered to pay the phone bill or to wash her clothes.
She never remembered to take her medicine or take a shower.
She never remembered to take the trash out or to go grocery shopping.

But he got sentimental and told me what she always remembered.

"She always remembered," he said, " what we did in our first date.
She remembers my favorite cologne and what type of detergent irritates my skin.
She remembers when I tell her I love her.
She never forgets to tell it back.
She never forgets to love everyone she meets, greets everyone with a smile and enthusiastic wave.
I guess she can't remember little things like my favorite color or what time she has to go to work.
But she always remembers the important things
And I guess that's all I could really ask for."

you know how at night
within the confounds of four walls and endless darkness
you find yourself making things up?
I do.
1) My father loves me.
2) I don't care what people think.
3) I hate you.
heh, yeah you see it too, right?
there's a list of three and none are true.
now if only I can figure out
how to not lie
And hate you

If you ask my friends what I've become
They'll start singing song lyrics
"Tried to find you t the bottom of a bottle, laying down on the bathroom floor"
"You're gone and she's gotta stay high, all the time, to keep you off her mind"
And by God they wouldn't be wrong.
I've taken up these habits and made them my own
Creating my own personal bubble that's headed straight for hell
I'm not saying what I've become is all your fault
But you certainly contributed to my status.
My chain smoking, my drug use, my increased alcohol consumption
My need to drive dangerously fast, stepping into traffic, my laying on blacktops
To everyone I know, it's as if I'm certainly flirting with Death
And I guess its true
And I'm not taking 100% of the blame
Some of it is on you.

alcohol ruined my life
and I wasn't even the one
drinking it.

A teacher once told me
I should never begin a sentence with
“I think”
because everything you say is what you think.
But somewhere along the line,
I stopped saying “I think” instead
because I needed to fake something like confidence
state every opinion like a fact
Bold, built up brick walls
making my every statement that much stronger
But there’s something to be said
for sentences that start with I think
I’m starting to wonder if it doesn’t take more bravery
to be tentative
that you might begin to say
I could be wrong; I am sometimes.
I’m not unfailing,
I hope that’s okay.

I* am jealous of
your *bed
your sheets
your shirts and perfume
and smoke of your cigarette

because they wrap and cloud around you
touch you, feel your dark, soft skin
feel your warmth

when I cannot do those things
when I am too far away
spending my lonely afternoons
wishing to be

your bed
your sheets
your shirts and perfume
and smoke of your cigarette.